objectivity

brick houses
tall trees
winter wind
cold milk

big world

cars trucks
tires engines
the big
old world
don't care
much for
poems
stories
letters

night

an extra refridgerator

w/beer and water

an extra key

w/a neon key chain

some apples

some chocolate chips

all amunition against

a cold cold night

talk radio

popcorn

laughter

and

blankets

porches of gold

in a city w/

platinum houses

and porches

of gold

it rains

champagne while diamonds

quietly grow on

the grape vine

in a city where

raven haired

women look

w/ knowing

eyes

ancient

and

new

for Sadie

Sadie was good

but had gotten too

used to goodbyes

by the ripe old age

of eighteen the time

the gods saw fit

that we came

together

walking

talking

smoking

sleeping

dreaming

scheming

your fire

can warm

but

your fire

can burn

Sadie had

said good-bye

before she

had said

hello

pencil drawings

as a boy

he used to draw

arching lines

one over the other

until the sketch looked

like a cave

(to him at least)

and endless battles

of little stick men

penciled endlessly

w/tanks

shooting tanks

mountains and

ledges...

Joseph Campbell

said and wrote

to find out what

one did then that

was timeless and that

it would be a hint at what

to really do

now

well that was

it and this

is it

if you

can

get

it

new neon love

white shirts

rainbows

gasoline

and

coyotes

a madman

in the city's

forest wrote

prophecies

of wisdom

wellness

and wit

when the

other

soothsayers

proclaimed

the end he

talked

of a

good god

and great

flowing

communities

full of

art

and

love

light steps the doe

wild trees

full of disease

wanton red

haired vixens

trucks w/ whitles

and painted deep

blue

a tear

a snail

a laughing monkey

a fervent rain

light steps

the doe

amaretto del sagitario

somethings neat

about shot glasses

on top of books

but the amaretto

del sagittario

is a bit too sweet

for the diabetes

Zaidie is doing

fine by it though

and a snake on television

has tried to eat

a dear or something

vulgarity

decadance

charm

who

the dear

has

bought

the

farm!

buttertart

there are all types

and manner of people

this is obvious

we speak of

freedom liberation

and radicalism

but these things

actualized are

frightening

mostly because they

are approached

out of odd and

peculiar reasons

and not

divinity

the poet

might talk

but not do

and its not that

the poet lies

but rather

gets older

and a bit

tired

freedom might

mean a a nap

in the middle of the day

and daring is

a buttertart

antiseptic gleaming terror

the mall is

the symbol

and metaphor

for everything

nearly

but I can't breathe

there and

secretly gasp

for air

bright

electric light

killed the field

and

the stream

and definately

the

muse

onions carrots potatoes pepper

beef stew

w/onions carrots potatoes pepper

and pepsi

in the

autumn

afternoon

drinking beer

and shots

and words

from paperback

horror

novel

anything

could

happen

but nothing

was just

as well

even better

the boxspring

and mattress

on the floor

w/cool air

and surely some nice

spirits coming through

the window

then dreams,

dreams and dreams

and dreams,

and dreams

esoteric

so much esoteric

information written

down in books

whats it all come

down to other

than love

mountians

and space

ship

hangars

ascended

masters and

initiations

two different

dentists told me

I brush my teeth too

hard by scrubbing

them when you're

suppossed to

be

more

gentle

a suicide

a high school student

hanged himself from

a tree just beyond my

folks' backyard a

few years ago

I heard a few different

stories about school

problems and in trouble

and so on

he was from the same

high school I had

started out from

a non-coed

Catholic stuffy

anachronistic

and slightly

evil sort of

affair

most of the teachers

and students

believed their

own press

but that tree

just stands there

and I stare at it

when I walk past

some good souls

planted a little group

of flowers up the path

a bit and there is

a little understated

stone plaque they had

done in front that says

'To Our Friend,'

and the boy's

name

ode to 'the falling rocket'

I fell in love w/

this painting from about

twenty or thirty feet

away

I'd never seen anything

as true and soulful

but in learning about

the history of it

others didn't feel the same

the major critic

of the day said the painter

was 'an imposter'

the commentator said

that art is suppossed to

carry an aesthetic or moral

messsage of which this

painting has niether

the falling rocket

was better than any poem

I'd come accross

dripping paint

grey black canvass

little ghosties in the

corner

orange red dots

in dark fog air

urban night

sky on

earth

it

was London

in point

of

fact

firecracker

firecracker

ocean

lawn

sky

key

spider

song

all these things (by Zaidie/Bubba/&Brian)

