Washroom

Debbie wants a different dog. "Yep, an alternate animal," she confirmed in a telephone call with her editor in Budapest. "I have no clothes on. I'm literally nude." Every time the buttons are revealed he pushes them without thinking, and snorts rails of turmeric before her very eyes.

Quantum Quandaries

Every time I get deep rest I become depressed
And when I think about space I am elated
yet scared.

Fear change but don't loathe it,
love parties but don't host them.

the hostess with the most swiss roll cakes
wins - a lifetime supply of swiss rolls,
plus kudos (the candy bar not the accolades)

Afraid of accolades but played with acolytes
as a child, so ceremonial on my serotonin flow
Yung Dopamine dope like [chemical bro
ther]e's a band we haven't heard from in a while

electronic ... uh ... well, electronica.
Put that organ in your mouth - harmonica

organic broccoli, green cauliflower
cloroform, chlorophyll, more gardens
gnomes from the hedges
make homes on ledges

Stevie Wonder can hear everything you say about him
That's not what I (environ)meant
What I meant is he can read minds.

That bear is bleeding

That bear is bleeding! Should we help it?
"Can we help it (?) may be more apt of a question, Mark.
Without being mauled, I mean."
"Good point, Anserr. Have you got any honey?"
"We could be mauled, Mark. I think that bears repeating," Anserr repeated
"Repeating what? I never heard him say anything in the first place!"
Never one to question Mark, Anserr deferred: "No, I haven't got any honey."
"Rats," said Mark. "Well, have you got any money then?"
"Not that either," answered Anserr. "Not for you at least.
Mark, mark my words - you'll never get a dime from me."
What the fuck am I talking about
What the fuck am I? tal king a bout
This bear's repeating.
This bears repeating.

that part / bears repeating

i have silently

plotted terror, he 

prays,

wings folded, 

continuing: 

i am deadly ;  

nightshade,   her eyes, 

   lowered. egrets 

also, nearby

hunting crab

in the estuary. that part 

bears repeating. 

computer monitors & brooding (it's all deleted)

1. this is how the world ends:
with a blog post. i am hog,
i am a hog host. bellowing like lips without words
a host of ragged cog tweets, aligned as Brazil.
sexualized people all, butts and stuff,
high opinions about their low morals.

2. the boy at the pool was a retard. i don't
mean this in a mean way, you know, it's just a description.

3. here's another: in the room without windows Delores
shudders under her blanket. it's very warm inside,
but outside the stores are closed due to the cold
which even creeps in, on the shadows and with
dust sputtered by sparrows.

(sparrows stutter dusty words to third children:
yaaaaaas, they say, i've heard you are my daughters
 ---such are the pilgrims thoughts
     about insanity---)

4. breeze weeps tides of dung beetles
in on the horizon, here they are, with words
for once in meter, on the third and firth beat
of every measure, every careless lidless eyeball
beseeching beJesus just do something
about the jutless jutting jaws of spoontown
the color is lacking from their eyes, cheeks
     freaks on dope & amphetamines
& screwball hotties --- daddies from up high
sent to (or down below, they come, maybe)
to murk up our barometer, princess . . .

5. last year from down by the shed
i saw two butterflies hover (maybe over! closer!
redact hover, write sputter)
mixing dust with their butter & better yet
telling of tales abroad about their flutters - - -

6. military robots

7.

8. this is an infinitely small & hopeless romance
about how it concerns me that all we can say
about the robot in our studies
is how she's like the butterfly
    (i mistyped this and left it
    ghost of a mistake - - - deal with it)

what i mean is
we study butterflies to make drones
that will kill people
without trial or justice

none & all, butter & the fly-watchers,
everyone will die like toads stuck

(& then, proving maybe there is a God,
or at least a divine humor, Thad will replace
the ailing/shot fuse in the blinkering headlight
with (what else?) a bullet (nothing else fits)
which will overheat, explode and fire
directly into Thad's heart.
the buggy -- of toad hunters -- crashes,
killing all of them)

(this was a Darwin award)

(except now there aren't fuses in cars
it's all GEE WHIZ electronic computer
manuals-you-gotta-read-tew-understand-goddam-it
computers connected w/ robots w/ lightbulbs
no room for human decency
enough to ungraciously kill yourself)

(it's all deleted, inside, it's all
a blank computer monitor
it's all

Ever been to Rio?

