lost pens return
from sea
my pants pockets

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small, cramped apartment (written and read at tonight’s poetry reading)

trying to make sense of our place in this world, wondering if we should express ourselves explain ourselves by giving ourselves a label or name tag, like devout fanatical christian or absolute flaming fag. just to stir things up a bit, wouldn’t that be great if you could put that down on your resume? interest and hobbies, flaming fag. combustible. here comes trouble. stir up some. I feel like I’m getting my shit together. I don’t answer questions about God any more… I say, I know for sure that if God exists, God wants you to get your shit together. and this is severe. you can always blame it on terrorism. you can always blame it on backgammon. but what matters is you getting your shit together. you know who you are and you know what you have to do and you know what time it is so don’t say you don’t – that if the power goes out even on your watch you can look down and it will say right NOW. no one can really harm you, in fact it’s just you harming you, and if you would just keep drilling this in you could learn to breath it in slowly from one to ten.

thursday morning waking up… I dreamt I was the only one left alive and some dead were left looming, would reappear at times, then vanish. my cat was dead and tattered, was giving me head butts, attacking ghostly bits of plastic bags flicking up in the wind and this was freaking me out beyond belief. carpeting ripped up for whatever reason. blame it on terrorism, the behind the curtain kind, starving airlines, those peanuts are missing! on board and rehearsing what to say, this is how you should put your head between your knees if this shit is going down and you pretend that you are not fucked. thursday morning waking up.

I know for sure that I sleep too much these days and don’t put enough hours into writing projects, and go slack, get suckered into renting flop movies like Cradle 2 The Grave because I think Jet Li’s kung fu is going to make the whole thing so worth it. that was two movies ago, or more. I’m now beyond it, but have not gone without accruing Blockbuster late charges, and these guys are looking at me like, dude, how can you possibly fail to return a freakin’ movie on time when we tell you exactly when and where and what and who and why and why not and why not get your shit together if you’re going to keep breathing into the brown paper bag that this old woman is holding out for you so that you can stop your hyperventilating. what the hell is wrong with you?

that’s the way it goes; expert insects concur. I will leap ahead with them and bring new inspiration into the chinese new year when it rolls around next time. yeah, I will be first in line, like a at the movies, to see the Birds, to see Psycho, before even paying the bills. . .

the need to write
haiku, count well
revive math skills

you get up and
go over there
I read my book

unimpressed, then impressed
a torturous confusing ride
never found that certainty
found clarity
disgust for
things
fading out
no longer as angry
no longer angry
at times
whole days passed
not being angry
can you imagine that?
as if a … lobotomy

it would be good to win the lottery
I’d make it work out for me
and every body
encourage everybody to quit their jobs
if they do not really
serve humanity
okay, here’s some money
move about freely
like in that movie
American Beauty, you know that kid
he had other income
and could up and quit
on the spot, literally

no notice, I gave my best
now you can
go into cardiac arrest
if you think that
will make you feel better
nice knowin’ ya
here’s a piece of white bread
and my resignation letter

wanting peace of mind
to be myself
to be by myself
to be treated well
everybody likes me
daily I affirm this
I’ve got millionaire cash
vibes on the tip of my tongue
and I’ve remembered to bring some
life wisdom to achieve light
on the top wrung
enlightenment
flight
fight for
fulfillment
getting your shit together
in a small, cramped apartment

publishing ideas

found a single copy of my old book in the closet tonight, Love The Wooden Gun, collected poems ’92 – ’95. sitting in my chair I realized I should recoup this digitally into a PDF format, as well as a few other old chap books from that period, and dub them “Early Writings.” keep your eyes open for that down the line. when it’s out, I’ll be posting it here.

some haiku

so close to death
each word on the
switch of the electric chair

you suffer so
I have learned calmly
to absorb your screams

bowing deeply
everything before me
thanking with my eyes

air conditioner
cradled in kitchen window
kitten’s healthy teeth

finger runs across
sentences as a guide
toil information aged

sea shell ocean in my
ears sleeping
Billie Holiday every day