I gave you my life

I gave you my heart

I gave you my lip balm

now stop acting ackward

modification of an archetype

there is a saying that

there is only one woman

in the world

there is a saying that

there is only one

day and that it is

all the same day

I've heard these

sayings said

quite a few times

so one day a wild

haired woman w/ crazed eyes

and sacred lies

came to the world

she affronted the

logic and reason

all had created

and kept rising

again from herself

like a phoenix

she wore black leather

boots that ended above her

knees

she said

'here is the word and the

way, I am the woman

and this is the

day'

then she stole

away back,

far back from

whence

she

came

moon rabbit phantom

if the winter ceases

one morning to allow

fog moister air

we are all better off

the intuitions of

springtimes future past

that were pregnant w/

possibility

but cold will come

again first and the process

is never easy

but its good to air out

our living rooms cars

our brains

fog fog come and

stay come and stay

for at least a day

and the hours

roll on

while the

moon

the

rabbit

and the

phantom

hide

green bananas

the bananas I bought

are so green

they were all very green

but of course they will

ripen I have great faith

in that

in fact the green bananas

are more reliable than most

people

unless you count

their reliability

to do the wrong

thing

stuck on pause

the rolling thick

enthralling dark

can become the

standstill thin

mediocre and pedestrian

dark

what to do then?

the night was suppossed

to be all fun and sunshine

as paradoxical as it might sound

but the night is standing still

and there is laundry to do

and dishes to clean

the writer on television

said the trick is to not become

too affected by outside influences

firstly and secondly to

not imitate yourself and how

you know you could sound did sound

when you were writing w/ fire

and verve...

if he was talking to me he

would have been over-estimating me to

begin with!

I'd settle for a small flame...

a dark-eyed woman

a bottle of beer

the right song

something, anything!...

so as time stops

on a slow dutiful night

and eternity was suppossed to open

up white lotus blossoming consciousness from the crown of

the head and such

it seems instead that

time has just stopped

mana loa

there was a small white
motel called the mana loa
and a mexican girl lived
there w/ her mother father
and younger brother

the father actually was
a real life used car salesman
and it was a street of
palm trees bright white
sidewalks suntan lotion

the girl signalled the boy over
to her and that was how they
met and then they walked talked
swam eventually stole away
at the night and kissed

its good to keep things
sensitive and not sentimental
but why worry,

the salt air and the breeze
and all the magic of what a
floridian night could be was
w/the boy and the girl that night

the girl was beautiful and
was a chainsmoking fourteen year old
and somehow that was beautiful
too...

mana loa midnight
ashen ashphalt
walking on the
beach at three a.m.,
pure electricity
all around

I still remember the
neon motel sign
and never did find out
what 'mana loa' means
but maybe its
better
that
way

industrial buildings

Driving through an industrial corridor at night I had this feeling that the buildings were nice buildings and had their own character and were there as quiet witnesses to the evening and the goings on of say the wind or some batch of trees or a squirrel running past. I said to Zadie, " Hey Zadie, do you think that sometimes those buildings, in their own way, are alive?" Zadie was quiet for a moment, then said, "Yes, a bit, the ones with the lights shining on them..."And I thought about that and thought ya, thats what I meant to say, and I felt validated as we drove on.

bright landscape

In a dream I saw a glimpse of a bright pink and red and maybe purple landscape. It looked like a flash of a place that was glorious. There might have been an ocean of some sort there too. And then, as such things go, it was gone. That place would have been a good place to be.

once

Once when I was young and on my way home from school a strange thing took place.

In the back yard of a house that backed on to a ravine there were what looked like people all dressed up like they were in the circus. Their movements were contrived and slow, very deliberate. There were about ten of them. If you could imagine an acrobat and a lion tamer and a trampaleeze woman and so on you'd be close. But they seemed otherworldly. They gave off a queer feeling. Its like they were from another dimension or something. But they were right there. I just walked past slowly and felt them to be bizarre in the extreme...whatever or whoever they were.

lets

lets love

and dance

and fly

then sing fun

songs

walk to the

west

and die

untitled

phantoms and rain

bleeding from southern

disquieted

skies

young sad luck girls

w/in cocaine dawn'd

lies

seven bridesmaids smoking

to resolve all our

whys

and they pranced

round the

moon

green beans

colors of things

in supermarkets

or stores

lined up like

soldiers plastic

alert

so very there

its all zen-like

and I stare

maybe this is paradise

like God's son said

and we don't have

the right eyes

mustard

mayonaisse

macaroons

meats

magazines

...on and on..

nothing is superfluous

to the whole

but what is this big

infinite organic machine

I used to like to steal a few raw

green beans and eat them right there

but haven't done

that in a while

tara

Always the dimpled brown-eyed majestic queen

At times she strutted in boots

Where light rains fell from a dusk sky

I knew then she was my reason why

Olive skin

Quiet knowing

Softness and more

in a crazy world of

grey hues

and

too

much

blues

poems are fish

the ideas for poems are

fish swimming upstream

which die

a few make it through

but upon closer look

the scales are torn

or the eye is crooked

this river is a powerful

force which brings many

things to fruition

in my dreams

fish float, glide, easy

and

sure

but oh

but oh

p

u

I hope some make it

nadine and the black crows

we drove to the curb

where a flock of black

crows gathered

'someone's going to die'

she said

'who will die'

