patriotic parading progressions

Quotations bouncing off
inner sound tubes
flooding wax aqueducts
with furry
and mighty menstrual
calculations

It’s difficult to make out
the syllables of the
foreign wording to
modern melodies
and catch phrase
jingles

Seven hundred
times a day
this practice has been
multiplied
magnified
crucified
initialized
and memorized

This side of society
has forgotten
the practice of
past natives
long since
rotting in their
consecrated burial site
under an in-ground swimming pool
in Scottsdale, Arizona

Excited children’s
cannonball splash
drenches all of those who
happen to be near by

War ship’s cannonball tore apart
the buried man’s abdomen into
several hundred bloodied pieces
reducing it by multiplication

No maps or records
indicated these chronicles’
actual existence
or to the whereabouts
of the old dead
once proud inhabitants
of this new
plastic cluster fuck
that has emerged
as the new
heavyweight

Obscured suspicion
and conspiracy publications
are semi-solitary
in their examination
of integrity, creditability,
and relative matrimony
of everything
above
and below

just another day

I’m done with the fraud
and patriarchal sexual society playpens.
Crisscrossed through a cake baking
and stumbled upon starved homeless uniting
and ran with their hunger strike.

Go past the oak tree that’s south of the death pit
next to the gourmet coffee shop.

An image pimped out and slapped on cola cans,
sprinkled on doughnuts and filled with cherry jizz.

Bring a dowry to me,
the main man,
as I clutch my personality switch.

Bring me my slippers.
They should be brand-new
and located in aisle twenty-six
of the mega-super-store
where fingerless kids know
no hump-day or drinks after 5 p.m.
on Friday.

I’m glad I know about the drinks on Friday.
It’s the only thing that gets me past the kids.

Scotch vs. Droids

It’s April 28th and I’ve just gotten my
first “real” education in the intricacies of scotch.

I was given four different kinds:
Four-year old
Eight-year old
Twelve-year old
Sixteen-year old

Wait, or was it a ten-year old
and/or an eighteen-year old?

Oh yeah, I also received
two, free, twenty-five year old shots.

It kicked my ass.
Good times courtesy of the bartender.
A new hangout.

I’m leaving the bathroom.
I just got done pissing on a
urinal mint.

The lights in this place remind of the heads of
some kind of droid in a Star Wars film.
Yeah, “roger, roger; roger, roger” type robots

Kinda weird

this is a man with a problem

I wake up to the killer inside me
today and everyday
past, present, and future
struggling to levitate itself out
of a brown tar opium
resin covered crypt

it laughs and mocks my
very pathetic existence

it sends out cardboard werewolves
and foil battleships to regain control of:
Project: Body Domination

this puts in place regulations for manipulation
and supremacy amongst the feeble,
defenseless, unread, mislead,
and under fed

I’m not weak that’s why I wake every morning
to the mêlée of a cannibalistic malcontent
stirring emotions and conscience
when it should be stirring me a drink

thankfully it’s the end of winter

I’ve got pleasant window blockage in my second floor writing room.
The view from the two larger south facing windows is thwarted by a tree
with purple flowers. The bumblebees seem to find them irresistible.
It’s a peculiar tree that has a dead tree in the middle of it.
It appears to have told the weaker tree, “Fuck you, old timer!”
I’ll occasionally, while drinking, try to jump up and seize the
dead limbs that are rotten and snap easily as I break off pieces
of itself spontaneously.

It also sprouts an almost fluorescent green spade-shaped leaf.
Through these leaves I watch the Ella Fitzgerald of Cardinals
sing that distinct song of hers.
This bird wails. It is either really horny or it is telling the
other flying dinosaur ancestors that the wild bird seed
I put out is clear of sparrows which, I think, have to be considered
the “little bastards” in the bird world.

Well, the smaller window that faces north allows
me to stare at two giant oak trees or maybe they’re maples.
I think one day some dad should build a massive
tree fort for his kids. It’d be fully equipped with a rope ladder
and sniper tower.
It would sit in-between the trees for maximum support
and defensive purposes, of course.

Even though the massive trees do obstruct most of the panorama of my backyard,
I still have been permitted some sightseeing ventures.
I witnessed a opossum
and a couple of cat families living harmoniously
in my garage, that gets no use.
I’m not sure how they managed that, but maybe it’s a precursor
of future arriving concepts
and ways of life.

Yeah right, the cats probably killed the opossum, but were then
infected with rabies from the filthy thing. Regardless,
it is good to have summertime privacy
even though it is technically still springtime.

