tuesday night again
warm like mother’s milk
the night dark is silky
not yet the honey suckle whispers
its too early
but the crickets after the rains riot and march along the seams of the house
into tiny cricket bug speakeasys
i wonder if they have their version of Modest Mouse or the Matrix
my worries and fears anxieties and revolving years
of listening to crickets
a supple madness incubated
under pressure of the glamorous life shared by the ballsy poets
my arms just thoughts
holding tight to the hallucination of life
after work on many day
i envy the crickets and their Cricktopia
i envy the little plastic Oscars who get to go to a real home
some place in Wichita
but as i linger in the backyard of this home
assured that the sign on the side of the hill
can no longer crush me
Sobriety
3wordpoetpost
Mr. Keith Richards
ever since i was a kid i’ve always had a very vivid imagination mostly because i needed to get away i was too little to drive too little to get a job to make money to take the bus so the only place i had was deep inside my mind so time went by my body stretched my brain gathered more wrinkles and my eyes widened and then the shit hit the fan there were some days where the fan just fell off the ceiling there was so much turd on the blades then there were days when the fan was happily located on the ceiling in the hole with the wires that it was supposed to have swirling around and around doing its job with the moths going in and out of the little lamps shaped like butter cups there was no shit then maybe just a minor fart maybe it was me eating sauerkraut straight from the jar ya follow me Mr. Keith Richards and after a while teachers took notice they got all nosey sent me to see the psychologist called my mother called my father ring ring ring no one bothered so they thought i was special they had no idea how special i could be but i was a relatively well-adjusted child growing up in Hollywood and all you’d be surprised just how fucking well-adjusted i was ya follow me Mr. Keith Richards anyway so as a story goes and i forget where it goes cuz there’s just forks all over the place let me see let’s go to the fork with all the drugs and alcohol oh yeah all of them early on hard living on the edge before and after the edges give or take a few centimeters ya follow me Mr. Keith Richards anyway so long story short made long cuz mainly my fan is starting to show up again on this ceiling i’m in love with a man who lives with a clown and a possum but that’s an entirely different story love is a strange thing i remember when i was a teenager love was a Clash song or like Talking Heads or something like that and punk rock was like really romantic and like you know the Rolling Stones you know your band ya follow me Mr. Keith Richards was pretty cool too even though you guys were old even then but that’s not the problem anyway as i was saying my man lives with a clown and a possum no lie i’m not making this up i’m not even on any kind of drugs legal or illegal i’ve been dry for a really long timethis is just my brain my brain on reality what do i do you ask Mr. Keith Richards well i think a lot i like to fancy myself like a famous writer like a real deep thinker like William Burroughs sorry i don’t mean to name drop but Burroughs kicks ass anyway so yeah like i was saying yeah i say a lot cuz i’m like trying to knit my thoughts to have a cohesive conversation ya follow me Mr. Keith Richards anyway i’m not really sure why i’m here in my dream talking to you like you’re supposed to be my shrink right but you’re here i guess because the guy i’m in love with loves your band The Rolling Stones ya follow me Mr. Keith Richards anyway i’ve lived many many many years in downtown Los Angeles and it’s gone through a lot of intersectionality you know but i don’t know man like the ghosts are still there you know the systematically and psychologically disenfranchised the homeless skid row has just like fucking spread out to infinity and our politicians don’t seem to think that it’s a bad problem you know they don’t have to live on top of each other they don’t have to live on donated tents they possibly have not fought in foreign wars and came back to America just to get fucked over you know they’re not culturally marginalized i used all of the ism’s you can find ya follow me Mr. Keith Richards i don’t know how to explain the world anymore i just kind of walk around and around and around and then sometimes i look up at the sky and there’s this huge ass ceiling fan and the blades look like a chopper and they’re like spinning and spinning and spinning and we’re all down here pushing shopping carts and i’m giving them my empties because that’s all i got yes ya follow me Mr. Keith Richards yeah sometimes i feel pretty bad cuz like i have a place to sleep at at night i have people i can call when ifeel like i want to cry and i’m in love with a man who lives with a clown and a possum ya got that Mr. Keith Richards anyway before i rudely interrupted myself i wanted to tell you that living in LA is really starting to bother me she’s drowning my beautiful angel womb where i was born and grew up is drowning in shit i can’t stand it anymore ya dig me Mr. Keith Richards anyway what was i talking about oh yeah i’m in love with a man who lives with a clown and a possum and it’s really hard cuz it’s just the clown and a possum and there’s not much you can do with that all i know is that i’m in love with that man and he likes your band Mr. Keith Richards for your sake i hope that this dream ends really fast cuz i’m starting to bore myself you know i really don’t smoke or drink or use drugs anymore that’s all in the past i think that’s why i got so lucky to fall in love with a man who happens to live with a clown and a possum anyway Mr. Richards i won’t bend your ear anymore i think that my 45 minute session is up i really thank you for letting me wear this really cool bitching ass hat but you see i got places to go i got things to see i got ceiling fans to dust i gotta fart and i’m grateful to you Mr. Keith Richards you crazy old son of a bitch love your music man and i love a man who lives with a clown and a possum

pilgrimage
silence
wet grass
white skies north
sun
hides behind
giggling watches me
scratching
my bean
looking at flowers
signs
blink silently
breakfast served here
air
breathing again
stops to chat
birds
sing replies
air and birds
me
crosswalk speaks
time to change
look
the wealth
staring at me
life
another day
granted to me
late at night (b)
meine patina

