Calm me down.
Grab my shoulders and
duck me under water
just long enough to
shock out the shock.
A slap in the face
A punch in the gut
Something
Anything
To slow the roll
(as they say on the streets)
Calm me down
or however
will we get this whole
mish-mashed
drunk-on-the-job
sort of thing
straightened out?
the firefly lights
then fades–
we wait.
you woke up and ate eggs at
the bar in your summer home
on the beach
the sun pouring in and bouncing
off of your white sheets
and you must think it mad
the things i think to think
about,
and purely so
but those babies in the garbage
why,
they’re all miles away
outside of your bubble,
anyway.
i never thought i’d live to see the day i drove from clouds to sun through 13 hours of straight misery pass graveyards in fields still growing grain and corn in first, second, third, and fifth gear because fourth broke down somewhere along the way and we had to stop and pull a crazy maneuver in the hills of some asian country we could swear looks just like the baja to turn around roll down the hill 10 kilometers to a guy who said he could fix it, couldn’t, and then promised he could in three days, or we could simply continue without a fourth gear.
never thought i’d see the day where i moved to my dream home in my dream country doing my dream job and getting friggin paid to dream of growing a kingdom that’s not my own, of which i’m only a citizen trying to be faithful to something more than dream.
the day came
and praise my heavenly father
my Lord and God Jesus Christ
He brought me here to dream
dreams far too big for one man
alone and pray for change in
the lives of 9 million people
and the future of this country.
with its sweet lilting voice
i have succumbed
to the lull of summer
and the interminable desire
to hibernate until winter
(or at least fall)
when i shall again arise
in magnificent chapluzkian glory
refreshed by the cold,
rejoicing in the blizzards,
no longer oppressed by unending heat.
If I am ever to look sidelong again
I shall need a pair of glasses with
little mirrors on them, and a bit of
extra cash, as the word on the street is
the current administration
is not long from taxing these sidelong
glances of ours. But then, I’m all
for tax evasion in some regards,
so tell me,
Do these glasses make me look
sophisticated or
silly or
what?
it seems to wrap around the parts
that would best help to get away
the throat
the legs
the wrists
and covered eyes
but careful to avoid the teeth
people-bites can be pretty nasty
And so
the chance of self-exorcising slip
but if you don’t owe no money
you don’t need no money
and the tentacles loosen
just enough to move a wrist
and an eye peeks out
and a slip
and that people bite is pretty nasty
But it screams from anger
not from pain
escape is all it tried to stop
and there you go
but now you’re leaving
all the other folks behind
on the butterfly bush:
four
butterflies
Come in!
Come in!
It’s so good to see you
(and you are)?
Oh, yes, Carol’s son
(You don’t look like her,
but I’ll take your word).
So where do you live
(will i approve)?
Oh, do you know so and so
(the drunk!)?
No? Do you know so and so
(the bastard!)!
Now that’s too bad
(I guess you’re alright after all);
go get some pie before it’s all gone dear
(off to test someone else).
I can not fathom
Do you take short steps on your long walks?
How shallowly do you cut
when you cut the hairs on your scalp?
What of the grass out back?
or the weeds?
I scarcely hear a word in tune
but I’ve brought with, a pitchfork,
though perhaps better a tuning-pipe,
but that doesn’t make sense either
Walk faster
if dodge were a place you
would go when you die
then i would be running for
my life as i desperately flee
this place of horrible pain
suffering and misery.
Summer sun and such searing
all the pavement beneath my feet
and the tops of my feet additionally
and all I smell is smoke and fire
and charcoal briquettes
and ooh, that smells oh so good
and yeah, I think I’ll have one
of those, but what you want to
charge is
un
be
leave
a
bull
i see you in your little town
with those big bright eyes
and all the people are dumb
you got ink on your green shirt
just like me.
I can taste the
apple juice
mixing with the sulfur
in the back of my throat
and it’s sweet enough,
I’m thinking,
for most of us to swallow down
But I’ve traveled
very recently.
I headed North, or
North-West, for those
that crave the particulars,
and tried to come to
settle in a place that’s
at least a bit more
sulfur-free
but alas,
the sulfur
is always free,
and that’s probably
the problem
to start with
to emerge in rebirth
stepping into the light
i’ve purchased sun glasses
for fear of shock and i hope
the doctor has the clarity
of mind to give me a good
slap on the back to ensure
i continue breathing
i shouldn’t expect you to be like me
my pretty plastic bird
and when i took you to the fare
you said that life’s not fair
when i go home at night
and i think about it
i know i only want the truth
and that’s all i want from you
and when i realize
looking into your eyes
that they are plastic beads
i wish that you could see
i guess that i’m a mess
and i get left like that
cuz you can’t tell
i wish you’d go to hell
i lose my appetite
i’d rather be lonely
cuz it’s not fucking cool
being such a fool.
The sweat that covers
forces truth:
You live,
You breathe,
You bleed,
and now you’re burning.
At least you’re burning alive.
The mosquitoes do their very best
to cover every screaming inch and
you will never win against their numbers
and tenacity. Especially the tenacity.
It is very much a failure, but one that
is, on all counts, to be expected.
If I could stop the insects I would,
but citronella is just a brand name.
They haven’t written the superpower out yet.
Not that there is an alternative, even though there are many
Who’s bittersweetness strikes faster, stays longer;
Not that I need to stay up for him, as hours drip
Into fat puddles of late night tv and limbs that shift
Like a seabed under their blankets. His charm isn’t
Worth sacrificing the house-wine for, initially.
If I help him along a bit, maybe?
Drop a sugar-cube, add some cream or milk.
Give the Atlantic back its icebergs. Yet not that
He’d notice: Curse the lactose intolerant!
There comes a time, when everything warm in
This world, gets lost in the Arctic. There comes a
Time, when the cat by the fire duly notes its place.
And despite knowing this, I drink a little faster;
And I, having tasted what I have tasted
With eyes that have known to stay open,
To the richest and the boldest, I am still a tourist
To be seen in coffee-shops by a clearer lens.
While I am this slow sipper in this
Place of eternal happy-hour: every new mouthful
Is a new land to see.
Kraus! Oh Schnitzler and Toberg;
Come on, oh come home with me.
I am reaching
I have not touched
stretching fingers
only aiming for the tip
but now my thumb is in your mouth
and what the fuck is up with that?
and I can feel you pulsing
breathing
everything an open
book-on-tape, and now
the little magnetic ribbon
is spooling, spurred on by the
fast-forward button on my
ancient cassette deck.
Show me all your glories
and I’ll pick them apart by way
of not giving a shit.
Though it probably means I love you.
the sieve and the sand 
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