Thursday, 20 November 2014

Bitches 'N' Ice Cream

I've been a cock/and icy cold devil
with a piece of sugar coat
and a slim foxtrot
jitterbug your freestyle
lifestyle gravity reign
and the grand feather
in a light of it all
as weather fucks ground
and cracks open skull/spies
which way it blow
inside the deep burn
in a crashly sick fee-sable rage snack
take up the shack, on a fallen ash
in snow mountain and aged/wordsmiths
the grey lining of cracked out teeth/yawnin'
far away in a burrow
deep me beneath it
heavenly blindness
blinded by your kindness
hate you so much
I can hardly stand
wobble wobble mother fucker
fine lines, between truths & dares
between loves & hatreds
sometimes it melds
sometimes I can't tell up from
the down spiral with my favorite rose butt Robin
wonder where she flew
hell and back
heels to turn it all on focal/sack it
garnish me, you sweet cucumber
garnish me, with your parsley simpleton
garnish me, with your cherry
the radish, gettin' reddish
fill it gather through me
garnish my crimes
and print it out, me seen it
the forgetful Elephant
should be fucking ashamed

the little ones, in their deaf-vision caring
the little ones, with their burnt out cigar holder
the little ones, in a sail boat for Kentucky
the little ones, in their big fat sports caddy
the little ones, with their follow-through miraculous daddy
the fellow Irish, all think they are lucky
the shallow gallows
swing my astronaut hangin'
the followers
all pit me in to the rainin'

I am a pig
I am a killer whale
I am a cigarette smokin'
I am an eyeball crackin'
I am a hermaphrodites passion
I am a goose
I am a pyramid, buried Egypt
I am a flute whistle, telephone
I am a hazmat suit, and a bio sign
I am a President
a servant
I am Adam & Eve
I am the serpent
I am a cloak in dagger
I am a repo-man
I am a sign post on stage
Mick Jagger
I am a a full blown cage
I am pointless
I am the follow back
and a rhinoceros
I am the peaceful attack
I am a song
I am a liver dying
I am a Kong
I am the kite, up flying
I am a Grey
I am a supernova
I am a buck and cow, okay
I am the birth, down 10th Street
a lighter in the fluid
I am the bastard, hold applause
low in the seat
I am further than behind
but never really past being cool
I am an hour, a watt, loon and arrow
never too kind
I'm your april fool

Monday, 17 November 2014

Retired Bullets

I wonder if it was meticulous
bruised and grained
I wonder if it's ridiculous
to rejoice in vomit
from the bullets dodged
I wonder if it was contagious
and leathery
I wonder if it was sweaty and burning
in the key-hole yearning
if it was conspicuous
the way I eyed
when we'd go down and ride
there's nowhere left
left to hide
there's no one left
left to side with
the pocket book expired
and my Grandfather retired
trying to scrape at broken tack-books
and savings
finding all the liars
we're guns for hire
and we all meet the line.

I wonder if it was insane
the first few wonders
I wander in the rain
the crackle and the thunder
I wonder what's your name?
A certain type of courage
to have a nose beak
without much in slurring
when your face is putty melted
and where you hurried
I wonder if it was lame
to have a part with Elvis
and the feelings just the same
it's lost and ever fleeting
the Pope tries to set up a meeting
but I'm not
not returning calls
and I'm not
not taking falls
so the supper folks are eating
and they can't find the seat is
the bulk all brings it low
it's in another show
and we all keep in line

Saturday, 15 November 2014

Exposè on Human Suffering: My Straight Edged Summer in `52

I'd wake, quake in boot, spit on my floor, and open window to let in/shoot down. Zip it up, and cross on out/turn down Counter-Clock Movement. The subsidiaries and the rallies in Dark Pointe, USA.

Part I:

Welcome to Your Falling


Hank gears good, in the falter he'd see. Never knew how a man could turn a box into a fuck off, but he'd figure how'd it float. With cast iron, choppy water, and the pillow master in his noose. Fried the First Mate to serve his crew, and raise Flagg. Hell, we'd break a few balls, if only to hear the sweet harmony we couldn't resist.

"You goin' down, the West?"
"I can't, can't. Ask barber, he cuts my follicles."
"The First Mate?"
"Dead. or Dying."
"Fuck. Turn this ship around!"

We did, we did. To smog land, through the rocks, and the creeks. Ran out of wind, the men all rage. Wan out of paddles, the men couldn't swim. Cuttin' em down to size, limb from limb. We'd use the arms and legs to make our way back, the shore of our own blood. Drip down the chin, salty. A mast through the chest, and our Captain was buried... He'd asked

"Please, bury me deep, and good. All the sound is draining from my head, into these fucking floor boards. The cunts. But make me a map, for my remains. Weary sailors, to try top us, and make it back, away from their families... Please."

It ain't no sinkin, but I listened. If only for a joke or two.

The lads all shrunken head, and made them suppers of our native womens, and their bearded brothers. Sat, clapped hands, seal fuckers, and the hat dropped. We booked it to the other side.

Maybe the coast would bring some sense of, some sense. but we lost more in lost nights, and there-fore, lost dreams, than we ever did in the waking life of broken-down-tear-ridden-elegance. You trod so low, and I hate you for it.

