Tuesday, January 25, 2011

13 Myna Birds

I have 3 poems up at


Monday, January 24, 2011


Locked in this dictionarium,
words all around,
the sounds of Poe come
knocking down.

Locked in this dictionarium,
words all around,
the sounds of Kerouac come
beating down.

Locked in this dictionarium,
words all around,
the sounds of Papa come
shot-gunning down.

Locked in this dictionarium,
words all around,
the sounds of Gonzo come
exploding down.

Locked in the dictionarium
words all around…

Friday, January 21, 2011

Freudianesque Facial Hair

A subterranean mile long beard spoke
of an armchair TV dinner vision
as the banks of heartland rivers break free

Smiley face erections kill jobs daily
Bleeding, crying god left the craps scene
Asian nipple pump no longer in fad

Talk about the left, talk about the right
Talk about the lonely middle at night

Crash the after parties, one car a time
Survival training and home brew making
Vineyard vines can work as dead man gallows

Stained glass stereo windows rolled up quick
A black and white photo memory mist
A strangled inspiration prototype

Where is the rock n’ roll girl this morning
Where is the rock n’ roll girl soul crying

Wolf pack runs the gardens of Spanish life
Stampeding bulls and drunk integrity
Blind feet lead over the railroad track dreams

The one with the scariest monster wins
Altitude salsa bowls hold our secrets
Bulldozed skeletons created man’s sin

Saxophone love melodies rattle bones
Saxophone love melodies damage deep

Teachers with political licenses
Wanderers discussing alien paths
Celestial spirit heads part a red sea

Whole generations checking out, give up

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The site is a little light

Pulled some poems off the site for submission reasons, but will have them back up in a bit.

This isn’t a Poem that will Appear in the New Yorker

Like a tick on a branch waiting
for deer at a salt lick,
your parasitic kiss causes an
inflammatory disorder.

A rash followed by headaches.

Heart and nerve dysfunction spread.
I left it untreated and it bred.

My blood flows with Lyme disease.

Like a werewolf on the hunt
you prowl for an easy victim.
The transformation from innocence
to blood thirst happens when

Luna feels complete.

I was numbed by your tender gaze,
completely unaware of your wicked ways.

My blood howls at the moon.

Like a vampire with no reflection or soul,
you seduce the erotically paralyzed.
Days are dark when the sun is bright,
but the hunger will become too much.

Feeding on blood is best through the neck.

The spot that tickles when touched by lips.
The spot where decapitation works best.

My blood has been poisoned by fangs.

Like a spider spinning a web,
you quickly wrapped me up.
Spiraling under a light in an alley,
the venom feels like purgatory.

Claustrophobia soon takes hold in a cocoon.

The confinement of a thousand blankets
leaves your victims crippled and cold.

My blood has solidified.

Like the devil telling it like it is,
you got me to sell my soul.
Credit maxed out, left a pile of debt.
Nothing left to show, nothing left to do.

Mephistopheles materializes once again.

Bought and sold on a human stock market,
but the closing bell never rings.

My blood is no longer my own.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Thought Control

Mindless intellectual thought processes

Intelligently placed retard checkmate

Guilty innocence found in the lost box

Legally drunk while
standing in the passing lane

There is too much wait
Drop the anchor so that

we may leave

Monday, January 17, 2011

Knock it off

“You can’t just go around
making stuff up about other people,” Clem said.

Clem’s Hawaiian shirt flapped as if shutters where
left to be tortured by hurricane thrusts.

The wind blew though the grass like
tourists fleeing from bulls.

I stood there and listened to Clem speak
to a man who was dressed like Robert Mitchum
in The Night of the Hunter.

The man, a preacher-type-way-of-dress,
swayed between Clem’s words and presence.
He kept eye contact with Clem the whole time,

blinking only twice.

I stood there like an orphan on Christmas day
just waiting for something.

Not even the sounds of outside life could be heard.

“I don’t what you were thinking, but you better
knock it off,” Clem said.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Oh, the Consumption

Many a turkey’s wishbone snapped
the wrong way, an illegal U-turn.
.008 and under is relatively safe.

Some are now afraid to drink Grandpa’s punch.

Wake up early, (it’s Black Friday)
standing in line while others stay in bed.
Get thi$ and that really cheap.

Young’uns see a lot of Santas fighting for deals.

Pearl Harbor Day marked on the calendar,
the flag to fly at half-mast across the nation.
One day of exploitative remembrance is sad.

Too many false patriots polluting the landscape.

Sewer grates and catalytic converters
are pilfered, a part-time gig.
$8-12 a pound for scrap iron.

Most Nativity scenes are now Chinese plastic.