my bike ride is like
an old lady walking past
the gate chased by a little puppy

there are versions of me that
are pulled across dimensions to get here
I hope you’re as charmed as I am

my bike ride is like
a couple fumbling through a conversation
called common ground in the garage

there will continue to be boxy cars
and behind me booming cars that
drive real slow

follow what
you know

a girl outside the tea house
livid as livid will go
says to her friends
you didn’t print out
all the pages?!

So I bike into this area
my morning has started
but I think I should
be on the move soon

it would be good to grab
something to eat

fuck that

rites of spring demand it
write your brain and brand it
rip the tags off and smash it

all the worlds of experience
that I can get into it
don’t let it depress you instead
let it invigorate you

there is a dark side and a light side
maybe we will always
have them
so if I say good nature
what about dark nature
shut ’em down

don’t waste my time
the worlds intrigue me
no more tea
sipped in this dusty house
tune it out
my tuning results frequency frequently
against the ear drum pitted against
pit bulls pissed at their owners
fuck the press up what true babies they are

each word is tinged in death
up close and personal
you get to see personal growth
and what that does to a person
professionally or pathologically?
I can’t stand on two feet
I prefer to float in dreams

all the world is watching
there is always light, especially at night
it’s just a different light
there is excitement for life and its goodness
the darkness also wants a bite of the pie
and is excited to see where this is going
I used to write on the bus and train
now I’m riding my bike and I enter
such a pleasant trance that
guides the things I write about
I guess I’m older now
and feel even more free
to know this is guided along
in the spirit of flow and more flow
it’s almost like the writing hand
will never skip a beat
even though there are
a few commercial interruptions

the expectations of others
it’s a gravity
law of attraction…
is it repulsion

somehow today feels like heaven
men are looking for land
women want to build the houses
children want to set fire
animals want the things in front of them

it’s true though
today feels like heaven
there is glory in this

four word writ on the Twit

we bursts of light

it doesn’t matter whether you’re
the one to help me across
is this my journey?
let me check
yes it’s my journal
and I need to write this
important message to the youth
he said “I don’t trust people
who say ‘I do this for the youth…'”
I know what you mean
I guess there’s something
of the priestly pedophile in that

let me go on examining the contents
of the mind and elements of time
all the things that fascinate me
and put it into a study

throw the gambler’s stone onto the grid
and talk to him
if knife blades were really all
that important
then the nuclear family would
not exist
it’s just an opinion so flimsy it’s
more really just a flash

so that’s how it goes
Cat’s Cradle gets re-read
by someone

this is to ensure my fingers keep
the best idea to keep me

is that true?
I think I’m seeing that now

so listen to music and keep the
fingers moving
even if it’s flustering you
into a hole
aka you’re freaking the fuck out
to give a fuck
you look up and see
yourself move about the room
you were riding your bike and doing a
little better
say yellow hellos to friends closeby
these are new leaves with pound symbols
should you trust them?
turn over
the conversation gets bizarre
my foot answers a vibrating phone
the house is full of love
I wake to such a darling Kalika
sitting there on the bed looking at
me so content
it’s such a wonderful feeling
this is how you do it
even with a headache
on the brink…



Awe, wonder. Joy. I am going to take this time easy. I can tell you about all the trips I’ve taken, which sounds so vague in the beginning. I can tell my thoughts, share my notes, make it personal. The funny note is that just when you think it’s personal, it turns out not to be, not so much, not when you fly a plane over it and realize it’s… the thing… is spread all over the people. The face is blushing. Some people leave me not so impressed as of late. Has this been something I’ve been looking for, I think I’ve found it. My joy is in locating the truth in things. Try for this. I’m going to dedicate more time to this.

When my beloved passed away recently, I could’ve tumbled down deep into any barrel. I consciously chose not to, as a way to dedicate my heart, to my darling Rudra, my favorite person of all of time.

I think I am going to take it easy. Write more. Don’t let anyone speak a secret code against it. Call them on their code and seize your precious time. You have the ability for conscious living. Continuous reacting can be a thing of the past.

Writing notes lately of possible little stories. They are seeds and paragraphs, maybe sprouting into beauty, but are going strange places—I don’t try and force the subject or take a heavy handed approach. It’s not that I go which ever way the wind blows but I also have a sort of trust in the wind that it somehow knows what it is doing.

That’s the thing with the flow state. Once you get into it, you have some room to move around. Childhood comes up. Waiter says, I take your plate? What are you reading, I see there, Michael Crichton? I should check that out… Yeah, yeah. Anyway, the flow state, the place you get to that’s obvious, the words are easy, the paint is loose, the women looser. You don’t feel like a loser.

