land of milk & honey

I lick the tar off the pavement

and wait for the crickets to sing me sleep

bite yr tongue old boy

a new wave phenomenon

has spread across the Midwest.

Creeped in the unconscious minds of sleeping babes,

mothers wombs,

and robbed the graves.

Uncle Sam,

who lies naked and smoking his last cigarette

listening to the terror through the walls.

A Dream for Kevin

O – wail on thy soul and sing my song, you, you dog

The dogs have laid and bred and made a mockery of our house

St. Augustine waits beyond the veil for me and in his coat he holds

Twenty-seven cents and a new dollar bill! –

Praised be GOD, or POO BEAR, if you like.

whirly bird

mother,

they’ve really done it this time

waking nightmares and hollow eyes

have you seen what they do, mother?

the capitalists on market square

the prostitutes on 7th ave, mother –

the debt collectors and the silly girls

oh mother,

they want my heart and they will

eat my brain if you’d let them mother

do you really think they’ll drop the bomb?

[Reading, Feb. 2017]

Turpentine Girl [February 2017]

bless my muse Old Walt and Dr. Sax

the black boughs,

are really coming down now

dreams of LSD and yellow eyes

turpentine girls 

how I remember you so well

ah, how I like to think of you then

golden and bright

O bright eyes

ah, Honey Love

i’ve been drooping

and my cock is tired

and hangs between my legs

might you see me

might you draw me close

and sing me blue

Synchronicity [January 2017]

God, who is not only Pooh Bear,

but my unconscious, your unconscious, and his dreams,

stands on the mountains that roll into hills, behind the drawn up city skyline,

and waits to say, “Go, Go On, Man.”

all the while, the Negro Goddess who speaks of dreams and whole drum escapes of psilocybin and ecstatic orgasmic release waits patiently beyond you & I.

my teeth fall somewhat elegantly and I wonder who should pick them up?

oh, and while our collective measurements and ultra-scientific means of exploration lean toward the Heavens,

she scoffs, for she knew all along.

on a metro station in paris

city of darling love, bridges and the seine

marble goddess who stands on opera house doors,

i pray to thee and command thee – “give her unto me.”

*

how adorning is yr marble face

oh statute of Venus

oh pain – oh statute of David

how the lines on yr face tell me so

*

the clinging vines of yore

make their way through brick entrapments while

the red and pink hues beyond the clouds

tell me my toilet paper mind

i pine for thee

*

epiphany for Chuck

how glorious of my love to show his long forgotten tanned face

in our forlorn coal miner’s town, where we shivered and drank warm meadow teas in the winter months, and soon after filled our cups with those same leaves and a bit of brown liquor to unnerve ourselves when the betting got bad.

of course, the dog days of summer had long passed, and the bitter cold had settled on the mountain, reposed with snow.

What then, could have been said?

Some of us still bitter, and others like the cool summer shirts of Whitman, waltzed and danced on the brimming consciousness that was to be, and could have been.

And like the golden myopic shrew, our time was cut short, and we passed unto divinity.

An exchange of words, echoed into the starlit moon danced sky,

love was once here – and bid thee adieu!

Whither thou goest, my wanton girl, my archaic Holy brother in the Divinity of Days Gone By?

longing for the one with invisible flowers donned all about

who shook no bed, but made many nights.

and all the evenings spent on Park and Belleview, where the road met the sky

leaving no lonely nights, no unturned stone, only the right amount of yalps and yahoo’s

hurling toward Kansas, with the smokestacks peering over our right shoulders

the bitter night once shook hands with you and I and said unto thee

Love was once here.