Gratitude

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1.

I bow in holy gratitude

for what the world
offers me in abundance

abundance is already there
you just have to notice it

you know,
if it’s actually
there

loving
dedication
tribute
celebration

bowing
in gratitude

bowing to this feeling
bowing to the notepad
to the keyboard
this cup
that car
that tree of oxygenation
that building protecting people
from crazy people at night
the harsher earth elements in life

shit, you don’t wanna even
sleep out in the garage

I bow to this current feeling
and consensus
simple as an abacus

bowing in gratitude
for the wilderness
the bewilderment of wilderness
or being bewildered out
in the middle of wilderness

this is how
you make a dog smile

write him a letter

don’t miss it in your lifetime

is your
life fine?

steady beating lifeline

bowing
in gratitude

to some random dude
walking and listening to music
on his way to wherever he’s going
some random spot
which will turn out to be
not so random after all

gratitude for solitude
it’s something you just have
to appreciate for it showing up
but let it go its merry way
when it wants

gratitude for aptitude
the ambulance serves as a bell
to bring you back to yourself
360 degrees of yourself in 3D

dimensional prevention
it’s like this
it’s like it’s with this
glances
last chances
pick pockets with
your thoughts
in their pockets
head nods
ram rods
Cape Cod
flier for missing dog

bowing
in gratitude

keep trying
keep training
your positive thought train
to react

2.

it is a matter
of identifying where
I want to go and
trusting that a spiritual
thirst can be quenched

bowing
in gratitude

to these socks
I begin to
slide onto my feet

trust the warmth

when you’re young
they ask you to choose
your profession when
you’re busy being five

I struggle against falling asleep
until it wins
I try to be as stern as possible
I must accomplish some *things* first
don’t always trust the warmth

you want to transform
your dwelling spot into a
holy abode of conscious awareness
and love
you work from the inside
until you reach the outside

3.

This is the next part. The next part of the day. We like to call it night time. This makes it anti-day, without the sun, but the sun is shining on the other side. There’s more than one side. Don’t be selfish. Interviews with Bill Murray are hella interesting. It seems late in the evening. It’s only 8 o’clock. Just woke a bit ago, with sniffles. It was a long fucking nap. I can do what I want. Work was fucking dumb. There are so many dumb people. My god, if God exists in that tangible sort of way people like to push, you’d think he’d put some smarter people down on the surface of his creation, or what some think the crime of humanity is that it turns on itself, poisons itself, kills itself. Work was fucking dumb.

I’m speaking Greek to some. My gratitude is for past, present, and future—to get me some. When I ask you to get me a glass of water, I also want you to get yourself some. I’m speaking Greek and I’m not really even from DC, in the ultimate sense. DC and I had to deal with each other, and we’re still both afloat, in some… sense…

The death toll rises as I rise out of bed, to brush my teeth, while they’re scrubbing blood from the floors in Ecuador.

Everyone is dumb, somewhere. There are dumb people everywhere. They want to jump out at you in traffic. Dumb people create traffic. I don’t mean all traffic always. When’s the last time you’ve seen a drunk ass procession of ants marching to the next discovery? Those fuckers are organized. Those fuckers are organized. Those fuckers are organized.

Grateful for those who grated on my nerves, and the silence I would get to afterwards. When you’re done speaking, I need to go take a shower, and forget about some things.

Finding a place to sit down in the light rain, a quiet invaded by the sounds of the city they only wish they could sustain. Silence reigns supreme and makes people uncomfortable.

Grateful for the uprising. Flip a cop car over. Burn your mayor. Baby steps of breath. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two.

Finding my way back.

So I’m coming back to consciousness because I fell under an object that felt like a table but was probably the hull of a UFO hovering over the corn crops scooping up the children of the corn.

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
reeewindddd
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

What Is Life Like For You?

the spacemen are landing
let’s take them out
to lunch if they’re up to it
the one admits to
having kept on
one underwear
for a month straight
his pants probably
smell like trash

hunger rain pours down
the superintendent brings
me a bottle of wine
his way of making
it up to me
for letting my cat out
mistakenly the other day
to fix the spigots
very nice of him
and unnecessary

we complain about silly things
my stomach bleeding
is bleeding
put ya hands up
down low
too slow

a dog barks at
the rain
a subway car stops
a rapper writes
another diss
a rambunctious student
at the tournament is
turned out
sent off
made to do quiet time

I hang my fire
emotion in the tree
to dry the t-shirts
hanging on the line
across the way
it does a fine job

I’ve got nothing
to wear today

they hire a girl to
mimic a video game character
she does a pretty fine job
standing there
to be oogled
answering the most basic
questions like Who are you
supposed to be and
Where’s the restroom?

fine lines
thick line
straw that breaks camel’s
back
needs to be interviewed

what is life like for you?

don’t we all wanna be
asked such things
and for a listener

to be there?