The waves, what in the actual fuck?


Part II:

Snowy Banks

 

Go fuck yourself in your designer fantasy
Go fuck yourself in the outback, and the deranged feline
follow it in a round about way of saying
go fuck yourself and your sisters dog
the lines all melt
and form together, making the split
all too familiar
when the gas pumps up the rights to your life sold on newspaper ad
and rocket out to Norway, in ship box
the feral dogs all yip and snip with the red pulled under
and the brain matter leek out ears
shallow pools, something cool
Kings & Queens rarely rule
Hearts & Diamonds can't be seen nor heard
our dusk is a musty pit
and our skies caught fire when the tank burst
of our rescue plane/home
volcanic gravities
the gun load out as Navy Blues come home
suburbia never been so plain
ask to which, you lightly explain
the reality in your gaze, and tear drop/alcohol mixture
the world you saved, was only built on pain
don't know the year and we heave the bastard sunk
shifty
Keller
hour lickin'
raisin, bent bat turn round
feather cap Sally
the fucked giraffe, a monster truck rally
kick it/mix it
habitual sphere
now/never, the yes to, er, days
and the way back to Morrow
the grass breathe up nostril to God
the straw in the field
the pack mule
the furnished tate
the barista, minutes late
walking fine lines
in between love and hate
the dollar averages similar
not such a hiking rate
but the blur and the berg
the hurrow and Mike Burrow
the only once and twice
third times mice

In our soft silence
we can't really
in our soft compliance
I guess we'd agree
it's rather silly

I made an awakening, out of Eternity Highways
they left me cold, but it's all the same to you
all the same to me.


Friday, 14 November 2014

Some Thoughts, Regarding the Way Home

The depressing hoodlums
camped out back
"we're closed"
been so,
for some time
Now, if you see a pool
is the pool a sea?
could it be a part from me?
would the lamp hit me up
and spin sporadically
in the coolly sarcastically wisps of breadth
as she heaves in/'Nother bout/smoke billow/of breath
and turn it down like the rest
in the hover brother
and his space
O' Scientific Mother,
lift it rotary
tell me phone
the cream in my cone
the grave digger
skull dug
heavy dancers cuttin' rug
sittin' while, the humbugs jest and smile
the Pittsburgh Senate
the polka dress
the pay rent bill
and grenade life
cook me a beat night gown
say the mean thing
in your slim King

"Fella, Fella,
ain't me, knockin' over
the forwarding of my message thru your Secretariat
u know the fill
I can in it, if you need it
I can bend it, and send it
if you lent it to my lonesome brit
please, look me in mire
to fill up doggone mine-drome
the Felt Coat, is all oily
like your hair-line, receding
helter top, and his mission
follow through, your Dream Land admissions
ticket up thru roller kite side
it all felt all perfect
I'm believing in lies"

Your plan fell on through, when you said it was nuts
not blots, that fill your weaver, to cup
the hell is my ruin, when the burst hip
correlates the heart
as we take med and med to the time we seein' it
all so clear
crystal sky to red
on sandy grain, the roof is stacked
in a little card, as that caddy car
by my Father, we sworn
toes are curly, and my shoe
down it, spark it, quietly lit
my stick, that fit between shallow teeth
and lip
bloodied and raggen
you couldn't help to ask
"who's Carl Sagan?"
when it was all so fucking fast
that your Gods were made Pagan
and our lambs fill slime
and the tubs all erode
slipping and sliding
on muddied roads, that our horses all close
with gallop and print
the press to the paper
and we never got the hint
that our birth was a leap year
and our fault was invented
as a follower of the path
was one too many kindred
a faster tied laugh
in a helium balloon
setting fire to the raft
that would guide by the Moon
to the shore of a world
all sunken in tune
the whirl pool woulda killed
had we never made much room
but we kicked Henry and Sally
and eat em by shark
paddle like dogs
and turn it to blood
let us part said sea
and cross without device
on foot we find
why we blister so easily
it was gracefully inclined
for our hands were once lazy
but now made of sharp baritone
and plank for pleasure
the bastards broke up, in fisticuffs slide
nowhere left, for them to hide
we booked it south, and opened our land
the tides all settled, with Treasures of Sand

Wednesday, 12 November 2014

Love Crimes & Hate Songs

In these full flipped/after sun whiskers
as the pails been empty, and the feathers melt
I'll always be the first to use that trash
and my cigarettes think I'm French
but I can't really feel the rash, as it all pass
and by
as the clippings hit the ground
and I sweep the broom, making some room
taking it out and throwing it/to curb
lets not forget
the perfection is lost
no good way to say goodbye
so lets maybe leave it at that
as we all take different kinds of medicines
for our palpitations
and the UN Relations
to walkie to the talkie
and the little sock monkey
and we talked once again
oh, I didn't mean to happen
but I came along on the door
I've fallen to the floor, a few times
and the lights all fade
so

