pleasantly paranoid

everyone's after me, I'm
watched and hunted
they're all out to get me
it's good to be wanted

I've half a mind

I've half a mind to find
because the other half's bereft
without its wan, artistic side
or is it math? Which lobe is left?
it's like some weird two-sided cheese:
cleanly sliced, two equal parts -
one of them commands the problem-solve,
the other dabbles arts,
I've never known which-brained I am.
But now, you've made both brain-halves
mixed: my creative side's equations
prove my problem-side's all fixed

dry ice sculpture

built like a castle
of angles and slopes
with windows, look into
see miniature souls
that represent hopes
you and me need to see
with chainsaw and ice pick
we sculpted a dream

and when the sun comes over it
begins to dissolve
and when the sun thaws the frozen air
it can't take the heat
but it can't melt at all
when the sun comes over it
turns into low flying cloud
and we can't shed a tear
it was meant to be air
it can't stand to melt
it just isn't allowed

so it breathes out its surface
exhaling itself
diminishing walls and supports and all else
it withers and sighs
as it lists to one side
and we know it will crack
soon, and topple to lie
in blue-white slabs and chunks
cracked and splintered
in shock, as its faltering breath
rises up -

"...get another block."

you say

"let's do another one!"

Okay!

beached

No point in the sunrise out here
back home if I was up that early
for some reason
no reason
can't sleep?
not tired!
already slept forever

but awake, up and dressed
for nothing
I could love to step out on
the cool concrete, skip
with a near-silence in my light
step into the darkness
with grass on either side
all the way down one long dotted line
of several streets all the way
to the beach.

At night, the beach
don't need no stinkeen badges
no shirt no shoes, the sand
- wet with dew? Damp, anyhow.
It could just be the same mist and spray
that mists you
as you walk, slow, deep
- bare feet sink, sides of heels scraped
by sudden shell fragments
the quiet and fragmentary shrapnel
of an imaginary being that once slept
its entire life, in a wet salt cocoon
that it wove from mucus and pearl
until its life fell away from the shell

and night came slowly off

as the surf kept surfing in
on itself

as if to say

as if to say
I love you dear
dear much! My love
for you is total heart
with
major head involvement

I can't help you make sense
cause you do. But it is me who
makes sense of how much you!

For me, my feeling for you is
right in the mouth! Or like tickle nose,
love is mine. In the eyes and eyesight
but also very in the pants and keep it
there!

it will keep very fresh
til' later
"hi!"

faster disaster

and nothing you can say
makes it go any better
and whatever you expected
falls to one side or the other
of disaster
as you skirt the edge
you skirt the edge
to get there that much faster
you're flirting with
you want to kiss
disaster on the lips
and this is everything,
pretty much
that you'd predict
when cutting up
you left them left and right
in stitches, now they're healing up
cuts with soothing creams, strings
clipped and pulled, touching
shiny pink seams
as you skirt the edge
you skirt the edge
to get to what you were after
you're flirting with
you want to kiss
disaster on the lips
and plaster hardened casts
on tender limbs
for autographs
of pseudonyms

terms and conditions

if this,
then that
and in the event
your agreement
(click here)
demonstrates your intent
to abide by each and every all.
Every stricture and clause
is severable

It's no point even wondering.

You will break your mind wide
trying to find motives for these people
who hide in the nooks and corners of life
waiting to latch on to passersby
and never let go
and drain them dry
they are wired that way
and they don't know why

you didn't break my heart

you didn't break my heart
you dropped it, sure
threw it down maybe but
it's still sound and whole.
It bounced, in fact.

Kentucky Fried Chicken!

Kentucky Fried Chicken!
It's that original recipe for me!
Made juicy crisp, with the skin I like to bite
with my teeth, and strip that hot slick white flesh
from the underlying lattice of bones, with
my suckling lips
and mouth

HOO!

I like to gnaw and chaw that good dark-meat
and savor and slurp that white meat too
so tender and firm, that luscious flesh
I don't like to see a vein, though
very dark red, just kind of there
flaccid, dead
like a thin string,
a crooked, broken finger
accusing
trailing out amid the tendons and juices
I don't like that
that puts the point a little too close to home
of what exactly happened here.

if I were a vegetarian

I guess,

some of the sides

would still be ok

chickens shouldn't have veins, though

it's gross.

A Sudden Terror of Self-Knowledge

I got scared by a sudden fright
'til I beat it back with both hands,
gasping,
"knock it off! knock it off!"
shook my head in all directions
away from it, eyes shut closed

then whatever was struggling
was gone
and in its place:
a book.

But I dared not open it

knowing full well what message I would find
blazoned in gold
upon the first white page:
"You're poems suck, dude."

and hai fuckin' ku to you too

cut syllables up
into raw-word diced rice rolls
well hai fuckin' ku

Sometimes, You Got to, You Got to, Aww yeah: Sexy Love Jam Poetry

ass slap
aww yeah,
- right like that
ooo.