Some Bloodspill

up late
layering words
down as to
make sense
of what I’m thinking
this is now
the age old tradition
of many
and why
for the life of me
I go on explaining it…
I suppose
I just get all
wordy like a narrator
and mostly besides
the need in it
there is also
a joy in it
and when you
write it
you can really
go on for quite
some time

throw it
out to sea

confessing that
all is not
well

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Incantations

She’s Hardly Recognizable Now fires off at the mouth today. Grab on.

The new book—Terra—pieces Herself together with Tibetan incantations, sweet intonations, as a M-trip conference devoted to planetary restoration, as New York shouts down to Philly passing off to B-More onto DC—plodding west until the back tire comes loose—reminded: we find ourselves stuck wits’ end in the township of Pasadena, detecting a bad smell. Kept quiet ’til Houston, Terra is a sudden sexily-bold alternative, bright, upright in speech, good-looking, good lookin’ out—rightfully proud.

Soon She shall make Her debut. Timing is just about right.

The Small Moments

sweet waking up
first words
this into this, what means?
hello?
what is this gibberish?
I find myself
talking such crazy garble
and I make
no apologies for it
we all ask
how many have you had?
just one
just none—no beer at all
I’m naturally like this
or I’m unnaturally so
it is a nice morning
to wake into
the coffee pours on
I load up my radioshows
to listen to for
my work shift
and once again preparing
to bus on out
since the car is “dead”
Hitch’s Birds come on
the cats’ ears are spry
my first words add
to the detail of dawn
Hitchcock had
big dedication…

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The Rink

the rink is covered
by your icy remarks

any excuse
a query
something wrong

but could not move
then got itself moved

we often forget that
we are right at the beginning

and it’s just like that
we’d rather believe the taunts of others
and beat ourselves to death
savage/modernity

is it the name or
the thing?
is it The Thing?
is it IT itself?
is it self, is it fake-self, non-self
empty-self?
is it not worth it?

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Thursday Thirst

green tea kinda evening
shortcut your
way thru

oh I write with
my eyes closed
a good part of this

I don’t period the sentence
here in this little
note taking realm
this falls out of
the sky
in a stream
and into a stream

a write session
here in humble abode
quiet low lit
air conditioner on
as a sort of insanity-staller
one hundred
degree days driving
us all
to our doctors’ offices

Internet as
second brain
two brains are better
than one
and the one we have
can always
be enhanced

a scientist
explores the
astroid’s true meaning—
they hit us
in the past—
altering everything
within seconds—
it
can happen again

upon impact
the shockwave spreads
a fire blankets our cities

our petty upheavals
are are erased
a Good thing to keep in mind

but until then
until the extinction of our species
even the pettiest of
struggles have their validity
they are very real to us
there is a root problem at the base

we owe ourselves that…
getting down to the base

to see what’s happening

it takes
courage
respect, patience, compassion

The Base

the eyes are a deep ocean,
with whirlpools and violent winds,
and shadows beneath the surface
and sea monsters deep within.
my boat is sailing in mindfulness,
I vow to hold the tiller firmly
so that I do not drown in an ocean of form.
using my conscious breath,
I am guarding my eyes for my protection and yours.
so that today continues to be a beautiful day,
and tomorrow, we still have each other.
—Thich Nhat Hanh

Saturday Night Writ

shotgun chat
too much makeup on
lost interest fast
driving a premium gasoline’d convertible
bad listening span
visiting fam

nightguard in mouth keeping some from great grinds
layoffs at the graveyard send reeling workers home axed
unfinished grinds

wary of the prick glued
to business calls
all thru Virginia
and chides the kind woman
for her stumbling
set to pothole jitters

squirrel stripes on
a rock
like three
and asking how
by natural elements, events,
storms, ground under a door,
a bang, impersonal

the art of friggin’ yrself
in yr mirror while
ya visualize yr happy
place f’eva
sibblings are checkin’
in on voice mail

hi emptiness: I keep
trying
to
fill you
you keep
expanding
still
I
keep bleeding
on
everyone
in
my
church

testify!

grey answer
roped back down to earth or left
stranded to skill
acquire the ‘self-rely’
roped in trunk
calm yourself or surely die

he called em ‘culudz’ & solved
the jank’dest rainbow cube
to amaze me, ol’ dad on mom-side
she’d buy shoes and type the story down

polish unrecognized irony till trapped dull
licking these internally
all saltish
rethink this visitation for a network
then work it, girl

origination in the other thing
an’ can B traced with a hamster dam all jammed
me bright
A-Z pride
write
for 4 hours
smoke a hashtag

young once
now I’m youngest & young ones call me youngin’
any reversal evident
denied
filed
ahem, shredded
tha time bomb of psalm

eighties canon
clown drinking fountain
70 dives
one miss
sink
canary note
favorite tree
monster scares boat
help u remove yr dress