Oh well, I definitely think that these arboreal blockades
will not only benefit me by way of natural cooling
and privacy, but also as my own peephole
into Mother Nature’s lovely savage brutality.

Lone Wolf

Runaway as fast as you can and look for cover,
stake your claim, squat for your homestead.
Be careful of swindlers, thieves,
and those you confide in.
Cameras, binocular lookout towers,
and rifles all focusing on your head.

We’re warning you now during hypocrisy and warfare.
Mass transit communal fledglings can’t urinate in public.
Allow them to sit upon your lap, but only if you dare
separate outhouses for the slow country hick.

Frozen pipes have stopped dish washing
and showers’ cleanliness
swirled down during the final toilet flush.
An early angry death killed the mosquitoes
and flowers.
We now lay silent and shocked
amongst the dirt and brush.

Now only my shadow understands me
and my kung fu thoughts.
It leaves me at night to join up with my chemical shakes.
Drought seized moisture and swallowed distraction’s overwhelming
thirst out west;
stolen from the Great Lakes.

A dishonorable discharge terminated benefits
and ruptured innocently gratuitous blindness.
Shell-shocked, disoriented,
and in disbelief
I finger faded pictures, bullet holes,
and shrapnel remnants.
Wheelchair ramps and prescribed pills
provide momentary relief.

Sonic-boom desert test site control realized.
Pistol popping spent cartridge afterthoughts
scooped up by saran wrap straight jacket mind control processors.

“Never surrender, never quit!” the lone wolf shouts.

job searching

I can’t afford shit.

I can’t take care of myself, my family, and our needs.
Let alone our desires.

Laid off again.
Third time in five months.

I’d try delivering pizzas, but my car is shit.
I’d beg in the streets, but my pride hasn’t quit.

Scraped up enough to get me a pack of smokes
to pass the day.
For lower prices I’ll have to drive across the county,
out of my way.

It’s gonna be a long day of job searching.
I better pick up some beers.
Found a sixer of cheap pilsner
it helps hide my anxieties and fears.

leveling the playing field

Superior people modestly journeyed thousands of grueling miles
carrying the ability to never catch up to an oppressive
governmental regime
All the while remembering that no matter which diamonds were better
no matter where they were
no matter which of the methods they chose
there were only three jobs available to them

There was birth
There was pain
And there was death

The fourth one,
Life,
was never obtained

Through their beauty, nonsense,
and their matter-of-factness
to hate the shameful
and less learned
they triumphantly thought out semesters
of simple pleasures
never finding the meanings of the graphs
or contracts that they had constructed
throughout the waiting for the death period

Sliced up family and friends with self-sacrificing
swords, sabers, and daggers
during this age of the supercilious,
condescending, and patronizing
dimensions of mankind

These monkey masks will thin out
as the men and women will one day accidentally tinker
with the wheels of misfortune
and the gears within
to solve these games
that we can not win

R138

Concentrating on the hippopotamus’ instinctual sexual bondage predatory habits
allows for the lesser of men to reflect on their own stimulation.
Patience to the original chaos order taker as her line continues to back up far past the emergency line where costumer service ran out of numbers.
Organic diamond mine chutes flow with the blood of the beaten and raped all the while cutting and keeping products at all time lows.
Revolutionary pesticides cleared the entire allergy causing foliage
and savage wildlife that been clogging up the Garden of Eden.

Television static sweeps week multiply positive accrued necessary promotion points. What happened to Mailer?
Where are our voices of individuality, originality
and common sense?

Carelessly cautious and misunderstood we’re praying for the savior to hold our hands while hop-scotching down the Stations of the Cross.
Whimsical fantasies corralled by a soft strike from the back of an aging gentleman’s transparent left hand stopped us in our repetitious tracks.
Pressurized testosterone injections fulfilled the ability to carry out the euthanasia experimental techniques once mastered and taught by fleeing weathermen.
It will be at this Fourth of July picnic mass market parasite parade that the truest of colors will illuminate our minds and disjointed souls to point that is laughable.

The radio waves bounce back and forth off brick and cement walls
tantalizing our inhibitions all the while cutting back nature’s edges.
We’ve heard their call letters over and over again.
They’ve done their best to inundate us one by one.

Peg legged leadership whittled away by treacherous termites gnawing away at our once semi-stable programmed condition.