Word play is great, I can’t knock it, but it’s only a part of it. If you were to ask me what my writing was about, we could sit down and talk about it. Then we would get up and go away each into our own homes and sit down to write and there would be something else hidden away, discovered, and chewed on. Word play unlocks a lot of various things to think about, but sooner or later I think you have to start making the connections. That way, you get something more out of it. But yeah, it’s great to let your writing session freak flag fly.

Apparently there is a bus that will take you from Houston to Austin in a breath, for ten dollars, so that’s twenty round trip. You can get away, and why wouldn’t you? You think of slipping away a lot. Off and away! You’ve already gone to so many places in your head. One day a river of spinning jewels twirled over your field of vision. You could’ve been talking to someone and it was as clear as day, this thing. The jewels that created a self-aware rainbow, wishing gems.

May a land of money fall into my back yard. May a moneyless land set foot into my indebted territory.

In our hearts and minds we are finding the connection


dispense with the shame that spoils your heart, if you can, and as you need to. you will need to.

it takes awhile to get into the writing flow but when you do, that’s where you begin to meet more of yourself, which is always shifting.

some would even argue that there you are not truly meeting yourself since there is no true self that exists, only a combination of events, energy, and influence. in essence, energy.

so I come back to the writing session again and again. say hello to my little friend. is the internet down? can we connect with each other from our hearts and minds? who knows how it all happens. is there a soul? is there a god? to ask…

Learn to Bow

wind and wind down
I like listening
I lick light switches
and younger
lightweight witches
slip off slink in the dark
hail storm strumming warmth
Cassevettes form

even that statue learns
to bow
all time
all of time
pokes me
yes I notice

words of our world
our stares go blank

sometimes I worry
what is happening
to this body

A poem, fair enough

got the guard
off guard
he got shoved
into a closet
the closet thrown
into the sea
the sea buried
behind a tree
tree ripped up
by a Meghan in
the the throes of
applying make up
scent this time apple
green not navy
hello the way you answer
a phone
what of your day
oh just the usual
burying of

Steady Death Tide

Wake & shell out
cascades of borne heather
heckle spat a froth
figment nicety
a terror yell

neighboring kin call Help
holy hell unleashed
walking rising fauna
men trapped in saunas

neurotic heralding
needling nimbly numbly
higher constructs
the time is nigh
neatly configured

craft sharpens alien mind
net genteel bow gather taxed
hate spread on toast the
butter thread
erratic acted erotic irony
total glory mishap
aborted theory
Thelonious lonely

makers fake
mystery in Somerton
cake tendon listlessly
laden Peter Lorre
lake chokes a ricky
rickety boats with holes sink
before they flying piercing
banal barriers into oracle

bickering banter binary antelope
banal intensity shine on
collapsing Greece

terrific traffic jammed up
the ass of Establish
harnessing hindsight tantalize
this revved up revision up
a blonde’s inner thigh and
the story unfolds length by length
by laryngitis Larry David

the hankering dead skittering
down daunting Everest Mount
die some more leak of death further
undefiled steady death tide
holding hands of a blurry dynasty
at Bedside

genetic hostage
enemies devise…

Speech Emphasis

Recently dreamt I was parked in a handicapped spot. I got out of there just as some tow trucks were trying to corner me. Two old devotee friends were cops and chased me down. By the time I was stopped there were also Buddhists on the scene. One of the head Buddhist monks was acting as judge and :executioner, ready to damn me, but I was able to make a heartfelt, hilarious speech… I looked about me and everyone was cracking the fuck up. It got me free. Is it my purpose to speak… as much truth possible… to speak in a certain way? This takes some insight. May the answers peel open under the writing fingers. What do cops, tow trucks, Krishnas, and Buddhists have left to teach me?