Sometimes I think
you like it when I "talk dirty"
or I should say you might like it
but I keep forgetting to ask
whether you do or you don't
and see, to me, right now
is not the opportune time for me to be asking
because
Aw, ow, yeah baby
we're right in the middle of something
here
So I will refrain from all the dirty talk
that I so secretly suspect you might love,
but I'll try to put it - hey, hey baby! Look

in my eyes
yeah

yeah, I'll put it in my eyes, do you see all that
filthy talk?
all that dirty dirty talk
that goes without saying?
for the time being?
now that's hot!

and though you seem a bit confused
by my intense stare connection, perhaps, but
I can tell you -
yeh,
you probably like it. Or
would like it. Probably.

I have to remember
to ask you this
at some more neutral time
to sound you out, your opinion on the matter.
Because,
hey
come on
now's not time to be asking

delicate questions

an earlier version of me has come back

an earlier version of me has come back
even though I had had him destroyed
so I dug out the button and pressed it again:
kabam again! Destroyed. Obliterated.
That will teach you to mess with me
early version of me

you better tell me

if it all derails
if the love on the way to your heart
caught the wrong vein back
to your brain and got
second-thought

well you better tell me baby, well
you better tell me then
before you even think again
you better tell me

and if it all falls through
if the blueprint we drew up so fine
left big gaps underneath
the firm foundation we both see
and slip, your love falls crash
and leaves a love-shaped hole
behind

well you better tell me baby, well
you better tell me then
before you even pull the drawing
board back out to draw again,
you better tell me

and if it's just a dream
and you wake up to pull your journal out
to write it down so clear and fresh
the dream-dew clinging still
upon your dream-kissed lips, before
it hits:
it was not real

well,

you better tell me, baby
yes, you better tell me right straight then
before you, frantic, try to dive
back in to dream it back again
you better tell me

and if it all seems oh so true
what you tell me,
what you hear, too
and if your heart rings like a gong
that keeps resounding on
and on, for days and weeks,
foretelling years
your first glimpse of forever clears
and there you see: me - us - for good
if that's the case,

well
you don't have to tell me, then
I think that
I think,
that
I can just assume

pretty much assume

the past and future size

the Past and the Future size each other up
across the no-man's land of the present.
Each secure in its position: the Past, sprawled
lounging on its laurels, scoffing "look
at my vast accomplishments, son! What have you
done?" The Future, half-turned to go, retorts:
"You're history, pops. It's time to move on."

Our sweet love

Our sweet love
is the sugar that goes
into the coffee cup of life.
Except you don't drink coffee.
And I don't take sugar.
But nonetheless.
The same basic point applies.

I Wouldn't Dignify

So I just tried to write a poem
and it sucked, sucked, sucked.
So instead I'm writing this -
which is not a poem at all.
But it could be! If I rescued it
by chucking in a rhyme. Just one lil' rhyme!
at the end of the very last line!

I'm not going to give it the satisfaction.

The End.

Harder to Say Than You'd Think

And there were times without counting
when you were there something,
and something was something with you
Yet who could have ever discovered or guessed
what the something and something was [ something that rhymes with 'you' ]
I hope that at least, when you think of me, please
something something and something for real.
But at least after this, how I've laid it all out
you must know something of how I feel.

And if not?

And if not

if it doesn't persuade you
if you're ready, set and settled
on the course that you've set out for yourself
then go.
I wouldn't want to kiss you goodbye
but if I never get to kiss you again
then I will.
And if it does me no good
to say again
to you
the things that I've already said so beautifully
rehearsing them
then maybe I shouldn't try.
But I will.
I will try everything, try
everything.
And
everything will work, because

it has to

Poor Shove is so lonely, waiting for Push to come

Poor Shove is so lonely,
waiting for Push to come
Poor Shove is so lonely,
waiting for Push to come
but Push pushes on
pushed into the night
with never a look behind

Push pushes on,
with only one thought
in the back of his mind:
I will show Shove
how far I can push
and I don't need her,
no I don't need her
I can push on without her
Shove
I can push on without her
Shove