I said

She was very upset

I suppose someone

HAS

died

since

Nobody

I know,

Anyhow, the cat

and I are here,

Tasha's

her

name,

sittin' on the desk,

purring,

thats

about

it

basement things

carpet cloth cleaning products

kleenex

mirror

brick

flowers rum pens

steel

plastic

linoleum

tin

dry wall, glass, vinel,

paper bags

phones

and poems

white

there is bloood

in this body

there is blood

in this head

there is wine in the bottle

and its color is not

white

seeing

...I was troubled by the worlds in

your eyes

I was a slave to your

wetness

this was in the early days

now i gaze around, washed

of your presence

...and see you as part

of the whoredom

of the

ages

seeing

...I was troubled by the worlds in

your eyes

I was a slave to your

wetness

this was in the early days

now i gaze around, washed

of your presence

...and see you as part

of the whoredom

of the

ages

the past the future the clown

these are the

things that

kill and crucify

these are the things that

will never show us why

they play at being it

but they never existed

and void is there game

they will never

be real either

the past the future the clown

jokers harlequins fools

jokers

harlequins

fools

are waiting with

cups of vinigar

to bathe our wounds

are smiling to see us

fall so far down

are full of envy

vice

and modern thoughts

not nice

jokers

harlequins

fools

were the only saving

grace and have

now left this

place,

the resting tent

the one time temple

no safety now

its a broken road

its a heavy dark load

but there is a way,

I believe the wise

man under the noon

water called it

...togetherness...

prayer

Guide me through the

day

Set me on my

way

These hands

This frame

These hands

This mind

I dedicate to

writing about

what I see

So that I may

Be

a way of things

rough

old men

sitting

in

winter

streets

young

kittens

playing

w/

carpets

London

love

Rain

skies

below

and

over

head

journey

travel w/ me thru the

day good woman

we will stop for lunch

and eat a fish burger

at dinner we will eat

popcorn in a dark movie

house,

the poorest film we can find

after that icecream awaits

and a cold sunset red,

food for the body and soul

shoes blues muse

dead

dogs

white

rats

on

the

mountain

cats

attacking

me

wet

at

night

murder

at

midnight

poet

maudis

lost

papers

lost

love

lost

money

lost

chance

lost

everything

but

my

shoes

my

blues

my

muse...

under the musical light

dark solid colors

show me your sin

musical dancing light

want to see where I've bin'?

dark solid colors

we'd be good together

musical nightimes...

lets go!

our angels will meet us half way...

poem of books

books like a

sorcerer's secret

books like

trusting companions

late nights

sleepy days

macaroni and cheese a

bottle of Pepsi

and many cigarettes

books in autumn like

god's special leaves

strewn about

the earth

an affinity

w/Rimbaud

poem of childhood

being born is harder

than dying so say

the Buddhists

a spectre in the

young boys room

brings

terror and intrique

psychic and aloof

dreaming at night

but also by day

driven in cars

in cities of trees

asphalt

tears in the morning

again

a mothers love

a fathers valor

a sister w/ red hair

a beagle to pet

for good measure

here we go

poem of religion

saints and sages

read of in

pages

eastern gurus

you can choose

real love

grand universal love

a great longing...

vulnerability...

hold your heart's

bloody window open

no matter the storm

some real ways

some free light

northern night wind

urban sprawl and

niceties aren't so

bad

people like security

and manicured laws

have a handsome

definitive look

neighborhoods become

sane grounded and

make sense

good people live

here

but brother I've

noticed something...

you can't tame the

wind...

if you go out to the porch

in the late night it can

come fast almsost like

thunder

and do you know what

it says?...

...I'm still here indifferent to

good grooming or account balance

I'm still here and I can really dance

fast

I say,'okay okay calm down

everythings cool...'and it

leaves but not becasue I said so

rather because it

wanted to

northern night wind

urban sprawl and

niceties aren't so

bad

people like security

and manicured laws

have a handsome

definitive look

neighborhoods become

sane grounded and

make sense

good people live

here

but brother I've

noticed something...

you can't tame the

wind...

if you go out to the porch

in the late night it can

come fast almsost like

thunder

and do you know what

it says?...

...I'm still here indifferent to

good grooming or account balance

I'm still here and I can really dance

fast

I say,'okay okay calm down

everythings cool...'and it

leaves but not becasue I said so

rather because it

wanted to