Dubious Hermitage

So much code/design study, I have to set a timer to break away or I will break my face. As I hack along, a random New Yorker texts me, pries for information, and before I know it—this guy turns out to be a web developer, someone I can barrage with questions all things CSS, jQuery, all of it… Strange how people fall out of the sky.

The timer chimes. Get up from chair. Go do something. Something else. Ironically, I find yet another apropos article. Eyes pained, stinging. Mind racing. Words flowing again. Body soreness is a soaring economy causing me some increasing concern: Pain is a promise.

I stir about in my rejuvenated car… “Reliable transportation!” I fire off officially in emails into the job pit. If a good team will hire me, we will put heads together and create something beautiful, efficiently. I just know it.

Ready for a new world.

Hell, I’m not even really bound to Houston. I can do what I do anywhere and I’ll be fine—at least until my spirits sink and I feel the need to be around the verdure of people again. Then what breed shall I find adequate?

This little apartment feels like a hermitage, one I’ve made from a game plan and the times, the circumstances: Me; cats; lady friend; books; movies—not in heretical order.


an air conditioner
struggling in servitude


Kick The Crab

He had to ask himself the toughest questions dealing [on] survival or all else would be snuffed out. Morning. The new morning in a new age. As the time passed he realized he wasn’t a kid any more and that he has been by virtue of being compelled—growing and in growing inspiring others.

She slid a hand to his right knee and
bread was at the oven
inside thinking of a better life

The facts of life carry from bird to bee and can be found misconstrued on any feed.

Jerry’s teacher Mr. Wallace taught him writing and the significance of writing by hand, organic in early hours, an innocence sprawl biking baking reality the pages squares of paper towel rolls and untrusting stares people give.

Reminded how the shops and empires, nothing left of them but shadow stained imprints logos on the wall their own shameful graffiti sitting up the damage done and most of the people never wrote get well cards and we-miss-you nothings so sweet they never made it to reach hearing distance honeycombs hubs traffic flows signals.

She found her consciousness revived and lax, Evelyn, who acquired one daughter she paid for through her own old fashioned efforts, bees that whisper the same tellings all that comes and goes and language gets into everything or else we can’t even see.

The daughter she made out of construction paper and glued leaves to a page removed, learned how to speak by little nudges and then flew on her own. Boy did she know how to sass.

Somewhere mixed up in a silence a willing father came along again and that silence boiled low for years until oh the language and twists and turns that came out of him too- they would surely together pass along to a child something Volatile dysfunction

At this adjunct a collapsed lung early on left out in the sunlight trapped in a lot parked cracked windows he could not be moved from his chair so they scooted him in front of a TV theirs was an old folks home stylistically they eat their young beat them young protein fun and stuck brain chopped lamb chops for dinner. brains for dinner. Take this Hammer. Try for one more son.

kick the dead crab
the crab is alive
the crab is your son you must
put through college for you to demand
that he makes you red face baked proud
like his back is rosy cheeked red
burnt in the sun not hiding under a tree
don’t kick the crab if you have no idea
and you are feeling rather dualistic
pluralistic disinitigrative
sans-shade Terra terribly as your maker
as your undoer
recycling happening with or without a program

the man leads us along in silence
with a Quicksilver logo painted
on his shirt
a red rock painted redder reddest
invested in the hopes of this world
entwined in knowing shakable phenomena

Mirror Up

I can read out poetry
drunken or otherwise
sometimes preferably buzzed
on point
loud, too loud, just right
‘cuz I have my off nights
but more on
than off
ya know?

an old friend of mine
is just starting out with this
who I see a lot of potential in
who reminds me
much of myself
when I was starting out
so I told him:

don’t let anyone know
this is your first time
that will just create a distraction
don’t choke up
if you stumble on a word
just move along
make no apology
and as a percussionist
you should listen
for your own rhythm
and just rock it on out as you see fit
you can do it!

and he did do it!
and I almost welled up
with prideful tears
so I welled pridefully
without tears then
and we proceeded to
talk all this out
what performance is
and the stumbling blocks
that come along
with life
what relationships become to us
what we make of it all
on a Tuesday
on an open mic night
always in our own

they’ve little idea
what we discuss over
at the diner
the gravity of the situation

even one dude is
non-stop with the jokes
super annoying the shit out of…
I can just tell
when motherfuckers
aren’t being real

must power up
with the ability to
see self
see action
see thought before
it becomes action
before it becomes
a regrettable action

must mirror up