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

constant

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

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

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

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

                   

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

n

e

v

a

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

shun--

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

credence 

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 

no-

you ought to know jack--

not to go back

loose thought about conservative people

strung out connection

to write of glory

 or mystery

the conflict

vengeance

and reprieve 

the sound of sleep

mercy and abstract law

again a man with a gun

opinions falter in grace's face 

her satiated fate mottled by 

s i n

current electric steals my strings

to play reaching hands

palms and story--the account of one woman 

on one corner

in a city

somewhere

with air and soot in her lungs

optical hypocrisy--illusion democracy

affect sound

effect and get feet moving walking stomping and turning the ground

into protest

civil right

human right

a glorious stampede of reason--logic--education intelligentsia 

loose tongues mark the direction

where crows fly

migrate difference

make it real

symbol and verse--closed path retreat backspace delete

appropriate words 

dig into the earth

close your fist around it--raise it high

feel the cinema of our own drama

insipid insight

our radioed heads

uptight belief 

vehement conviction

drop this  s i n  by the way side

nothing to die by

except ones sound (for good 

stilted legs tread careful

extend hands to lift not to rift

and become impact

ill defined

complex

an altered arrangement of syntax

glacial inside --- the wealth of childhood

peeking so forgotten above adult waters
where are we now? without remembrance—

are we holy
or are we the dredges of life on this round bulging planet—

below the surface
small self and personal history linger
waiting for connection

retreat back into young self
where image was really a welding hat and stick—
a night in shinning armor holding sword high

where gravel met sand and became
a mountain meeting the desert—the woods a broad jungle
with leafy muddy moist adventures—the kind where all the hollywood movies rear
their ugly heads
where a dog barking chases you through deep forest and across open fields
now become a pack of wild wolves

remember the bare patch of earth surrounded by green cut grass
and hay bales breaking the rising sun—

look earnest
look deep

for memory treasure—let it flow like the willows and smoke fires
try hard to remember the scent of aftershave and flannel
shinny buttons and buckle
and don’t forget the games smeared in ketchup and kid dirt

remember your first death
and how quiet the snow blanketed her arrival
as summer ushered in peaches—soft mounds and flesh