A bazillion brilliant Brazilians
resilient civilians living like lesbians
lisping about Lisbon and Portugal
Portly geese speaking portuguese:
"River of Janeiro - you ever been there?"
Rupert thought to himself: "No. I don't speak goose, or hispanic. But you look good enough to eat."
"What's the matter? Goose got your gander?" taunted the geese, still in portuguese.

Samantha's dark words, terror, etc.

"Drake firebombed Poverty in the face.
Her heart melted and her face sloughed off
scattering white-red-black bits of stone and molasses
onto the dirt path she trod.

One formed a slime mold, which scurried
off in search of butter and marmalade.

Another formed a teacup, which instantly
cracked and filled itself with tea leaves.
   (Delores! Oh! Another teacup tragedy!) 

A third formed an inkwell, which brimmed
over into the internet
and formed this malevolent post
on a "blog"
that only two people and several dozen
spambots or illiterate foreigners / denatured
worthless malingers of the English language
happened upon if they
Google weird shit.

A fourth formed a revision to the bot-hating
sentiment just expressed, a fifth joined the NAACP
(the Russia & China chapter, for the all the
computers) and a sixth

grew into a tree, that will one day be set
afire by my cancer, just like my skin, my eyes,
my face, my breasts.

This is how the world will end. Drinking
black milk and howling."

   --Samantha

the disagreement began

our bodies are bubbles
baubles, really, bouncing &
floating like teacups designed
by portly neighbors who do
not want to brag about their
caches of candy and acne &
breadmeat, true to the marrow
a real & nourishing shadow
of the blunt that once sliced
through both rind and ribbon.

this is sharp -- no it isn't
and so the disagreement
b e g a n

lawless colors

our ancestors
lawless colors all
are manifest --- folds in a blanket,
     some extreme, like gunpowder ---
ripe but for the fresh intervals of nothing
a cow leaning against a calf, his
mother, grooming, not noticing this once
(as always) the imperceptible halt of the slanted sun
her afternoon rays gracing a meringue, left out to dry
we are sad trumpetfish, drying also, hung in the wind
saddles

our ancestors
lawless colors all :::
but the law of less color
thus colored, draws
some variety of picture not worth infusing
with hope or a rapturous goodbye
between fishermen a winter dock
casting rods

our ancestors
lawless colors all
do delude us, recede
even as we chase them
their memories
like tourniquets choking off blood
to the torn hearts of tomorrow

our ancestors
lawless colors all

ours the land of lawless colors
green gray and sunshine muted
a grassland of treacherous thieves
& gunhounds

pt 4

We live in a pumpkin
(pump it pump it)
We live in a pumpkin
(party's thumpin)
I'm outta my gourd
I see God
walking towards
Him now
Heaven, it's hot
but hell if I care
Hello there...did I mention I'm a munchkin?
Munching pumpkin seeds (for lunch)
monkeys punching me (crunch)
low on funds
but high on fun
I still have a gun
On a ferry with my Godmother
Cinderella story
Fairy tales are boring
stepsisters whoring themselves out

Congratulations, you're a rabid racist.
Rapping about stars
rapping about mars
wrote a verse about planets
came out just how I planned it

pt 3

Watching TV in Costa Rica makes me feel guilty. Pero los deportes en TV son el mejor "way" a aprendar espanol. Next up: I figure out how to say "way" in spanish.