Spacely was a short man
George under heal
Jefferson deluxe laundro
Cindy rattle brain
Jack fakes his stay
why bother?

emotionally charged
slide yr card
Hamburger Helper hand gets picked on
help!
buys gun
walks thru wall like the Kool Aid tank
begins

put your pain pants back on
thought my typo was paint pants
but I mean what I say
mostly
and I mean pain
and u were going to anyway

the storks that think they know human babies
the forks that shove in
in the dark there are bent spoons
left to soothe a doubt
mind flickers

ahold of tightly aren’t you ready for shifting
fond library mems
snack memes
themes
Houston scene creamers stand still as trees

Yarned up and batted around the room
I am your moth that breaks the lightbulb
surprise
water to fire in its middle
it stops at demise, yep

aging rapid & rabid
the fanfic has a dead engine
what happened to authors who used to have fun
pay me
I’m at the beach and high

traces
neon one
heartfelt
buy u objectification
dedicated
always scream
smart, he is a smarty
smack off a smile from a fake face
partly

an event passing
gone
logged
ticket price of silence twelve clicks
sorrow folding sorry laundry
a stalling stale catalyst of red laughs

burn the world up with an eyebrow
and go to town on them deadbeats at the tracks
all clocks set back
watch ’em fly back turn & backtrack

concern of a thousand grandmothers combined
eat this up thin young man
these tests of time in the
secondhand grains of sand

cherry twine bent up in her mouth
hyperdrive stolen dismal kiss
bring the bag the closet the skeleton along
change currency over to space

she pierces tip of thumb for me
baby cat brain notched, smiles, shamanlike
a milk forgotten out spoils
friends move marry factory
postcard

The linger pain bit not quit not quite
digested sought an India
but settled for Americas everywhere
Fran Chize sits beside a pyramid

Communicative key mashed to potato form still
razor edge sled hidden and slid under there
fitting the lock to turn this burn cold

Attention

I vow to always try

we damage each other
and ourselves
with
ourselves

vow to always pay attention to
the potential damage
that can be done with words
and try
for the opposite

apologies cannot always
repair

I can only go on living and go
on trying

it is late and night and time to make some dinner and put things behind me and write the sentence to its end and see what is left over from there. a dad sadness hangs in the room. so turn the AC on, okay. stove flame up to burn pasta and worry over finances and dhamma talks which soothe the worry. as I bike to the store, kids from the car yell at me with a megaphone to pull over, and when I don’t… he shouts at me: ‘use yr signal next time.” he approves as I push on, giving him a thumbs up, like a Thumbs Up Cola, India. and my large friend is what?… getting married on Friday, to a burnt up… mound of crack or?… and when I stupidly asked him who his best man is going to be… I am bound again. and forced to be my best. isn’t that what I insist from others around me? the world goes on despite desperation and hard times. nothing lets up. get over that. we are being laughed at.

the most tender
of moments in a
Houston sprawl
sometimes you
don’t realize how fast
everything all flies
here in the little H
concrete wasteland

think I need to go back to
up early sitting

in the end
silence for your neighbors
silence for your friends
silence for your enemies
silence for your “superiors”
silence for the ones you loved the most

peace to them all

Spare Parts

pills coated
is this what you want
yogurt spazling
holy ship
we get kicked out Erol’s
out of
the fuck is your
idea but
pron. like eye-dee
that’s southern
surprise food
the spelling be
was rigged
each one teach one
each of us
pick a religion
to reform
then we’ll swap
the names

it’s co
ming dow
n to a craZe
and fearing
the Worst
is just
a bad
habit format
all formations
fizz down
disintigrate, Sorry

to say
I told you so
without yelling
what’s that bout
the birdcage
sold for spare parts
the domesticated beasts
flew into the wild
never wrote back
guess they’re doin well
for themselves
aren’t pill addicts
they just
got their stories
and oh
I’ve mine

At The Movies

an end to
my vacation

tomorrow
work begins

that thing I been talking on
Vipassana, ten day
radio silence
heightened awareness
altered states
sitting in the dark
no drugs or
TV or slasher flix
in system…
just You
(if you can handle that)

some wish me luck,
others like:
“Go fuck yourself”
which at
times I’m sure
I’ll feel is exactly
what’s happening

the great art of
self/non-self peering

dependent co-arising…
this is what
I was trying to explain
to the young man
from Chicago earlier
the right words
were not rising

I just woke from
this dream
someone at a bar
teaching me with a
needle how
to close shut
a cloth wound;
but was interrupted

my own movies gush out
every time Yorke
puts it down like
Where I End and You Begin,
Climbing Up The Walls, Electioneering…
the rapture
and talk of energy swirls
known as Chakras
skybursts
I heard if you
burst to tears
they send you on a
time out
to the
courtyard

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