And I can't gather that thought
to nail it to the fucking floor fast enough/fore it slipped the fingers
and it killed the mind, the flowers you bring her
are not at all kind
as the wilt of the flout and her hair cut short
as the eye and the brow
all take you down
to the/for pity-sake
and the fat guillotine snake/take me to the bow
and tell it to me/now/not-later/now
and cut ties, fast, before he dies
and the Father and Mother speak/in blotted out tongues
of nursery rhymes
that all blah blah
and your forehead is blah blah
and the glutton and her cat blah blah blaaah
but you and your door nail husband all coyly smile
as the waitress is easy, and doesn't take more than awhile
as the car flies past my buck brain and your hat
the paper is in the cupboard, in the file
you glow in radiant as the cat sticks it to ya
with finger extended/claw
cuts up your jaw
as it bash against the Con Mans crete
and the bashed blood spat/spew through
nose flows
the pool in the back, needs inner tubes
and the rubber ducks all the lubes
the fancy hair nail is in my mustard hat
it fucks the North
in a barrel of coffee beans/star dusts all sprinkle my mind
and make me sneeze like a man named jeeves
as he caught up on Telly
and Telly caught him
we're all behind bars
like I said, it ain't no way
no way
to fill the news.

Thursday, 6 November 2014

Goodbye Sailboat

To let anything go, wings on the flower
and all the cold beats
that knock your door, at every single hour
can't be thought, or neat
in a simple can of your existence
if it's the last cigarette, the very last
the best experience in your life, had better abound
and coincide
to bring it all down, in pours of the dull drains
that are to become every day from now
till forever.

Notches on the branch
and beneath a brew from the South of France
to allot your new partner, the room to dance
as he spirals and fights the rage
and plays guessing games about your age
you left it to the Hands of Chance
and I turned the other page.

To put it proper, we always smash bottles
and curve the Bow, unto set star
as the cave dwellers dwell
and the ships holes all patch up
and we set out to the undiscovered Coast of Hell
and the termites all sell, while the winds ring true
they on the balcony, from me to you
"How's the soup? Does it chunk up broth, and time?
Does it fuck over reason and rhyme?
In your short cut jeans and the fever falling on you
as the hexagon masterminds and good old Herbert
stoop so low, as to see rain in slow mo."

I've known so many sailboats
at so many intersections
so many lived without direction
and couldn't handle human interactions
but that's only natural, in inner turmoil
and the mounds that build
as you sink your head to the soil
and see if galloping footprints fill your ear.
The final clock's ticking
and it's the End
it's always edge of Earth, shit, and you know it
as the one line stretches and stretches
to divide light and dark
into Eternity Highway
the brush palette is stark
as we remind of what brought us here, before
it wasn't any common goal
just similar shoes
and walking speeds
and a little bit of company.

To have the table set of ash
and the coffee boil over
it couldn't really be anything, certainly not a lover

Did you happen by the store? It's closed, it's been that way for a little while, since last Summer, as the Fall started in, and we couldn't find an owner. My nephew always brings it up, at the meetings. He always asks for cookies and lollipops. Milk n dunk. But his mother left here, all the way back. She'd suffered a heart attack, once too many, and decided to keep things simple as could be. Maybe, well, maybe we found a moon rock. With it, we can't be too sure of Herbert. He's always making faces, and callin' the Orbiters and their little space-monkeys. He lost his suit, last he tried to kill himself. I guess Guss had enough of his shit. Anyway, I forget what this was about.

Exit the Dash/Slash
Gimme a Mustache,
-Pete

PS. I remember. Goddammit, I think I left the dog out. It was when I first moved, so a little over a year. Tell him I'm sorry, but he should be at his hangout anyway. I heard he was making friends back when I left, so it can't be all bad. Tell him to keep his chin up, and keep writing poetry. I know he's the Snoopy of his generation.

Sunday, 2 November 2014

I can't seem to think

of the last time I made Venice
but oh, but oh
it was some time, in 1991
when the rough shattered and I brought it down
oh, how I brought it down
to extend my hand of ever-lists
and the life I had wasted
and the years the yeanring burning sensation of
the lights I had set shop around my base
and the car I booked to the Moon
as she said soft curly
"mustaches look girly"
and the half eyed moan all halt me in place
to butter up and down the latter half
of my spin cup, the plant maker and his
blinds on the window Pane
as he saddled up his holster-meat
and said chow to the cows
all fucking around in a pig pit
the heaven just jest
and my main brothers and sisters wandered aimless
perhaps lets talk of Cross Roads, once more?
and how that is truly all there is
and how we can't even continue if we hope to exist
but my memory persist of the contemplative nature
I find hard to resist in the culture I grew
and the granite and cement in my mind pores
that fall flat and they keep it up
keep it up up up
these words, act as guides
as intermediaries between my mind, and yours
to speak as if the Berlin in time, could reach it's own decline
but it cannot have whatnot and willnot
through the slip knot
and that, too, is
the slipping into stream of
everlasting good tunes
and vibery that rolls on
like my eyes
and your tongue of writhe
spoken in spite
of the corner mans spike-shoes used to
break tire and fleet Speed Racer into the Mammoth
or, what-have ya!
so so so
so
it's like, it used to be magic
now, just now, for once
the world seems slightly oceanic
in this voyage of two cats colliding