We're on the ocean
motion
We're drinking potion
lotion
all tan everything
tan buttcheek
tan slutfreak

Josh Jones is deaf
middle name Jeff
or Jean, like Wyclef
whose charity in Haiti
is a disparity, lately
this salad so carrot-y
hilarity, hilarious
nefarious - do I care? yes
no
too many cares in the world
too many bears in the woods

freestyle pt 2

Vasco de Gama
yay-o
Galileo
Pico de Gallo
Cinco de Mayo
Maya Angelou
Oh my
Evangelical words
Umbilical Cords
Biblical swords
point em towards (someone else)
you're something else (obviously)
we are all matter
we don't all matter though
we are all matadors
universal truth: the universe is huge
this verse is a deluge
I makeup words - rouge
So well-read that I'm blushing
I'm mushing baby food
I'm a baby, dude.

Transcribed freestyles

from costa rica
which look better in print

Part 1

"I've got a story for you:
I've been to Willy Wonka land
I've been to Mars
I've crossed into the land of Ecodeath and returned to tell the tale..."

that was Erik's intro, I can't remember what his actual story was about.

cold-weather question: open window screenless?

 are  there  maybe  no
insects    outside    yes

cipher & Mexican voices

[unspoken introit:] [note to self: memory's
the mother of the muses] bloom-forth, old Mexican
twins of labor & obscurity / contentment

1. uno [voz primera]

--thought maybe the Navajo mother-of-two  to herself
also Mexican
her now smooth and flattened womb, her hand atop,
    (her stomach,)
on Sunday morning, after finding an old caramel
her children had not eaten     for Christmas:

i am      a Mexican     in blood & labor sound
i am     a marvelous being   si   in blood & constitution
proud, this new nation   new   i shall not fail
   to make proud
   to make, my children

2.

she is [her]    a MEXICAN   a motion supported
 ( like South against Yankee North )
by the belief : bigger = better   , REALLY IS
 
   [thus trumped is, her hold on the manacles
of the body politic,]

   [in the background,   Arizona,   this new land,
   of neighborhoods & Cacti]


   [new & not new, like love
   in it & out, pregnancy & hope, marriage, divorce,
   tragedy and maybe murder (...maybe), hopelessness,
   at once. of course,
   at once.]



3. dos [segunda voz]

I am a Mexican
with no rapport
& no reports
on positive developments.

Robot readers [01001010100110 :: hello]

Most of my readers are robots
or spam boozers or clandestine monkeys insane / undignified / as calcified
as brother barnacles.

The romance between the caldera & the camera crew.

The lame bus babies & the busboys
look incandescent --  puzzling, she says to herself,
tending to a sprig of burning sage -- who are you? --

These are the
boasted-out posers on the edge of limbs, cancerous mellifluous munchers
of popcorn & pizza luncheons. Like tunics draped over the sedges of women
around which they hiked together, in the drab cold, (planted here,
a hedgerow) these men are the moonshine
& their children are monsoons.

Drake's Thoughts

I've returned to the old days of murder & adventure. This can't end well
for the girl.

It's easy not to end up in prison
by living lawfully
but what if their law
isn't yours?

The muck at the end of the road is nigh unreachable
but is stocked with sugar barbs. Oh, the sugar barbs.

The muck at the end of the road is night unbearable
but still full-grown student athletes
weep & delight at the sight of bears thrown
for a "worthy cause." [link here

to a video.] [he remembers, again:]
my brain isn't the internet. It's
mine, all         mine. [
this lament.]

Haiku

Haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku hai

High IQ - I SMART
I like art, and poetry
I'm pro-symmetry

I'm all haikus now
not just most of the time though
constantly, bitches

Militant haiku
Haiku-man double barrel
Shoot em up, murder

Happy/Sad Haiku
Read this in a happy voice
Read this one sadly

Purple Reign

I am Lesotho, King of Nigeria.
Nigeria is no mere peninsula.
Come Christmastime, it is an isthmus
And when it rains, it pours.

