Sunday, December 02, 2007

our song

it was
second half of
freshman year.

was everywhere,
there was no
escaping it.

so i believed fate wanted it to
be our song.

our song reminds
of you, then, there,
so far away
from home.

I loved you because you reminded me of home.

it played when
we'd drive down
from school,
for winter break...
on our first date.
on the television when i'd wait up late at night.

"I don't believe that anybody
feels the way i feels the
way i do about you now..."

It was true, then.

You didn't stick around long
enough to disappoint me.

Its been a long time,
i heard you moved to
new york, or something.

we don't speak,
but you visit me in dreams,
in photos,
and that song.

i hit play, rewind, repeat.

"cause maybe your gonna be the one that saves me..."

You didn't,
but that's ok,
I didn't know what the fuck i was doing either......

there should be
no apologies,
for being teenagers.


Saturday, December 01, 2007

Amusement Park

I've waited
in this line before...
I've ridden this ride

It goes
round and round,
up and down.
ending as quickly
as it began.

I've yelled,
gotten sick
on this ride before.

I can't believe
you find this fun.
back again.
to take that ride again.

you were
but still tall enough
to ride.

i was
still young
for my age.

lookin for amusement in an amusment park.

As I recall,
I didn't want you to
think I was chicken,
but I was.

Not cause i didn't see the drops
but because
i did...

It was a chance
to let go of the bar
and put my arms in the air...
and surrender.

but for your amusement.

Back again,
to take that ride again.
Time to wait again
Time to feel sick again
Time to get off...

I wanna get off,
just... how badly
this time?


Sunday, October 21, 2007

Don Knotts

My generation,
for what it is worth,
is the last to know
the past.

the sweet sound of the type writer.
as it stabs the clean white paper,
with its inky

Each generation
arriving at the same conclusion
as each
generation before them has:

some things will be lost,
from a time when
the past was in black and white.

The sounds of big bands,
The innocent laughter of
of a world
the f word in its comedy.

Sex was to be
let them figure it out.

The past
true genius lost,
names no longer


Danny Kay,
Don Knotts,
that punk,
ol' Milton Burell.

Don Knotts was
whether you, realize it or not.

He is the reluctant astronaut,
the incredible mr. Limpet,
the ghost and mr. chicken.

He was a mad man,
and simply funny.

He will be lost in cyber streams and reruns,
known as that old guy trying to find out if Jack was gay on threes company.
If even that.


Friday, October 05, 2007


I swear,
I don't
know how,
but i Know,
have been Jinxed....

as everyone knows...

The only way to un-jinx a jinx
to smile,
as the
rain comes down
splash in the puddles.
Splashing with
the one you love....

if that doesn't work
least you had a wonderful day,

Jinx or no jinx.

i love the rain.
i love the puddles
i love the rain....


Monday, October 01, 2007

Salvation takes too long

Salvation takes too long.
but i will settle for you,
stopping by,
now and then,
to save me,
from myself,
and remind me,
that its not that bad.

its not that bad.

it never was,

and i got
you miles away.
miles away.

we don't speak often,
but you're more
consistent than god
by far.

and still,
we manage-

salvation takes far too long,
halle fucken lujah
speaking to
you, is
instant gratification.

instant love.

whereas, i don't need saving,
i just need you.




Hate is
such a strong word.

When the punkers
tattoo it to their fists,
they usaully
tatoo that other
to the other fist.

in a fight, one fist
will pound harder
than the other.

but when you lose that fight.
it didn't matter which was which.
doesnt matter which
fist let you down.
both failed.

hate is a strong word...
to tattoo to my fingers...
cause in this fight i'm talking a dive...

i gonna rig it
with naked fists...of indifference...
fair and square.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007


i feel selfish when i think about sept.

people lost thier loved ones.
a sentiment that haunted or crushed them.
those without peace, still.
so to answer the question,
i remember where i was,
you were in scotland,
you were flying in that day
back to san francisco.

i remember worrying,
about how you
explained me,
to family,
to the scottish,
remembering your mother

if only that simple.
i was heading for work,
i had just gotten on the 51
when the driver,
mentioned an

not understanding until i got to work,
and then the day kinda stood still
the only thing existing was the
permanent loop
a screen.

the same images
and over.

the whole world condenced.
into a permanent loop.
i thought about you.
and tried hard to know.
not to guess, but to know,
i called your dad,
i called people who didn't like me,
i crossed that embarrassing line of privacy to

i looked for you. to know.
but what was that
in comparision to them...

i have no right to comapare...

your father,
he fianally got around to calling me.
letting me know you were safe.
selfish, in that relief.
selfish in that comfort.

i fianally heard from you by email.
i felt embarrassed and selfish by
the little things, the petty things...
like you believing your father contacted me,
of his own accord, volution, heart.

i wanted you to know,
that i looked for you.

You came back a week later, you came back diffrent.
It was in your eyes.
It didn't have a name, but i knew things were diffrent.
the whole country re evaluated,
left alone together with
what was important.
alone with
the gravity of life.

for a short span, nobody gave a fuck about the superfical, the mindless, the guilded.
nobody gave a fuck....

i cant blame you for re evaulating as well,
re inventing a life, without me.

I take a slight comfort in you delaying the inevitable for as long as you did.

