Monday, 28 July 2014

Tuesday Nights & Wednsday Mornings

She falls in love with dishonest machinery
it's so safe and free
but no sage, no visions
will give 'er what she needs

The quiet clocks of Party Town
have all gone to bed
I always wander, look around
but, everything seems so dead

It doesn't matter, the hurt you had
she hates you like a son
it's never good, never bad
I hope you're having fun

Now, been a week or so
there wasn't any warning
when you said it was time to go
from Tuesday night to Wednesday morning

I remember she said she'd been sober
and it's how she likes to feel
but different turnings and it was over
I guess it all seemed too real

I wish I knew her in the 90s
or when she smoked
it don't matter, thank you kindly
now I wish that we still spoke

and the hermits in the cellar
and the indians in the cupboard
it was about Helen Keller
and the people in an uproar

So please, make like the wind
and go
I never knew it was a sin
a sin, just to know

The exit to this highway
leaves me high and soaring
I'd hope to do it my way
for a Tuesday night and Wednesday morning

We didn't speak in over a year
when she was brought out in the rain
she made sure not to stand too near
but thought not of your pain

The star my drains
in late september
she'd tell I'm insane
but I was just being honest

When the lights dim
the black eyes stare
and it's out in Texas
but it's not as if you care

The seldom walls are glowing
they mix a bag of hats
and the juggler, he sits
in a pile of dead rats

The savees are so peaceful
and the dawn is awful
but please, hold on the longings
for Tuesday nights and Wednesday mornings

Perhaps silence can over-take
on the porch to watch death-lightning
making love through sign language
and wonder where we were

and when the lighting does strike
I want to crawl in your bed
never really works
maybe something I said

and your life, it's on standby
through the halls you cry
if there ever was a man who knew
I'm sure you'd take his side

But I am aimless
an incompetent bastard
your dreggs are shameless
and I want your eyes to hide
ask me the time
ask me my name
for my father, I am mourning
this Tuesday night and Wednesday morning

I found Patti, like I found God
in a book of naked pictures
inside the Apartment of Rob
and, still, she's singing and cold

I never knew, or could tell
the lighthouse watchers, and I
are headed to Hell
please take with you
the light parade
and a raft for weathered water
I can't take time
I can't see
but pour it down, coke and rye

I always wanted someone
be depressed as me
but the light hounds are singing
"Who then, did he see?"
and the mind is dumb
but it eats away

Talked to Elston Gunnn today
he's pissed I stole his song
at least it's not the title
now that, would just be wrong

Same goes for Zimmerman
watch him suck the cigarette
mutter "God, you're gettin' horny
and your mouth gettin' thin"

When it came time for Dylan
He just hid beneath his glass
and smiled with cohesion, and malice
that His death would be solemn,
and his death would be right
if he died in the obituary column
it would move him to tears
now he says with a smirk
"Listen to me,
you come by again
I'll kill ya without warning
a Tuesday night or Wednesday morning."

Friday, 18 July 2014

Mayor Dee's Week End House

Set ship tent
and I'm not so sure, yea
but the night's ruckus cause confusion
when the dawn brings such misery
the deiwn brings such mis-er-ee, yeah
The dawn bringch such misery
The deywn brings such mis-er-ee
But it's cool,
and lookin' good to me
yeah

I'm in the parlor
and the greasers corner
spot from down here
she's just a hooker in a white dress
she's just a hooker in a white dress, yeah
while she's just a hooker in a white dress
I'm lookin' out, and it's cool to me
yeah

It may have been
but then again, maybe not
the light distracts
and darkness cools
while I don't know where I'll be tonight
I don't know where I'll be tonight, yeah
I just don't know
where I'll be tonight
I don't know, but it's still right to me
yeah

The lazy eyes sit
and the master mans kiss
is rolled in the envelope
and set on a seal
So, I'm darkened a back alley
Just, darkened a dark alley, yeah
I'm just around the corner
and it don't matter much, to me
yeah

Gather round his little tent
a flame of tomorrows trains
and yesterdays wilted brains, yeah
I'm set on a sea
just set on this sea, yeah
Now it's set on a sea
but it's still down to me
yeah

Harpsichord and jealous
while he fills his hotdog
drowns it down with relish
but the master and his dogs all sit round
Heaven is for no one, and Hell is company
Heaven is, really, for no one, and Hell is good company, yeah
while Heaven doesn't do much for anyone, and Hell has the company
Heaven is lonely, this time of year
Hell is full, and welcome
I just don't know, but it wasn't ever up to me
yeah

Monday, 14 July 2014

The Anti-Poem

Like the way we talk
dancing to some punk
metal
wearing down my brain
I think I've gone to
Singapore
falling like the sunset
don't matter
mad as a fox of
hell
up top ring a
bat
I don't wear coats
they don't enter frame
I'm so sick and tired
I am alive
1+4=X
I fell on ground with Z
color me violet
so fine
wish she wore shaved head
so cool, back of
car
looking up, see some empty
think I had a tumor
like a road
speak through secret words
carry my
piano