It never rains in Africa

It never rains on Hanukkah

My harmonica is ensconced in velvet.
So plush.
So lush.
So much
for any fabric besides velvet

Soft as cake
fallen into a velveteen lake
eating velveeta cheese
with baked beans.
Stay lean

Stay mean for mean's sake
Drink sake if you mean well
Don't know what I mean? Well,
shit. Sorry sorry. Not sorry.

Twine Harp

1.
She wanted to play the twine harp,
boy; she was the chairmen of the board,
crooning away. Sometimes, underneath the
sheets, the skeins and cormorants of the lecture
assailed her, then (& at once) like the birds and corns
of the lecture, dropped by the wayside, picking
up again, paying attention for once

to the tune in her head all along. It went:

here amongst the flowering glass
is a cowering flask, or a cornered man
here all alone are my compass thoughts
directing me somewhere.

2.
You can see what I mean. The acorn, melancholy
as always, nestling and kneeling it her shell,
crying: "Let me out, World, Let me in, Ground, 
I want to be a tree in you." (Which was, of
course, bound to be misinterpreted, by all a
manner of people, the gender-benders and ever
worse the homophobics screaming of, well, gender-
bending; the American Legion screaming of
whatever they care about; the American Red Cross
concerned about the transference of empathy
to a common acorn; etc.)

3.
Lord I am with you, in a way, even when I'm
(or especially) flying a kite, guided and buffeted by
the wind like a pale orchestra conductor thinking to
himself about his wife's muffins, how warm and fresh
they are and how he'd rather be home eating this
warm nutty fervent loaf instead of up here,
moving his arms like cantilevered flower-stalks
to the general assembly, saying as much as
has ever been said, with his hands, but oddly
unsatisfied, a crow overhead circling.

Every now and then (& again) a crow overhead, looming
black and large and intact & intelligent, remembering
your face & coming back to haunt it, kaw-ing out! her
slim furtive disapproval of all things human; circling,
circling, but never attacking.

4.
This is one reason I may never
a bird-watcher become. (Twine harp,
lest though unseat me yet, twine harp,
singing of birds and singing-songs of
avian homes, high in trees I may
have wanted to climb. Climb, still, climb;
I still climb, may climb, I aver that I shall
even one day yet, still want to: to climb.) Climb.

5.
Climb the latter of the underground bed, toward
the thorn at the root of the orchestra which says
to her memory that her memories are sacred
and that witch who stirs the pot is a witch indeed
but only doing what her dark sisterhood demands.
Thus a witch in name & act but not less sacred
before God and Man and Time, slim virgin (--[Mary]--)
though she may be. We cannot say why her orchestral

mother has not touched her yet, blessed her with the grace
of human kindness, & Innocence undressing, like
a fit young girl removing her blacklace brasier, a
moment that, when it passes, you will not realize
is the best moment in the world, never before
surpassed and never before altered, without memory,

a bird in the stone of the nowhere cauldron, a bird
her memory or her memories allowance of it; her bird
a nowhere camera looking back like lost feelings of love;
like lost feelings of love I hound you, back now, against
the wall, into the dark remiss virginal entrance of your
vault, your camera store, you dark circular mind, your
organ of origin, your anthropic pulsating center, your
closed orchestral mind, blind & innocent, with justice,
once and for all, amen.

5b. ([the burn-able] Afterword)
America. Chelsea & the gardens & gay men strolling
backward down memory lane, memory fucking lane, Lois,
Memory--you know, the shades drawn and the cocaine
on the desk and the drug problem now being discussed &
the frothy kitchen (& her GODDAM DISHES! YOU KNOW?)
her goddam dishes forgotten, for once, remiss--all bitches
snow-blown complaining of bid-for (badly) stitches in their
bosom's compartment coverings, these bras of the Lower
East Side tenement buildings, sex & class & poultry water
dripping like remorse across a dully bull-blood-red road
made furtive by stooped tourists, gaining information
about the blood-water, needled past, who (if she had feelings
for once,) would rather be just
let for lone a-once. Just left alone. The past;
She.