Shove waits waitingly
Push never comes
no Push never comes
to Shove no more
how far will he go
how long will she wait
until Shove moves on
until Shove moves on

and Push pushes on,
with only one thought
in the back of his mind:
I will show Shove
how far I can push
and I don't need her,
no I don't need her
I can push on without her
Shove
I can push on without her
Shove

when push to shove Pt.2

the impact
doesn't make a sound
when push to shove
comes tumbling down
and each points fingers
wild around
but no impartial eye
is found
their impact
doesn't make a sound

catch can't

as you let go for once
I am loft in the air
by the force of what holds
sudden nothing, not there

and I gather me in
one sick stomach-knot ball
and I fly
and I hit
and I bounce
and I roll

pointedly

she
pointedly
spoke
with cards between
and flip flip flip
rode off
unseen

I've been struck infinite times in the same place

never felt like this before
it's different what you done
it's different like a hockey stick
to a magic wand
it's different like Mt. Everest
to a towering cumulonimbus cloud
yeah both are big
and both rise up
but only one sends lightning down
sent down my spine, just fried my heart
rewired my nerves and made them start
in ways that could have killed before
but now they work like magic, or
like science, yours - I'm brought to life
anew in love, and in my image
walks a man who never lived,
a New Man wrought
by what electromagnetic alchemical transfiguration
I know not.
I know not the cause, I only know
where the mystery lives
in you, in your galvanic
kiss

I

groan, and
grow.

Used Without Permission

I violate
your copyright
infringe your mark of trade
your reputation is abused
by these cheap moves I've made
I've ripped and burned your great good faith
and pirated your soul
your limpid eyes
I've plagiarized
your love, I've stolen whole
each little bit
I counterfeit
makes my you more
my own.
And still you walk
serenely on
as if you've never known - - - !

life is an oncoming train

life is an oncoming train
and that cowcatcher means business
even though it's going slow now
it's picking up speed
you might even jump aboard
if your timing is neat
but the problem is - this train
is headed back that way
and you've been walking forward
for so long
along these tracks
well it's not as if you're going
some particular place
but you can't be going back
no
you ain't going back

raunchy blues tune #2

"Got It Out Of Me"

sometimes it helps to talk
she says
but it helps her to hear
more than it helps you to tell

I don't think it helps me at all
I already know all about it
from when I got it out of me
from when I got it out of me

and she still wants to hear
says you can't bottle up
well pop the cork then darling
and bottoms up!

There's nothing I need to figure out
I already know all about it
from when I got it out of me
from when I got it out of me

There's nothing I need to figure out, and
there's nothing I need to figure it out
but I'll tell you all about it, darlin'
'cause it helps you to hear
so bring your ear

and tip your glass,
all empty, then?
and I will fill you up again

nothing here that needs figuring out
and you know that, you know that now
from when you got it out of me
from when you got it out
of me

hurricane yes

they say there were witches
in eldritch times
whose words packed power
to blast and bind
but those words are now lost
so they say, long ago
they have not heard

your hurricane "yes"
and earthquake "no"

carbon slip

the carbon slip
of years past due
in triplicate
press hard, you're
through

she's changing her story

she's changing her story
one word at a time
not so's you notice
but quite by design
each time you check up
it's a little bit strange
and a little bit better
a little bit changed

but you can't quite
you can't quite
you can't
put your finger on it,
man
put your finger on it, though
she ties loose ends: a perfect bow

each day some false hope proves more true

the mystery of a hot july afternoon
in the middle of august

I'm a little tired of worries
so much greater than cares

and gaining sudden wisdom in
sudden, painful shares

I want incremental wisdom
in measures, in grains

that come in piling up from living,
day to day gains

knowing right, feeling right
in our bones, in our eyes

perhaps, come the autumn
we'll have grown more wise

The Misery of Getting What You Want

the misery of what you really want
the thing you know
will make your life complete
the thing you know
will make your problems
small
and when you get it:
permanent defeat
when you were holding on
to win it all
when you were holding on
so grim and sure
and when you get the thing
- just what you want!
and nothing's changed,
you're what you were before.
The misery of getting what you want
I never had to go through that
whew

thank God

imagine

how horrible.

don't misunderstand

darling, please
you must agree
to never misunderstand me

now don't misunderstand me now
cause I don't mean you have
to learn
to read my mind
no I don't mean that
I don't mean

Now, there you go again
you misunderstood me
and didn't I just tell you, "never
do that!"

Well, hell.

How clear did I have to make myself

on this

the master crafstsman

your cabinet needs work
my big hard tool
is just right for the job
it fits into
and snick! sticks snug
I work it 'round
pull loose
push tight
slip bang
whoops!
ow

the phantom lands

we're passing into phantom lands
your hand in mine, can't touch
our palms pass through, each holds
the other's shape
so faithfully
so much
in love
will fade?
as light streams through
your soul to mine
I'm tinted blue
you smile a tear
your face to me
you turn and see
and see and see
right through
my skin and hair
stained glass
fades into clear
and melts to past

the last of the breakfast

for dinner I'm having the rest of the breakfast
it's just as delicious as everyone said it was
- couldn't remember; Memory was bleared -
they said I put three plates away while they cheered,
said I puked
between each of them, then dug back in, to slaps
on the back, I collapsed in the kitchen, to nap
for an hour or ten,
then awoke
to a ravenous hunger
and many a poke in the ribs, as they steered me
quite kindly to table: a large juice and gin
and a big café bueno,
a plate piled high
with the last of the breakfast.