I’ve started a pirate, H.A.M. mobile station for tragic broadcasts looped with undertones
of faint static and high decimals that loosen tie knots.
I will most definitely be beaten and incarcerated like a tasty KFC chicken.

Ripped out pockets do not permit idle hands, but
also does not allow storage of trivial possessions.
It is these foreign made trinkets that sink floating economic
scenarios and welcome poster boy Wall St. cheap crap peddlers.
Their degrees were in the field of Simian Naiveté.

silent voices

diligently alone and waiting for resolution
while patiently contemplating life’s lifelessness
and inseparable balance between the cunning
and ruthless

a normal daily occurrence that drives a callused soul
to the foundation of deficiency
among the weak and shallow dwellers
of humanity’s early-bird garage sale

first in line gets the best deals
extorted from them as they wrap themselves
around the next town’s fading manifestation

this ritual constitutes spiritual wardens to teach
and oversee the actions of those who leave me for
a loss of words

today, scavenger

Ran into a friend who was fired from the unemployment line.
Gave her eight bucks to throw in on multiple jugs of cheap wine.

She came back with pork rinds, a twelve pack and a lime.
Fuckin’ asshole, she does this shit all of the time.

I ate that fried shit and brushed my teeth with turpentine.
Man it burnt like hell, but you won’t catch me whine.

Bitch took my “spoken for” money and committed a crime.
It didn’t matter to her that it was my last earned dime.

“Chill out,” she shouted. “I’m making some food, swine!”
I replied, “While you’re at it, give my grubby boots a shine.”

I couldn’t tell if it was gumbo, chowder or pond slime.
Considering it had the distinct consistency of bathtub grime.

What the hell is in this broth, I thought, thalassic brine?
Hers had better taste just as horrible and gross as mine.

When I enquired about the foreign ingredients, she became a mime.
What the fuck? Why am I with her wasting away during my prime?

The way things have gone so far makes me want to tie her up with twine
That’s probably too weak so a garden hose or an extension cord will be fine

My disturbing thoughts were interrupted by an outside wind chime
It made me settle down and realize that I’m the only one who’s sublime

If she were a grape not event a starving bird would pluck her from the vine
I don’t think anyone will disagree with these words I reluctantly opine

We Mosquito

drunk while at the computer all day
pissed off cause I can’t drive the mosquitoes away

these bastards are pugnacious fighters
only to be taken out by man and spiders

covered with thirteen itchy red bumps
they hit me with a sneak attack this month

dirty and filled with disease
they lie in stagnant water covered by
shade trees

carefree, recklessness, and irresponsibility
characteristics similar
to our shameful pity

possibly hell-bent on world dominance
considering all of the their breeding
prominence

stock up on spray, nets, and candles
you will need them
when the earth turns to shambles

missiles, guns, and grenades
will be useless as they march
in victory parades

amateur dentist

For the first time in my whole life,
I witnessed two rabbits chasing
each other around.

This all took place in the backyard
of my neighbor.
The one cattycorner from me.

They immediately stopped when Conner left my house
and headed toward his car.

They stood motionless
as if they had been sculpted by natural observers
who pander to the fuzzy dandelion consumers

It is during the springtime that the temptations pop
and swell amongst the soiled moistness.

An afternoon nap on a homeless woman’s cot
that Viaduct Vinny had pissed and shit
upon last April Fool’s Day had set
this evening’s agenda.

It was these remote memories that separated my simple
existence from that of the complicated thinking man.

I guess my love of baseball doesn’t count.

Who says there’s no tooth fairy?
We witnessed a mandible snap in half after
back talk occurred.
The scream that followed the de-toothing
made me vomit and cry.

Everyone around can now be found
swallowing physical and emotional
painkillers.
These handle better than the black-market goods.

This lack of anguish makes me shed tears
that simply cannot manufacture courage
or satisfaction within the boundaries
of boredom.

home of the free, home of the brave, home of the damned

America has become a nation of god crawlers
standing in row with studded dog collars
going to trial
while hating the self-help
drug style.

The recommendation proposal
has been passed to further punish those
who commit in the act of foolish sex
and those souls who are permitted to publish
all the lonesome, twisted ways that
one can be raped across the rugged landscape
of the fruited pain.

There is no music left
in this modern sewer world.
The people don’t design anything.
They just hang around and watch
improving television technology.

Nothing seems to be beautiful or ugly
during the thirty-second commercials that line
your sitcom fix.
Going back-and-forth
turning your head
becoming bald in the back with each new motion.
You take a look in the mirror and ask yourself,
“What the hell am I doing here?”