blackmilkcommercial

Redeemer remedial wordpost kumquat fold-open
concertino Murphy's soap [not made that way]
welcome to the MEAT SHOW
cups & drugs & drafts & haversacks full of
black milk, mugs of dark milk, mugs of dead
black milk, we drink, Germany, sorrow,
the moth show, the murder show,
pumpkindead smiling but alive
Halloween head, smilingbutalive
smilingbutdead, halloween, pumpking
the pump king, the pumpkinhead,
Murphy's Law, kumquats, pumpkins,
pumping strawberry moonshine delight
black mack moonlight black cat moonshine
black tracks of black milk en haute,
black milk sunshine never,
this is my Sunbeam. Milk,
never.

Crawflight

craw berries never   craw berries ever
straw berries whether  or not you want 'em (...Heather)
craw babies in leather   craw daddies never  
craw honeys with feathers   crustaceans in flight.

Grug Wrap

Things so irregular
but regular enough
rough
around the edges
trim hedges
like Laura Bush
Like a laurel
wreath, frankly
like Aretha Franklin
Getting mad r-e-s-p-e-c-t
Spelling it out like Tori
she means so much to me
Beverly Hills forever
Strawberry Fields
Forever
Crawberries never
Tonight is so pleather.

this is your education;

how does one person ever
                         another reach
how are we globes
                 longing infinite beginnings
meeting lonely little love dogs
                        sadness   (splitlogs)
a buried stone never
                      won't a sunset see

belladonna overdose; sunshine sweats
               of (oh!) a careless mind
mushroom medication --- mushroom dedication
                         a fungus   on me   growing
one day adult will become, will
         be   ready to father
to drift, father   to drift farther   [yet]   away from ill-where
                )like anywhere; (except  that-it's)
                 malady's location(

malady. mister   malady here.
                               hello: don't.

her low mood, your less-of-an-appetite,
                   amphetamines & crybabies.
(somewhere there's cymbals here,
                     ...goddam)

i wish i had been a stork
                        i'd never deliver children
but presents with bombs inside
                 and powdered phonics:
this is your education;

exactly the way it is at 7:24 on a tuesday

bromance   romance  sit on yer hands   handstands 

become a father   become a man  become a daddy   become a brand. 

internet twitter stalkers got leg room in nightstands. 

internet twitterbots talk nonsense in bit rams 

Bikram, yoga, to hot to letter in, melted pepperdom, 

motley martyrdom. an old man an old sailor a new girl a new prince a new boyfriend girlfriend child picture tits boobs haircut 

just letting you know

just filling you in 

just making you to be a pothole   pothead   asshole   

crayfish in the dark sleep 

sometimes sunshine comes to mind sometimes sunshine doesn't 

sometimes sunshine doesn't 

sometimes sunlight shudders (makes me)

bored, wary, capitulate --- strung-out, heresy, days late

days after the mashed potato of yesterday stringent allowance allotment 

a lot wrong in the basement 

a lot right on the pavement 

that's a lie but it's okay, Vin 

Dickhead Diesel Van Weirdo Hairdo Where Do You Ever Go 

What Do You Ever Do. Creeps seeping even into this 

this art this nothing this post this bluffing this goddam esophagus 

chugging puffing brandywine like fine dandelion 

wine ::: crock ::: pot ::: severance ::: severed ::: fractured 

lactate, & the abysmal worm story,

what a pair of twins those were, 

working at the dime store. 

it's raining outside 

it rains all day outside the trainstop & 

i never use my stamps. 

Mitsubishi elf dossier

i couldn't possibly be better
said the hat-trick   to his iceskates
i am not probably a letter;

i am not possibly Japan,
but hellen keller; Mitsubishi
execs wearing sweaters.

Sad

Down by the Jetty --- please forgive me --- I'm sinking under
i  may  never   return
like a folk
-talking man,
allegedly hollow,
with dreams of musk
& cornish kaleidoscopic
bravery, kid-like. Just
this once.

