car poemb

"You are being sax cyst."
Whut.
"I said you're being a
sax cyst."
boot heels shaved 20 degrees
how you and I
distribute weight
cold saturday morning
on fabric row
delivering to me whiffs
of sweet fruit trucks
hearing no cars would
not mean trouble
and this guy
is out here still in shorts

car poema

an old show that
white ppl like
jogger butt
in side mirror
like ducks in a line
girl groceries
tucked my head into my
coffee outside Jefferson
see a woman drop
something -- a tote
had a bikini girl keychain
eyes still in my coffee
everybody insulated
cept a chinese father's
balding head

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My Words

sure

what's happening -- nothing
even those old dead poets
wouldn't know shit about
elbows on the table,
same wood of a ship,
square-rigged w/ high European
features, all being nice,
makes them smile toothlessly ( nice )
serious is the tip
of a sword as young as
its possessive country
home from work you
take off the day
buds from your hair,
your rock shoes
read the depressed difference
compare levels of disgust
in cheeks and brows
on a day I sit outside
in a fold-out chair
simply to feel something

sick

Genre-blending then I'm pretty happy
fighting together rock wall the vessel
the heater stays on, just crack the capsules
I'm nowhere near the stretch of Maine
live and die a torso

Made in America jar coozy
in the rain walk some populated corner,
some mellow life talking in Philadelphian
a girl under the dish rag
boy watering himself

with my tide out
show myself a section of the park canopy
branches come and show out
I take messages through my nostrils
on the road to recovery

afterwards, between time during travel
if a grayness hasn't already latched on
aren't I already equal, all cock and now craves
movements undisturbing to a dimple
that is not to be wasted, to be wasted

Owe nothing and own nothing
dragging city where the river belts
every day they're finding monsters
they shoot them dead without question
an excessive, conjoined love.

night

Tusslin' through the dark early

winter, this winter

of excessive flix and flicks

from self-doubt comes lethargy

and little word on paper,

and little cold poems

but I've got bluetooth technology

my sister, she specializes in "flu shots"

the line on her palm cuts end to end

little difference in our morphology

I stay inside with my emu

while the words in my trove

curl up against my heat

motions

Nell za go home burg,
to and from Philly,
         
riddled with litter
I seldom cut grass either,
winter snow guarantee of
                        fatty output

Warm pie of a bed,
cold crust of the Delaware

Open the tuck
indicate the forms within me
to get out the nature,
                            it's brilliant,
                     my great masters
            called their philosophy
                            simply put

Come back
to yr sound
until no one buzzed)
if all were for kicks,
                 if it's true ?

She laughing,
with all my salt
in her mouth

to change in the city
as sudden truck revs
I made it out like a Mole

from that somber
& serious business of people

             On a Chinese
                blanket
                ice out there

mum

well,

first, none of us played baseball,
that I come back to
the front steps staggered to hold
a short and plump lawn
like a car hood
                             that old generation

like off to the sea so spread
to take care of the young
my mother howling
into the blue intersection

I walk out toward her
barefoot

lark

she approaches
  red-breasted
  and flips

that nest which,

few feet
from fire,      ( she fought )

   held all the
   eggs of
            my
        moving mind
   my day-to-day
and yesterdays
  never where my
  heart sits

notes

    excuse
  all   sister
  and young sisters
  incapable myself
  why holding back

  tough much
remembering the
blood in my hand
   a fans going
      berserker

in a minute now
  a poem of
    little gravity
    my faces

oi-ing
four cake slices
     of a radiator
     grill pattern
              exhale

my pal goes
  to war w/ the
    world for

the larger
   and
  longer

sometimes it scares
 me to sleep
piano flowers

sleep tho still,
when I can I do
    I can

Say --
        health and
    soul
is all you're for
  flimsy

ready for the
next epoch
in my Garfield
  pajamas

green Chinese
          comforter

normal a quasar
when I was a
kid on A St,
     that
  was the
 name of
the microwave,

Space-bound
  electronics
  all finely
coated w/ years
of cooking oil & dust
           all
expansions and
renovations

my father,
in his young guise,
    erected,
  smiled thru,

(summoned
      almost)

these things
that grow you
out of their memory,
     which lives!

but like vines,
    creep over
     lush time

you    you
are beautiful
          too!

To C. D.,

In my brilliant circle mind,

Wriggling Carlos Wriggling

Not only is my mutation

random,    it's true,         too

of                     luv

common          phenomenon.


You stare out the blinds to see
the source of that noise,

do no-thing,

                     and some guy out
the third story window will tell
those two young men to stop

filming.

many summers

destroyed         what

little                 innocence (
with it,
           
privacy,
                               I had sense

one

          summer   was

just                
blunt
                               on a roof

materia

Little can get away with a lot
before I knew it, I had spent
over $300 on recovering
   my adolescence

And in all that time, didn't
write a single poem.
   
             -- Quyen?
           
Yeh?
             -- Did you go into my room?

Yeh.