Lunch Poem

my skin can’t be loving all this pizza
suburbs too far from downtown
get a life suburbs
get a life
city or the country
none of this in between shit

oh and put the soda back
you are too miniature

how’s it
the day going for you
don’t make me drag it out of you
or make me repeat
my fucking self

the day needs Midol
the day provides and takes
we become the old people
that the grave beckons
the ones we disdain
and cast to the shadow lands

if you stomp a fit and get what you want
then it’s really on them
on you later
on them now
there’s a poison to bring
a whole species to its end
it’s called ignorance


hours on end focusing on the glass screen
really it’s mind and more mind
it could be the same if you sat still
and closed your eyes
you’d find the joy and horror of
your lives and thoughts
the burning

years back I nearly spent
one hundred hours of meditation
in ten days near Dallas

it stuck with me
the lessons are still making
their way here
etching etching etching
like new experiences
those days of the holy silent vow
not allowed to read a line of anything
I thought maybe I could find a
pamphlet in my bag or a receipt, anything,
but no

so I grabbed rocks from the rock garden
outside the meditation hall
and brought them back to my room
and read

read them at night as I propped up
against the wall
peering into every detail

memories came

how are you, brother?
where did you get this scar from?
oh, a rain fell and you got scrapped
by the other rocks?
you got it from the others?
a wind drug you along?
you got caught under the door as it opened?
as it closed?

looking into the rock like craters on the moon
I spotted even bigotry and anguish
I went to a place and dedicated myself to
yet another staunch and maddening practice
to contact humanity and maybe something beyond it
what some of us may call Big Mind

thinking through—
we may arrive
if blessed
to the limits
of our materialism
and cast it back

encouraged to stay with our breathing
the one thing all of us have
meditation could not be
in and of itself holy
only if we discovered…
only if we stayed…
didn’t collapse…

I made myself a statue
but felt like an old house
creaking in the silent night
I would fall apart slowly like any other
and it wasn’t personal
it isn’t personal

It Eats The Item

back and forth
gum chew
write for four miles
and call it
a hallucinogen
the mind awakes
the mind bends
the mind manifests
doesn’t need
to grab a beer or a lite beer
just does it
look through the trees
to the crowds of
people holding onto their lives
screeching their cars along
side rails of winding roads
sparks screeching
now hold on

any little thing can
jolt and startle me
I’m committing crimes in
over-sensitivity half the time
don’t want to get hurt
and die quick or slow or at all
Chew all the gum in
the world tonight
I read you clear
you’ve got news for me
that you got FROM me
you wanna feed it back
I’ll turn around and sound it back
Mack attack
where’s the stash?
we had to move the stash
her yellow dress is lightly dangling
over her remarkable body
she looked over to me and said
I know you’re looking
and I’m glad you are

I am a wolf tearing the jungle apart in my teeth
you are in a moist jungle
and a predicament at that
my teeth sharpen as I stick my head out the window
of the Camero and grind them against the highway
going a hundred
my family doesn’t read any of this
because they don’t care for this kinda thing
well good for them I guess I guess I guess I guess
fireball nation
hallucination you get to see past
what is there to what is ALSO there
and that’s some funny shit
blood held together in the merciful tourniquet
run its course
lap the track
tall glass of vegan milk
and lemon squares
like disappointing pancakes
if you’re waiting on pancakes and
someone hands you a plate of
goddamn lemon squares
it’s gonna make you mad
and we can’t have that
it eats the item
it calls you a hack
it’s not lying
it’s saying a truth
driven home
on a straight line
logic after zig zag
so long it’s taken to get here
so long to you
so long into the night
we make a diving into

Riding Back in

Courier, curry. Do these guys know what they’re doing? It’s all this kind of time race. And you make fit your moments into it, into the container. If you hope for something you just might be given something else, but when you stop hoping, that’s when things start tasting flat. Cast removed from arm, you call with good news and good vibes. Roaming charges were built in a day. I send you a thought without paying anything. Read my eyes and the corners of my mouth for a clue. A novel about gambling and trains rising from tunnels.


This term “soldier” or “soldiering”… it ain’t so fucking grand, even metaphorically speaking, because the metaphor connects back to blood and tanks and guns and running over motherfuckers. Just because this is used in hip hop, and therefore modern culture, doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be checked on to see if in fact a different metaphor would be more appropriate. Life itself can be hell and a hell of a thing to go through but such associations only keep you locked down in there and the next thing you know you’re dead and for someone else’s cause.

A Factor of Travel

catching someone in an “imperfect” moment
but then a hot woman lady jogger, she goes by,
excites the imagination.
the phone rings; someone wants
to put you in jail, and says, “I’m a bitch.”

stop screwing with me and start paying me back
a factor of travel a large man launching out of a tiny clown car
I climbed to the roof to watch the light show
to UFOs some say NO but you never know
and now look, alas, a goddamn light show

I buy books before food and eat at Food Not Bombs
we should wage another war
call it the war on cancer
a man slides up to the nick nacks in a little dance
shuffles away, goodbye you condiments

every delicate possible break sends worry
down the spine
time to celebrate another homecoming arrival
all adventure holds mileage
even getting somewhere fast
the trip home seems like forever