You Make Real Friends Quickly

I like telling people stuff they've never heard before
those that aren't used to candid remarks
or reflection
are mere images of themselves

If we could all see ourselves
it would make things easier
though maybe too obvious
and not as fun

Meanwhile a sigh-so-deep,
thinking about a girl again
and forgot to breathe
for a couple seconds

Music takes the mind off

Don't mind my music
passionate about Passion Pit
I'm so indie I might be Hindi

Each its own thing

These are amazing:
each made with flesh,
this once, in communion
with itself, the basket thus
completed  was an arc
of nomadic magic;

   [thought, be-           [a sparrow, 
    come a thing]        growing thin]

Sometimes I even imagine
picturing everybody I know
all at brightly & forthwith once ---

:::I mean to really know everybody,
at once:::

;

But I cannot do it. It is a plan
that is a fish
                     already bone. But

allow me to say: Freedom's only
American as your appetite. A
pipe left at the steamfitter's
union is one pipe gone,
tomorrow's woodlouse.

But this isn't Gramercy; we've
still got the kids to raise
and the bare furniture to arrange
in as much a way as to say:
below us, here, are our things,
which we believe we have

well organized. What I'm saying is
unnecessary. For the clockwearing
amongst us, all the angles are

obtuse and mesmerized; Andy's
hidden his own adventure. I stand
over him with the daypod -- my eye
blind with brows and brown
fluctuations of minute sandals that

dare to expose, any moment, the frail
(&
indomitable) architecture of the mind,
one sad wing from flight.

Redeemer

We are all dreamers.
Listening to glistening jewels
"Cool!", "fascinating."
Ojibwe Indians
yes, weaving dreams
Fastening what seem to be seams
what else would they be?

We are all baskets
case in point
boll weevils = bowl weavers
evil little urban achievers
long relievers in disbelief of starting pitchers: Tom Seavers

We need ability to redress
and readdress, and reassess
what is important.
what is portent?
Pregnant with emotion -
"no baby," I'm not actually pregnant.

Mavis Beacon

ankle   attach   monocle   prison
welfare   well-founded   myriad
controlcomplain meanderpander
preempt-outlaw-exam-remander
remonstrate   recupe   Jenga   --
comply-village-senescence-opium
Mandlebrot   fishtank   snowcone
c   a   n   c   e   r   f   ish   swimm
ing a w a y withmyfood --vacuole

Tough Poem

This is a tough poem; tougher than bone
but twice as brittle. Imagine me at the
edge of the tome, but more little. Imagine
bone cemeteries; imagine stories about
poems about stony
nights, water falling from sky.

Yes, I've been here before. The ground
(scat) devoid of sandals is a mongrel
we aren't diaspora anymore, but we are.
This is tough poem; it isn't easy
---it never will be---easy to explain. I'm
not trying to be obscure.

That's it, the Yonsei. Even 4th generation
Japanese have a word for it: belonging.
What am I? I man wearing a sweater w/
an old sweat-stained Cardinals hat & an
inkling I could do better, much better.

A reflex then, toward calming. Saying
"...but it's okay, everything will be
alright." And it will, of course---as much as
it wasn't. As much as it won't be: sadness,
you know, sadness already gathering like
a frown at the edge of your mouth: I should

have told you my grandmother is probably
dying. A sad thing, a sad thing. Nothing
absurd about it. As ordinary (and deeply
felt, meaning extraordinary, to me) as life:
"The wise man is ready to leave any time."

What about the wise woman? My grandmother,
wise, tough, deeply-feeling, real. More stolid
and solid and earthly / spiritual than I will ever
be. Roots in the deep soil, that one. A willow
tree with owl nests. A hurricane couldn't uproot
that old gal. But age will, I'll know. Ninety-seven.
97, ma. I'm going to miss you. I miss you already.

