Winding down with a
cold glass of milk and a
hand full of chips that have
fallen on the floor and a
cookie for desert
and the Tonight show on the
Television.

Shut The Fuck Up Leno.

*click*

(This marks the 1,000th post on The Sieve and The Sand.)

inborn function
provision unction
conjunction junction
its true what they say you know
you cant just go around
creating and recreating
and rerecreating new wordsies
people notice
fight back and
disappreciate your fine arts

Don’t eat the peanuts
unless you’ve got an iron gullet
or don’t fear death
or at least Salmonella.

You know,
Turtles have Salmonella on their
shells,
but they do just fine as turtles.

And anyway, Salmonella is just a
Virus.

Do you know how small a
Virus is?

though short lived
thou wert nice
and a brief glimpse
of the freedom
that couldest be,
glimpsed from afar
from my pseudo-job

maybe i’m weird because
i don’t believe in stories
or i’m probably a complicated
asshole or something worse
and if i had all the money
you know good god i’d spend it
and ride some epic binges
all the way into a herse
i think you can point fingers
and throw mud on the canvas
keep sticking your ideas
in the sky made of brick
but i intend to be open
fields of green and digging
at the truth beneath all
of you institutionalists

soon the end will come
and then where will we be
when all of the boasting
and all of the toasting
has reached the end
forevernevermore
and never comes again
forevernevermore

my home of eternal night
lit not by moon or sun or stars
or anything at all of right
but this time there is hope
i can see it like light
glowing two years
maybe three
from now

The man with the trumpet
said it best:

“Welcome to Beale Street folks. If you
don’t get it here,
You’re better off
Without it”

florescent radioactive sugar poison
my tongue embraces you as though
you do not claim to be an earthworm
i’ll suck you sugar free before
you’re swallowed and your friends
are pursued in the same manner

i like to follow hearts
to wherever they go
’till they crash
in some firey mess
down the middle of the
street where i am
surely walking
like bogart.

on top of snake mountain
prayer flags wrapped on stones
raise hopes to false gods
friendship is discussed
basked in sunshine then
our knees rattle
the whole way home
taking us shaking
past restaurants serving
dog hoping they dont
beat them before they serve
them to soften the meat
with adrenaline as we’ve
heard
knowing snake mountain
is headless
as it failed to devour
the city

Walking Softly in the
House the King built.

Not that king, the other king,
and not that house, the other house.
Nope, not the hill,
on the corner,
just down the road from
The Daisy.

Strapping up,
plugging in,
click click click BANG

And then, there was Music

in the House that the King built.

The other king

Beat feet across
hard cement walks
and painted-on
crosswalks and
‘it’s only a half-mile
in to town’ becomes
‘we can almost see
the sign on the
Horizon’

But the cops have
nothing against
Three White Boys
on the east side
of Downtown
memphis

what is real and what is right,
i wish you’d sleep with me tonight
and appease this passing fantasy,
from which reason and thought do flee.