This is a Hold Up

Gravity is a terrible partner,
even when laying down.
All muscles fight against
an inevitable collapse. Bones
succumb to positioning. Blood
flows through downstream veins
and we are all stupider for it. It
is only through a concerted effort
that we can bear the weight, hold up
against such scrutiny. Otherwise
it all becomes mush and my structures
are getting weaker by the minute.

4/19/11

Real World Death Star

“These are not the droids
you’re looking for

[metaphysical pause]

motherfucker.”

One sloppy drunk declaration
that dismantles myth
destroys mysticism
revives sleeping demons
calls Chthulu to slash open
Zen Force, disembowels pretention
makes us all wade in the vomited
organs of hope and benignity. 
Jedi Mind Trick trumped by
numb, irreverent intoxication
and there’s more of that to be had
from such bacchanalian enlightenment.

4/20/11

My Lenses Have Become Jaded

I like to think I know when I’m being manipulated
either with consent or without. At times I’m not
that smart. When agendas become situated and planned
for ulterior purposes, I sit back and try to enjoy
the unfolding drama, the anticipated and predicted
reactions, how deceitful people can be, how naïve
to believe we can pull it off, try it on, suck it down,
wrap it up, sweep it under without anyone else being
the wiser. I revel in this, this absurd people watching.

5/5/11

You Got It

I gnaw on my fingers like some
rabid animal, ripping flesh and nail
out of compulsion. I know that the blood
and infection will come trickling oozing
out onto the white clean keyboard.
This has happened before. Vital bright
red fuses with the dark stains from a week
ago, a month ago. gftv, es, olk, spacebar are
holes and valleys of a battlefield. Fresh blood
worms its way between keys, threatens
to fry it all. It gets into the words too,
each drop as likely to kill off
as it is to revive. My words then become
vampires, seductive in the appeal
of empty life or drained death. Still bleeding.

4/22/11

On the End of the Fork

Mr. Bill, you scare me to pieces
accidental or not, a gunshot
right through my head
on target to eviscerate my reality.
Those empty eyes, hollow cheeks
a spy for the uncertain. That
iconic hat, buttoned to the top shirt,
black rimmed glasses. Drug-induced
postmodern Clark Kent from Mxyztplk’s
Fifth Dimension where typewriter
becomes intratextual and everyone
becomes an agent. I have you on record
as a Priest yelling at a God of musical
deconstruction and dissonance. Your last
recording beyond that look. That empty look.

4/22/11

Perfection Unmasked

It’s just unfair when each brick
in the house is stacked and mortared
against you, when breaking down
working out, shaping up to the proverbial
bar is impossible and out of your control.
When it’s so much easier and more satisfying
to belly up to another bar and to hell with it all.
Light another cigarette. To hell with popularity
and concern for others airspace. Drink another beer.
To hell with my waistline and calorie counting.
I’m not 18 and sculpted. I’m 38 with a balding head,
grey in my beard, and a paunch. No airbrushing
no tanning no plastic surgery here. To hell with caring,
especially about hell.

5/5/11

Lights Out

I’m a morning person
but I don’t wake up bright
and cheery even w/ coffee.
It’s all business after
the bathroom. I heard
an interview a woman
on the news. She said
she sees every morning
as a new opportunity.
Bullshit. It’s just the start
of another 16 hours of
responsibilities, mindlessness,
indecision over dinner,
procrastination and avoidance.
Cigarette breaks. When I wake up
the best part of my day is when I
crawl back to bed, to escape.

4/26/11

Topps

I met you once, or maybe twice it was
beyond my college age when money became
available through work day woes. Your name,
a headliner on the circuit strip. Applause
at your painted fingertips, you stop to give pause
and pose. Each twenty minute routine the same
for you but not for me. To swallow such shame
takes time. The rehearsed, justified “because”
becomes a shallow excuse, even for twenty-
somethings. It’s not a place to meet up with friends
or a club for gentleman of any sort
but the depraved, the desperate and seedy
kind. Everything about this is all pretend,
this city sanctuary of last resort.

5/16/11

Throwing Some Light on the Subject

A splinter of lightning, the eye of outside
peeping through the bedroom window
paints a white line down the body,
splatters onto breast, belly, hip with
contrasting overtones. This wash
quickly reduced to a single traceable line
creates a fissure in my head between
familiar and exotic. Within that
flash bodyscape there is no distinction
of dream or reality and no one is the wiser.

5/13/11

Truth In Moments

Moments of indecision
are like gusts of wind
giving life, opportunity
to dead forms. Everything
depends seizing or rejecting
in that cross section of time
which will be studied,
analyzed, celebrated,
analyzed again, regretted,
over analyzed, dismissed,
and ultimately accepted.
In that process, the world
has changed around us
and will make its own decisions.

5/6/11

Do Your Worst and I'm at My Best

Shattered defiance
Tilted head backward to sky
Flexing, exhaling.

5/5/11

Stubborn in the Sun

Years of exposure might have doomed
me to skin cancer or at best a perpetual
fungus that makes me out as a leper.
Such is the price for oily discomfort
like one of those waterbirds drenched
in oil spill disaster. Nothing can scrub
off that feeling, not even common sense.

5/2/11