it's just as delicious
as everyone said it was

the weather's never where you want it to be

the thin rain falls thick,
and turns the clouds above to air
but that will take
forever, dear
by that time they'll be
over there
and dried of rain
way over you
where once-green plains
lie sun-poached, bleached and yellowed out
why does the rain you need soak me?
why do I get your shower clouds?
I'm starving for my sun again
while your poor grasses, flowers wilt
there's no one ordering this march
of soft gray clowns, on lightning stilts
who scatter thick confetti rain
their greasepaint frowns turned down,
their pained and slow and gray procession,
sure and solemn,
- but with the sun on its back!
Way, way up where I can't see it.
Obscured by a vertical mile of gray.

I'd pay to see any inch of sky
to glimpse forbidden blue between forbidding gray
to open up a crack, and catch a ray
I'd catch it on my finger
hold it fast and light,
then pull it taught and use it as a wedge
a lever, an inclined plane,
a simple machine to pry apart
the widening crack,
and dry my skin

I'd be drenched in
the sun I've missed

and you
on the other side of that huge mountain's roll
the bleached side, brown
the dry county
you would love a cleansing soak
to wipe the streaks of dust from your sky
your air, your lungs
and look around
and breathe and see
the world refreshed
boy, does the world ever need it

But,
I get your rain.
While you hog my sun.

The weather's never where you want it to be.

i'd like to get

i'd like to get
your frosting
in my beard,
cupcake.

the enunciatrix

she says how you shape your mouth
and what your lips do
and where you put your tongue
and how the air moves through
is what makes how you sound
make what you mean ring true
so put some thought
into your mouth
and roll it round
and spit it out

Queen Evil Sara and Dave Who Got Weird

Queen evil Sara demanded my chair,
and her poor boyfriend seemed like a nice enough guy
and Dave who got weird kept the blinds shuttered tight
as his potting soil sat in its closeted light,
not growing.

and our gay little group
sat there awkwardly
dumb
making suggestions
that would not be panned out

I stood up with a bow

and the dumb monster truck pulled up over the curb

and all I could do was

get in

and say "wow"

walking home from pool

Nobody's ever seen me drunk. It's
not how I want to be seen, even once
I walk home from pool. I don't fool around.
I just had my first cigarette in six months.
I stagger and sway, I'm alone walking home -
it's a couple of blocks, I play into it. So?
But the guys at the hall, they know I'm on
the case, on the ball, they don't fret,
(though we all play guitar)
But I look at the wall, as I walk past the wall,
and it's solid and firm so I give it a punch.
And it feels good to me. As the stop sign comes up,
I stop just for kicks. I'm sober as fuck. Nobody's ever
seen me drunk, and I've asked. I said,
"yeah, you have," but so what - it's a joke.
And it's all in good fun, and I'm all in good fun.
And I get home and she's like "do you smell like smoke?"

she puts it all together

There's nothing I've said
to support what she knows
it's between, in the lines
where she's planted her rows
and I've flatly denied
said a hundred times, no
there's no crop there to grow
but she reaps what she sows.

She interprets rebuke
to mean time isn't right
interprets contempt
to mean playing along
interprets a shout
to mean feeling is strong
but it isn't the time
that's been wrong.

What can I do or say?
when her facts are all made
of what I never did,
never said, no display
no attempt on my part
can gainsay what she's built
of what she says I meant.

She's got cases of guilt
she's made up every fact
to fit snap to her case
and there isn't a crack
to let light on the face
of the sad picture puzzle
she's made of her mind
and my heart - she accuses
- but that wasn't mine.

I suppose she'll wake up
someday years from now, bolt
upright, suddenly: light goes on
"oh my God, oh - I sure treated
that guy like a real psycho bitch!
To invent all these feelings for
him, and then pitch righteous fits
of revenge, when he only said: 'No!'"
I suppose she'll wake up someday
years from now, though

- no.
Actually,
I don't suppose so.

it's the object

the love that I have for you is like
the love that other people have for other people
except it's better
'cause it's for you

Reading A New Love's Old Poems

And years ago, you wrote a poem

on solitude

I wish that I knew you then, just then in that moment!

To intrude

well shot

Well shoot. From a gun,
from a barrel into the sun
my body is a lead slug twisting,
trying to screw into the sky -
but momentum is spent.
I want to go where it went,
but instead I fall and fail
and tumble, dented and scored
by the tunnel I passed through
only once, never more
and the distance grows so close
and clear
and speed takes on
new meaning, dear
as grounds rush up
and I rush down,
I blink

you'll never find me now