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

The (K)Nights in Slick Silver

the horses trampled the speed
of the useless need of homless restless
bastards
and the universal undone
through post War Berlin
when the happen-stance
asks for a second dance
of the nuanced
after altercation of the cinematic
simplification
that brought the depth
through certain debt, and death
bug me a river, baby
and hit the nose-dial
pull-ring that hats your eyes
and feels the sting
of a buzzard bird-singin'
the tweet the beat-poet
beat to the ground, he wrote it
to have the gather the
garnish
the fantastical master
and his dragon sense
and the buzzing eyes
of yesterdays lies
through my own garnishment
and punishment through crime
hit me for a dime

Hello, this is the after world, of fallen suns. This is the sky full, the break of hunny, the faster you fall, the harder it is to get it back up. Heaven knows me, through a plexed window-pane. I talked to God and Devil, through thick shaded, the bane. The bane of life-s useful ness, less so than the fence. Less of the group-joint-effort. Less of the grass-hoppers, and the fallin' of Stalin. He opened a can of beans, and worms. To stick a spike, and catch a Kite-Fish. Forget about anything, forget love and hate, to fall in line with true emotive, expression. It don't take much to make the mush-march tumble.

SECOND-IZED POLRIZATION

Fill a cup, with the tupper-ware
and mop a floor, with the brain matter
spent to put it once back together
for kings horses, the hell
the kings horses couldn't
they couldn't
they couldn't
they wouldn't
no, no, no
So whatever, bring the talk-fest
into my owners minds
and the hellish glare
that sticks up a thumb and stares
when you fell over the chair, down the second-story stairs
out window
through the befollow
and the Haratio
and the killed off kitt'n
and I'm only kidden
there ain't no kitt'n
even if a backwards flip
is a forward facing ship.

Wednesday, 25 June 2014

Impending Doom (Clearing After the Storm)

Wandering, downpour
it`s warm, but damp and sweaty
with the tree-stands pass
and the moments try (damndest) to last
stop, corner stop

through bushels, the cigarettes won`t
stay lit, as the pour the tears, in core
the sweat, so damp
the tree`s all try and brush
but it didn`t become a lush garden
but a lasting winter
Where are you Summer?
I miss you, my love

That's it, too
as bartenders are the new psychiatrists
bus drivers are the new bartenders

And it became regular
in a low lit room, slightly under weather
the world collides
but the ride has left me, still inside
with the walls and the calls
and the cold freezer falls to floor
no more?
simple, two word convo
and simple flipbook-d memory
maybe it's the simple things
still a smile, eyes and all

At the Whistler
the power struggles to keep alive
swear I'll survive
as it darkens and outlasts the spinner
bread winners on street
the cop car flashes
as the rain destroys the city
and it's cool to me
gets hard to see, gets foggy
couldn't finish the beer, no one near
hide under the bed
something, someone, somewhere
had said
if I ended up dead
it'd be in the wake of whatever the hell this is
but the songs keep cutting out
the radio keeps shutting down, bus route ending
and detour impending
ain't stopping till you reach
wherever it is you're goin'
the world was on it's brink
always makes you think
-well, does for me-
all the final people, you'd love to see
perhaps the key to it, or a place to sit
and contemplate nothingness
it all goes on forever, anyway, right?

So off the boat
I found land
the clouds part
and it's all beautiful
and it rays down
and feels like nothing happened
because nothing did
I'm knee deep in the flood
my shoes got fucked
and my rainboots don't exist
but I made it home, rather unscathed
so who gives a fuck?

Wednesday, 4 June 2014

and it makes no difference

To me, as the sun shine dont fill the light's sky, the nights rye on the path to the end of roads, where we sit, with dim wit, looking out at the blank skies to the stars that fizzled and the oceans that rose, on balcony with cigarette breath ashtray mouths, and just take it in. Take it in so softly, in the quiet of night. It's always so quiet. It's always so fucking beautiful as it's fallen below the bobber the horizon. It sinks, depth of soul, and the eyes emit through salt and blood, as they well, and look out, man. they look out. They look out for you, they look out for me. They kind of go up, down, with the surf waves, that no one wants to catch anymore. How could they? How could they want to go out and be on that... it's taken place from a-far... through the eyes.. just... hope you die well. It has nothing to do, like Gamblers say, that you should hope to die in your sleep... you should hope to die where you will be most at home... in the arms, the eyes, smoke inside... in a gutter, or something a-rather... just hope it's the way to go you would appreciate for one moment... even if it's not, I guess it doesn't matter... but hell... just hope that it all sinks down, in the pit of your stomach, and you look out with appreciative eyes, and sadness, and acceptance... it was fun while it lasted, but it's time to move on.

