& i think i see Death winking

for a few

seconds

all of

the light bulbs

flicker



the whole

apartment

blinks

several times



& i sit

not shivering

but calmly

smiling



thinking

of

cities

&

civilizations

the antithesis of boyhood rooms

when i was a boy
after the horrible fights
beneath the roof would end
& the house fell silent
sometimes it'd rain
late in the evening
when it was still light outside
& gentle drops came down
as day still held onto its slender brightness
& i'd imagine a room somewhere
a long distance away
one w/ kind walls standing peacefully
at 90 degree angles
& windows tall & flung open
w/never-ending views of green grass
& finally a very high ceiling
yes, there was this abundant space above
but not so much for love but for mercy

the worst poet

even lies
to himself
in the
fucking
bathroom

most poetry & great poetry

most poetry
is fake

& contains
no truth
whatsoever

great poetry
is like a dangerous
powerful drug

that makes you
realize that
reality is shit

orbiting orphanage

shoulda stayed a microscopic tadpole, or better yet, shoulda stayed in the rings of an elm, shoulda remained in the weightless ether, shoulda sat at the core of a mountain, shoulda rolled w/breakers in the ocean, shoulda stayed mineral or moonlight
shoulda fought birth w/more doggedness, shoulda dodged its hook more diligently
but i was caught & reeled into this thing: this mess, this orbiting orphanage
this thick, lopsided, loathsome, spinning wilderness of lonesome-hood...

second hand shit

the cigarette ash that dropped
between the keys
is the better poem

the dark figure i pass in my car
w/the hood on, walking w/a twelve pack
at midnight is the better poem

the sleeping cat w/her back to me
w/relaxed & un-pricked ears
is the better poem

the cherry blossoms on tips of branches
against the cloudless blue sky
is the better poem

all the men spending their first night
in their graves is the better poem

but this second hand shit
these lines will have to fucking do...

smoke is a sage

knowledge is gossip
there is nothing
to know really
except for the cigarette
smoke curling past yr eye
& how it vanishes
all else is small talk
bullshit
forget knowledge
forget wisdom
smoke is the supreme sage
the distinguished lecturer
in every language

unzippered

one day

the mortician

will zipper

yr lips

shut

& all yr

unsaid words

will be swarming

up yr

dark throat

like mad

fucking ants

suffocating

at the mute

closed-off

mouth-hole

that once

offered

a freedom

you never

had the balls

to grab

hold of...

when will we make another list?

i've been
pretty sick
of that
shitty list
of thou shall not's
for a long, long
time, now

what a way
to exist

to go by
a list
of things
not to
do

this planet
seems like
just one
giant
over-populated
open air
prison

we so called
free
creatures

filled
w/red blood cells
each in the shape
of a microscopic
'no'

my soul is a broken down valise

i was born
w/my angel
split open

like a worn
rubber sole

i was born
w/my angel
dangling

like a busted
wristwatch band

i was born
w/my angel
slumped down
by my feet

like a muddy
broken down
valise

fish of pain

the human brain
is 80%
water

therefore
my skull
is a
bone aquarium

overcrowded
w/fish
of pain

i sprinkle
flakes of poetry
on the surface

they chomp
the words

which only
turn to thread
shaped turds

further polluting
the already
murky bowl

BAH!AMERICA!

a japanese saying
goes: "you should
see the AH! in
things..."

i see "the AH!
in things"
sometimes

but most of
the time i see
"the BAH! in
things"

how could you
not
in america?

can one see
the AH! in
the smog over
new york city?

can one see
the AH! in
a police cruiser
waiting to
ambush a driver?

can one see
the AH! in
all the pavement
that smothers
the earth?

in consumerism
in alarm clocks
in cell phone towers
in skyscrapers
in traffic
in banks
in bogus holidays
in billboards
in mickey mouse

etc...

BAH!AMERICA!