Good Night, America!

On a large military scale the masses are feeble, weak, tender, oppressed, misrepresentative, and picky as hell.
I can’t hear your bitching and moaning.
You don’t recognize my constitutional acknowledgements, but I’m particularly hype to a false precinct.
I’ll forever acknowledge my Post 9/11 World and addictions.

Bleeding eyes are completely etched out with micro-tear reactions molesting sentiments of the clotting-blue-vein bunch that explode frantically like Fuchsias falling to the dirt on a summer’s eve.

I heard that there’ll be a Monday-morning-brunch-hunch.
It could take care of the unknown.
It could make the present muffled.

Immense majorities’ voices drown in Bureaucratic desires that
slash the very freedom that blesses this atrocity.

My balls burn and I’m pissed!

Ah, shit. My cable bill is due.
Not enough channels to subdue this post-psychological avenue.
Children’s jubilance sprang and sprung daisies, orchids, and poison lilies.
I’m out of cigarettes and I’m out of my mind.

Good Night, America!

Flooding Thoughts

The pretty girls need no “normal” guy.
They need no contemporary Romeo.
No incomplete naysayer.

How about a lost giver?
Retro-mind-sweeper, has crept up, slaughtered,
and misread.

Mentally, I’m disturbed.
Socially, I’m inept.

It’s the slop that drudges out New Orleans’ menstrual cycle,
tomorrow.

Yesterday I left.
A few days ago came
and went.
I’ll see them later.

Their reflections allow me to vent.

desert syndrome

My good man, could ya spare some change,
or maybe a smoke, or a numbing pill
Perhaps the taco meat in your teeth
Anything to seal the deal

I’m not able to snatch that
dumpster inhabiting pizza crust
Mind influences gnawed off my fingers
Now it is the voice in my head that I cuss

Tried to ignore the riddles, belittling,
and influences of self mutilation
So what’s your storey, mister?
Healthy family, foreign car,
successful occupation

I almost had that once, but instead
got sent to the desert, and into battle
Unknowingly exposed to invisible toxins
Left like a baby with no rattle

I have no regrets
Served my nation proudly
and didn’t die
Still waiting to hear back from someone
at the V.A. about my situation

Oh well,
Semper Fi!

coulda shoulda woulda

Could’ve been a legend in my day
Perhaps a mysterious magician
disappearing year after year

Cock-eyed and crooked-eared
barely able to hear the screaming

A standing still passer-by
hollers out “What’s the time?”

Got no watch
Just a faint reminder
captured by a fading tan line

Two-thirty in the a.m.
could be overheard

The time that splits the skull
if one is unable to make
last call

Absolutely no worries or cares
For I have one last
bottle to share

Sulfuric acid-rain rushed down
on my promising future
and left me faceless in the past
while stupid and naked in the present

A little white lie (The American Dream)

Caterpillar rain check
Butterfly barcode
Reaching out for possible
future dues that may be owed

Taking all of the time
at the fast-food restaurant
Calculating all of the values
of everyday inbred consumptions

Ran off the point today
and hurt my artificial knee
Postponed my doctor visit for
self-meditation
through
the eyes of the bolder

Patiently wasting away with a 22oz., a .22 caliber
and classic rock popping the background speakers
A blonde nurse-type whacked the shit out of her head
leaning back to swim in her poncho

Career counselors never steered my love of photography
toward the tornado chaser’s résumé
Awkward award winning chili
and beer thankfully flowing
at the annual family freak show reunion

At last, someone brought out the all-you-can-eat
vice-cart equipped especially with platinum lined
sneeze security guard
Never mind, I’ll take the to-go sack
in the backseat

I’ve learned to love my counter-productive
relay race traits
They rounded third without the
ball even ever being thrown

Clickity-clacked my way down dugout steps
Past the sunflower shells drenched with saliva
and dusting cocoons that associates with
jock itch

and you thought that you’ve got problems

come now, my friend,
step away from your computer perversions
and your heavy breathing
phone sessions

the women that you speak to
(and the men who pretend to be women)
have dollars signs lining their voices

a dry back alley hand job for a twenty spot
satisfies instant gratification
but brings regret in the first minutes
of awakening

you’re an honest to god pervert, Cal,
and everyone knows it

we’ve watched you closely,
and from afar,
it is unanimous to everyone
that you are even more deviant
and debased than most

maybe this is why we love you

well, anyways,
we all chipped in and got you
this birthday hooker

have fun, pal,
you deserve it