So the tock clicks past, the rock
it happens to know you
but the guitar strings motion forward
or backward...
just...
whichever...
road less travelled doesn't matter
travel the path they all go,
if it's your dig vine
through a grape, be mine
and hear it, in a line
called out, it's on time
take the bus
take the rucus
the say 'fuck-us'
if it don't matter
why blather on?
I swear my past goddam fucking ten poems
have been about it not making a difference...
guess it does, after all

storm drain celler
it's in the collar
it's the fashion master
it's the backward bastard
who sits in contempt
of the woman he loathes, he loves
of her slick shoe stache
and the rash across her back
it's so red , so raspy
but it drinks up wine in the lock
and on a float of rock and take coat
and sleep down
take down the note
he wrote about his coat
his coat
his coat
so bring the master way
of simple layz
and the gather format of garnish nature
and the lips of strawberry ice cream
and chocolate sauce
and rasp the cash
into the storm
joke me a riddle through me a question
I swear I won't answer
I swear I'll just stare
in utter amusement, and confusion
of the lanes I passed
the lanes I passed
and how many did I pass?

garnish the weather
garnish the rain
garnish the river
garnish the brain
and garnish the garnish
and garnish the salad
and garnish the bats
and their limp basket robins
and hope to the prayer
and hope to the note
that we never miss out
out of the boat
where the foreground merges
and the background vanishes
and the jamacain rivers all lead back to Eden
and the egyptian pharisees all lead back to meet em
it's a slim fit life to be lit with strife, and bite a kite
bite a kite
bite a kite
man just bite the kite
man, just bike through flight
and eat through reach
and form through umble
jumble
humble
mumble
rumble
crumble
fall
bash
against the year
it's not a year
it's not a year
it's glare, not a tear.

Tuesday, 3 June 2014

rinse/dash-it-down/repeat/the-noon-heat

"I enjoy my contemplative cell,
out of focus, out of time"
I told Mel
as she rung the lines, and folded bell
the backdrop lit pit
of a former spit prick
licks the itch
of Mitch and his hitch
through the gardens in the after hour
and the mirrors of never showers
the fogged lamps of my late night power
and the hung-low glows in simple prowess
that a pamphlet saved
is a pamphlet earned
in the penny pinch
grow an inch
take a mile, don't be riled
or filed, in a cupboard
the faceless stop cards
in car fleece, and light lamp stop gos
and the righteous heat
all too nice
and all too sublime, the subliminality
that backs my page, to bring a rage of a certain age
that cages my perception, of hourly conception
the loose noose, around my neck, I check
see it fit
see it's lit with flame
who to blame but the others and they're lame
for they think to enter, through curtain frames
through wall and bite at the waterfall
of strawberry tangerines
and lime grapes
that it doesn't matter, to bring it certain
to bring it to the right place
where it meant that it could
and would
and big ups to the man in black
down to the man with stick cane
candy cane
simple silver hairs
and point bat shoes
thin cut hat, he lose it
and booze up
and find yourself cross parking lots
with ambulance one way
and police goin other
as vomit almost emerge
but it don't
it don't
and the gasoline pages
and the graveyard mages
that summon the dead
and cut open head, to stick battery inside
and wind up rabbit
monkey cymbals
ambivilant defiance
defines mine eyes
and defines your smile lines
and your frown lines
and you get me down, some times
but I love it all the same
that it brings such honest portrait
up front to the modern bullpen
and the pit
forget to hit
redial
redial
redial
"Sorry, your call can't
be connected
please try the same rinse repeat
cycle of
the baskets that you try to wash
out in the laundry hoop
and baskeball court
to court the most retort
just hang up the damn phone".
*disconnect*

it happens. but whatcha do
whatcha know, who knew
did you?
through
the back lamp, new view
of the city zoo
and park that holds few
pigeons in the coop
as they fly, they flew
cut down wings
that bring up blood, it spews
down the drain, sewer
lower
start the lawn mower
and continue to be all the better
for the years passed
and the tickets ticked
it didn't matter
but it did
he hid
under the stairs
in the hallway
you see the slice of life
down, once up
on fire escape
as the dude with bike helmet prepares to leave
and his woman says 'ciao'
  seeya next week
Im gettin weak
rinse and repeat
rinse and repeat

get the youth in a boat
and they're sure to tip it over
rock and roll it all over
that the sharks move to the ocean liner
and the cow eats his own mother
and father
out of grass
out of time
he can't take the partroopers
the dimes
toss a coin
whos goin?
we all headed this way?
we all seprating?
left, right, up and down
like the whole never eat shredded wheat
conundrum
that was 5th grade
and we'll go, perhaps cross paths again
but this time older
much different
and we'll see there was nothing there
and if there was
it was a simple flash dream
a case in the grease lightning
that goes so faintly
and not so quietly
but just as stylishly
and uselesly
well, tell me when the coffees on
I can hardly get up anymore