Buk it’s 2020
my hero Hanky baby
and i’m still alive
these last few days
i’ve surveyed her face
our whore saint city
don’t fret she loves us still
these last few days
i’ve driven by
the schools i’ve been in
i don’t remember a damned thing
my first day of pre school
i was late
on account my dad had to wait
in the Mobil lines for five hours
hey Buk
do you remember
these last few days
every grade year the same old shit
the Pilgrims the marches the maths the farces
the Nina the Pinta the Santa Maria
Sesame Street Hee Haw Fat Albert and Lawrence Welk
and by the time Ronnie Raygun came around
i was branded diagnosed exposed and pigeonholed
the patina of fine psychobullshitary
casted on my soul
these last few days
intuitively speaking Buk
i don’t feel its right to blame
after all i have a conscience
id ego and a touch of naughtiness too
i don’t want to go down that way
remember the time over on Las Palmas Ave
when i called the principal
the devil’s panty liner
i had more class
than to just call her a knit wit
verbal theatrics have been
my little blue bird
these last few days
my bones hurt more
i linger by the antioxidants
and pay some attention
to the collagen talks
my hair line fractures
from the days of Face
are bald and angry
so i take turmeric supplements
during the day
these last few days
the stains of my sins
are rinsing away
leaving a fall hued patina
glazed on my spirit
these last few days Buk
the beer bottles on the streets
cigarette butts and paper sheets
blowing in the wind
make me feel sentimental
where has most of my life gone
is this what happiness is
to feel the bumps upon my skin
the knuckles of my hands
being cupped by my finger tips
as i walk under the bridge
where the many roads
to numbness took me
these days i swear Buk
i have felt
an orgasmic magnificence
flow through my veins
but there are still
some challenges
let me count the ways

life you have this annoying way of walking by as i’m trying to see a point of view prescribed by a cold and sterile man
take today for instance i’m just whistling by on my way to the corners pungent with wet filth and frothy with human madness
every prophet will eventually go back to her house yet i am neither saint nor prophet but just a sinner looking for faith
here in front of me stands the place where we yes you my soul conscience and mind dwindled childhood away waiting for the unknown without fear bloated with arrogance
aerial was i
twilight is a little jagged
rays of Sun’s arms
tremble as Earth opens his
blue doors to her
the marriage bed set
and i’m growing my wings
to fly in the mocha of the night
he beckons my common senses
and i dive into a certain
constructed abyss
my back it labors
as the vestiges
of alabaster hued flight
carries my sins away
then just as quickly
as the virgin blossoms
my wings disappear
into the waking Sun
her face beaming with hope
and as night and i
we go our different ways
my back rested
city aflame
my life clean slated
soul light as a feather
greatwestern
the hospitals are the same all over i now believe except for the revolving doors everywhere and the river beautiful pigeons and other birds look like they were spit shined and then the river crossed on planks made of steal with tug boat Cadillacs full of salty earth the buildings tall old bones new skin i grin at the sun rays coming at me hard but the old grandfather wind swoops me from the light and in three hours it gets dark and i walk around the park and back to the clinical round of someone who knows nothing of anything beyond the cereal box patients waiting all the time looking tired worn out sucked down pulled up by the soul and sick of heart like the ladies looking out from the Amsterdam house mine eyes search for invisibility and the wolves follow me with teeth and i a fox in sheep’s skin look the other way i don’t want idolatry tonight the French baguette is hard and stale but i get it anyway i want to feel other than myself the urges come like thunder but then all of a sudden it dawns on me that i’m in Illinois and that Abe was a member of the Whig Party tears are salty anywhere we go and why in the fuck isn’t Pluto a planet
sunrise prayer while whistlin’ to Shonen Knife
Lord it’s me
Grady the Rh- monkey
tuesday morning
Chicago scene
eyes are watering
but it’s not the wind
i haven’t talked to You
like i think i should
just want to thank you
again and again
life flashing
on the right side of my brain
the train car rails
are really cool
if i had a stray thought
it’s all because
of the architectural allure
but i’m mouthin’ too much
arigato for all you’ve taken from me
arigato for all you’ve given me
arigato for all those whom i’ve battled
and for those who have kicked my ass
for all the ones i’ve hurt
and the things i’ve thrown away
thank you for the violence
and especially when peace runs through me
thank you for the fight
thank you for the lessons
thank you for this river
and the beggar by the bay
for the nature
and the phantoms in my bed
and thank you for looking down on me
when my demons ring my bell