Circular & demineralized

[title here] [art work] [unnoticed fenestrations]
[molecular artwork] [artwork]
<> <> <> 


Citizens become scientists:     Captured 
 ants snack on cookie crumb-
bait in a plastic 
bag at Saint 
     Stephens.
     (You know, the Elementary).
Saint Stephens in all his 
glim glitter; his modern decorative
manwear; his bonnet of undue 
appreciation for the arts. A fork
in his uvula, but not a snake-
man. (He's not a snake, man! 
HE'S NOT A SNAKE! DAMN! 
     fun w/ words w/ friends 
    pepper peppermint 
    Doctor P. )
Again at the seminary. Our tribe
returns. The scene changes. I'm
caught speeding on my way to meet
& greet Stephens. A big fan of the
man. His bonnet, etc. He was gone,
at the tanning salon. 

Newly, for the, aspartame, girl

We'll get it back,
said the redhead. Her bright
nubes were brightly ripping
off the cameras
and arranging them into
a morbid galley of winking,
stinking starfish, just newly home
for the killing.
     ]murder

The Club (Cowards, Racists)

The Club is a club you can't club in. It
only allows Hispanics who are white
(but exclusive Spaniards) and Whites who
aren't Hispanic (that's a joke, of course). Mex
     -     i     -     cans     -
are strictly disallowed, but invited--nay,
encouraged, to apply; dishwashers are
 needed, and respected. Except when

it comes to their
spectacles; they can't afford them. De-
cent ones, of coures. Ha ha. Milton. M-
an, what a laugh. Camaraderie and its
more black moments, Paradise Where? 
The only question that's ever mattered.
Remember when? Even a league called
racist. It wasn't. Maybe? (Negro.) Be-leagured,
is my life. White hair slicked back and old,
old shallow talk. That. Service me a
lemon G & T & I'll tip you. [      ]  

(I'll remark ironically later about how
Mark Twain's old mansion
is right next to the projects
in Hartford.) (And omit a racial slur
because I'm afraid as a coward.)

Desiree Yawton

Was blonde apple pie.
Pie in the sky. Desiree, with the Williams's.
Yawton, like the Clifton's. Rich-y, edged and dreamed out.
Desiree Yawton, Bridge over the River Kwai. Desiree.
Yessir.

Dirt is Art

I ran like soles over soil
I rock like war over oil

Afternoon rap couplet

I rock rolls like Mr. Royce or Chinese take-out
I'm rock: I beat scissors, roll papers and bake out

2 PM

1. Tanner was a lover; a heart-throb

Tanner's in the mob--but his heart isn't. 

2. Dom likes drugs... to write about. Of course he would only consume legal ones, like massive quantities of alcohol, pipe tobacco, chew, Vicodin, Xanax, Percocet, Lithium, Prozac, & palms full of muscle-relaxants. Of course he'd only take prescription drugs if he had a prescription. He's quite the Boy Scout, at least in terms of his drug habits. But you'll never catch him smoking on even a honest day's wrangle of humble pipe-grass, nor could even livid dragoons compel him to gnaw a psilocybin mushroom. 

Once he steamed some veggies and felt guilty about it. He's not sure how this relates but told me to pass it on anyway.    

The Coolest Mother-F'ing Thing I Thought Up in the Last Few Hours

"I don't want to drag; I want to breathe," says Harry says to Morgen.
"But I want to drag," says Morgen to Harry.

Many years later, after the pair separated when Morgen took interest in a Filippino courtier during Harry's service, the man -- Harry Lassiter! They shall know me!!! -- would say this exactly line again, forgetting momentarily he's uttered such words before, to a confused co-ed he'd gotten wet. "I don't want to drag; I want to breathe!" He yelled one crisp autumn night in his 43rd year. It was like wine binding & transmuting to dark wood. It was like wind blowing and straining a sapling without breaking. Water splashing with light, flecks of astor sparkles. WAKE UP. YOU want to BREATHE --- ! ...

It was like many things, but mainly it was