Tuesday, April 28, 2009

we are time ticking out of sink 
ticking away
all our rounds spent on the same ---- ticking ---- numbers
the face without eyes
ruling--we must abide

closing in--our sin--
against sin--the clock keeps track
don't ever go back--its says--broken jointed 
a flood of envy at it's pronounced unbeginning
in the clocks stride
our ruined nation led by goodbyes at the sun
as it raises questions lighter than the questions that the clock raises
repetition spells life 
spells the rounded cell we divide around
the single celled clock 
stronger than heart and gray hair brittle bones
the clock a syndicate to linear movement 
hater of intervention 
enemy of the divine

Sunday, April 19, 2009

thinking about beats

the beat generation--relic from a hard boiled past
a past moving fast where the task of crossing the country came easy--
the veins of black paved road opened wide
made room for wild eyed drive--our - - - - destinations
destitute prophets counterfeit angles behind the wheel
the smell of sweat worn leather and gas leaking 
oil on the road mixed with slick ideas about the future
turmoil a moot point.
the gritty soles of people passing out abstract concepts 
scribbled feverishly on paper napkins
over coffee
eggs over easy
west coast dinners spelled 'meeting point'
take-offs and landings timothy leary a fly-by-god
distributing my spiritual awakening--
can't make it tonight--
hitch a ride with a strangers eye
unwind into future till we're looking back
at the marches--the sacrifice of martyrs--characters lost found now only in words
pressed tight on ten cent bookshelves--
kerouac was right
give me a candle in the night--the mad ones are for me
open up your mind with a   k e yed moment--
caution? oh . . . we tied it up to the old tree stump in the back yard
don't worry we left it plenty of water and grub--
now run
even if its raining and the sidewalks spell murder
run until your lungs feel thin and your legs spell taunt
and your faith costs less than a pack of cigarettes 
keep moving until your gut feels shot and your brain is speeding down a highway at 
85 mph 
like that time you did cocaine in the gas station bathroom 
with that girl you met in the bar next door
while dancing twirling crazy with all those cats 
all those jazz cats speaking smoke and blowing notes
keep running until you're flung forward into remembering that its all gone
every moment
every seed
every soldier and civilian since gone to death's deed
don't stop--not till you drop
to ask how much has really changed (in all these years gone by)   
except to say hitch hiking is now a dangerous game
and all the cats have now gone crazy 
not the kind of beatnik crazy 
more like danger danger crazy
rudimentary communion--hospitality--and handshakes are subject to suspicion
while free rides have all gone awry
whose blood runs in the veins of this country?--the people liberated and free
or a population full of the destitute and diseased
where are the angles that once drove like mad dark figures through the night
where are the cats who jumped souls loud like a moody ambush filtering into 
the skin to dance us into the night
what generation now tickets across the country knotting us together 
sewing a fabric of unseen history around sweating excited necks

Monday, April 13, 2009

old fire

in the space
     between silence and goodbye

i pressed you 
    against a wall
          parting your closure


thinking it haiku 
a violent surrender evoked shuddering change
miscommunication--pale thigh sweats
and talk of courage

our brave misdemeanors echo 
assured state of self--

the gravity of regret

we are wave open ended question and answer
born in a brothel of cool light made warm
by demand
our demand -- popular and unrelenting
sweet jazz voice vocal in her ear

and the spirit has got me
taken me away to swing sing of essence 
parting closure
warm breath against the wall

trailing off sense
silence and goodbye

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

you broke through airport security
        with a quick tongue and smooth smile

   to say something about the language of roses 
        fingertips and space--to say something of love

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Bail Out Package

we are here
we are here
we are here
and we are now

pick up  trouble and speak
of summits
to pass to keep
prevent hurt 
riot protest and die by belief
closure is a four letter word spelled
cause we are the 
blessed middle class and broken backs are a gift from above
though from the eternal watchers i doubt
more like penthouse clout 
letting the change trickle down 
pennies in our cup
jangle it around -- here the patriotic sound 
like heavens bells armed with the smell of fed up 
and you wanna see tough enough?

hear us speak
hear us speak
hear us speak
on a never ending seek turn around beat 
drop down ground
grinding out the sound of weekly days paydays seldom bring a raise
in spirit a rise in time
unequivocal resistance
meet me at the door
for word war
about too much forefathers with their skin hanging loose 
and their belt buckles already undone
mothers! reach out with your self entirely- palms up raised 
your fists ready to praise the first disrespect showing an ugly face
hit the dial and call 4357 a coded number
to speak to sisters
to live by sisters
in code
to die by a code of
probability and self response-ability 
to discern truth from fact
don't give a shit?!
motherfucker you are jacked--
tacked against a wall
tanned hide burned sides waiting for vultures
a miss guided culture---

too busy with picket line pro-life 
just to give a young woman even more strife--
this tide all bent over for capital praise buy more to save
when nuclear warheads can wipe us out in less than a day

so you tell me jack--
who you gonna trust to hold your hand?
when times get rough cut told to shut up

those with a lord above to guide this war
or those with sense given by a goddesses grace
that set a path of peace to taste?

you tell me -- jack--
coast to coast -- liven in a country going to the sac--
a hundred trillion billion gazillion dollars to bail us back--

is it a goal?
do we really want to go?
a countries shame wearing nice ties and a suit
a yacht with a set of crystals-- uneducated children with pistols
foreign policy--the berlin wall set down in texas
drug cartels with high-as-a-kite americans parading around 
shaking their fingers at the nasty gun wars--
where's the man in the phone booth?
collecting kick backs somewhere i suppose 

you ought to know jack--
not to go back