             -- Did you play my piano?

   Yeh, I jammed on it.
   I showed you how
   to play FFVII's theme

thru and thru
waiting for the horrible
pang of reality

    after all
    
                     credits roll

american space

                                  so much    

                           air       in the face

till blues             so much you       turn blue

rattling enos, 

bunking bass

                            eating packages

                            why don't I got the guts

completely 

smothering whiskey

                               on nice me

I went out to make a buck

on an electrician's truck

get Vietnam back 

                             to starting

your loss by 

act of birth

order,

                             there is you!

putting the text away, 

wringing in naughty Q

now I feels the smarting --

I had my baby times.

Put away the wax on

                        wax on radiators

                      could never've said, why, I'd

leave          leave

all such things to

                            flesh out cities

PA

hello

from off
signals charge
to a mother

from brambles,
thick, he and I picked
              a stick

we wizarded
toward the falls,
and shit was there falling

wif hoagie in lotus position
on some strata Siddartha sat

black
           bruises,

           deep
                     greens,

a frog
                     in her hands

ought jump
                     into my pocket,

come home
                     wif us

pub letter

Barbarity not all that is under attack,
                             the lash out at the delivery boy
now grown

she was hangry
                         and the trash was supposed to go
out tonight

being much gone
                                               on drugs and lying
down

patted myself
                                           on the right shoulder
where bag strap

becomes a welt
                                     on the tops of my ankles
rub cortizone

and in the letter I had written
                                           mailed to Dusseldorf
fowl scratching

two Johnny Cashes and a Ray Charles
                                 oughta make it to Germany
speedily to Sakamoto's healf

roof

Over there is
the
    Ben Gazzara
    Rehabilitation
         Center

 to the right
  where I
  am in this
        instant

the best
  thing that
  smoke stack

is good for
        I feel
  the wind
      on my
cheek and in my
  hair

  and I look
      back
to confirm
    the direction
         of the
         wind

as a bee
       looks at
       us

you there
   in the
sun smoking

muuuuse
all     I
     want

   a tiny
puff of
yr cigarette

job

The Saturday I
was going to have

all but have, have

                            to myself,

       carried
well on the nite before

when I got to the place
                  a child answered

An Access card
on the                      bedding
children,               caged pup,
                             and bunks

Dunebug and I
were there to help my father
install electrical wiring
on the outside of the house

for the Indian landlord ( I
                                          don't like him )

I guard the van,
                                          watching the mother
and her well-built friend
                                                                  get high

        Ayoung
        family
        grills
                         inwhat
                         space
                         theyhave                           got
     
        her the
                              garbage bag she
                                                                  asked for

Charletta, but
I'm likely way
off,                        and Michelle,

with her hair

                    intricately
                         up

         I know

I used to take the 66 & see
all the girls from Jean Madeline
out on their smoke breaks

dip

Dip in

after rotation

in high school
We perched rotatos

off the wall
    on  9th

I seldom edited.
Him doing all the  tinkering.
Mini-DVs plastic on

plastic
               I

with my eye
ball, sup
               posing
them
   
In various locations
from Christian all
the way to City Hall.

A dishwashing, B typing,
C dozed some luv left over in
Kaufman's bin

view

If ya feel it
ya feel it,
stupid

local star
CVS is out
for me tonight

Mars, too, is
out for me tonight

to its left, what I had
mistaken as Arcturus

Starlight
kisses a perfect
                     
Stranger
on a Sunday

bicycle

On yours

    I hobbled through Quince

    Tried, in the Dutch fashion

to side-ride, clutching you

    As though a pinch

    would send a bolt 

clear through me

    How've I managed 

    to sleep since?

a

a poem is

a dynamic turn

leaving me alone

I know you are tired

can't be more tired than me

one track mind

to know how

                      to love,

and to know where 

                      to put it,

lack of money, y'know

hostility,  guilt,  anger

everybody's way 

                      

                      to say

how can I love with some degree

                      of peace

destroy it and hurt

each other

what else

zzz

the Amana has both A
                                       C
      And heating capability

Slumber o'clock has it often
      At 72 degs

Last month when the PECO came
the Amount seemed trifling

      But now I don't even touch
                                the timer

Drift off
                                       Continually

                                   to Z's

the stops

Phia, Den,
Auken, Hill,
Shade

From Shadows
with his girl

Sliding movement
never make it to
the bus on time

Girls
at the Rialto

Everybody's gonna let,
which really burns me

I'm a singer
who sings a song

white rivers
say a few nice words
about white womyn

to hell with jokes
it'd close the
joint

under

you wanna go
                        take dope
some grand

     wiser takes
you wanna go
       ahead out

at four mornings
with soma guy just to be
with him?

you expect to be funny
                   in this thing?

call someone over
instead
                     ocean line
some funny

appears so afraid
to have something to say

makes sense
in every days
               
                  too get drunk

you've seem
                     to lose
                    some reality

the ocean
               
that cries funny
cries helplessly

with no weapons
that's she