I feel selfish when i think about sept.
because those people
over there, truely
lost loved ones.
they truely lost them,
whereas you are around,
maybe nobodys wife,
and yet i still mourn
reading that email from that day,
kept for six years in my inbox.
instead of healing,


Sunday, September 02, 2007

good guys

Its not like,
the good guys won in the end.

or that there was
an ending or anything like a resolution.

its just how it is

you just root for the
home team,
losing season
and all.

you just listen,
even though
their earlier
stuff was better.

you just keep
even though
there's not much to

yes, i know.
it failed to climax,
but what else is

its not like the good guys,
won in the end,
or anyone else for that matter.


Saturday, September 01, 2007

alittle embarrassed

I feel alittle
embarrassed when I
write about you.

It was so long ago.
And I fear you would think
there may not be much
to mention,

And I fear you would think
it obsessive, an
successfully failing at turning lead into

once again.

I was there too, I was there,
so this my story as well.

I feel embarrassed when I write about you because
I think you'd find that
there was nothing to say.
politicians, writers and critics have made livings with nothing to say...
and i can say nothing,
very well.

I feel embarrassed when I write about you because-
I loved you,
but I am not embarrassed by that,
I'm embarrassed by failing at it.
more than once-

I feel embarrassed
still I write about you

but although I may suffer
you worth at least that, right?

at least worth
a little embarrassment-

because when we were young,
just children,

I believed I was in love,

I believed
I would have
died for you-

a little embarrassment,
is nothing.

Yeah like the Beatles song

for M.

she is a memory,
and nothing came of it.

in my mind what was i thinking.
beside her tattoos, and eyes.

there was another.
but for a moment,

brief and brilliant there was just her, and me.

so simple the world, uncomplicated reduced to the first equation, a girl and boy.

she is a memory, as
she never spoke to me again,
and i don't blame her.

i am sure i have been forgotten, by now as it should be

i am a mistake in many many
 a great story, a misprint, if you will.
a villain in many
and hero in so very few.

she did not recall, she did not remember
that time where if we had met before, all of it,
i would be holding her closer than any cross.

i have been wrong before.

28) Untitled # lucky 13

The movement needed
a comedian.
There was no help wanted sign in the window of
Revolution R Us
(and yes the R is backwards)
no ad in craigslist among the calls for models, used computer parts for sale and some lonely bastard trying desprately to find a date.
(which reminds me to post a pic soon)
there was nothing.......
i have decided that i will do my part.
with the only skill i have
but can not put on any resume.
I will try to make you poet, you revolutinary, you gods and godess, you soliders of peace, person of conciousness, person of social change and brother you sister,
(and even you that jerk who stole my girl)
I will try to make you laugh......
because when the greed and hate of man has
burned the books, and homes,
buried students, peasants and dreams
There are still us to fight on....
the laugh can not be buried or burned.....

When the people forget to laugh,
they forget to be human.
They stand tall and proud
They take thier words and thought seriously
as a matter of life and death.
which it is.
You said times were tough,
there was nothing to laugh about....
i understand, and always have....
In time, soon in the near future, tomorrow, manana..
Till then.
Times are tough, and i will laugh for both of us,
for now.


Sunday, August 12, 2007

I just woke up

I just woke up
from a really
cool dream.

I was on the run,
from someone
a while back.

The one who shall not be named.
I ran.
Boy did i run.
I hung from the side of a cliff, and waited
till dark to shake them.

that part was cool.
and even after they found me, i still ran,
jumping into the darkness, into nothingness...

Their name came up recently in a car ride,
i haven’t thought about it in quite a long time.

some wisemen tell us that
our dreams are messages...
let this be a warining,
it is still preferable
jumping into nothingness,
having to say
hello to them
or anything else.


Wednesday, August 01, 2007

42) Brian wilson sings

amongst the old men, and punk kid trying hard in a trucker hat.
i sat in obstructed view, waiting for brian wilson.
in los angeles....
where no one walks.
Brian wilson waits to sing. to me.

Pet sounds from start to finish.

'wouldn't it be nice......then we'd be happy"
"Carol i know...."
"the sloop john b

he sings for you too ###.
as i think of you.

and the day you left.
and the first time I heard the album after.

then again and again.
and again until

longing for you became a mere formality than a nessecity.
Brian wilson sings, for me tonite ###.

and he sings for you.

i try to remember our love tonite,

i try hard, but not as hard as the punk kid in the trucker hat, trying to pretend he's too cool
to sing along to Surfer Girl.


So let it be

I was lookin
feeling loss,
for those who i thought were no longer around.

thought i lost my friends.
but she said,
let it be.
so yeah,
those of you left,
thank you.

someday when you feel alone,
i will be around.

i will say the most riduclouls thing,
we both will laugh...

so let it be.


My Parents once told me

My Parents once told
aliens took the Mayan's

They weren't joking.
And I don't know?
Maybe they did.
The mayan civilization did disappeared.
Maybe they are in a better place.
no lawns to
no mortages
no forclosures

no gurrierros
no rebeldes
no land to be killed
no poverty

No war, civil or
I mean why not?
stranger things have happen...

If a carpenter can
ressurect from the dead
and acessend into
why not?

Stranger things have happend.

Wanna hold your hand

I didn't get it at first,
i was kid,
i didnt' get
that song,
that song by the beatles.
you know
i wanna hold your hand.

i could hum it, but i am sure you
know it,
they also sang it in german.
maybe you've heard it in german, it
was and is a big song for them.
back in 64.
it took a while, to understand.
the lyrics
implied that the girl in the song
but girls were hard to come by as a kid,
so i had to wait
a long awhile,
in retrospect
compared to the life span
of a tortorise not so long
or in dog years
or in cheetah, possum or the curious palatapus,
longer than desired...but,
anyway you get the point,
it took some time....

till i finally held a girl's hand
it took some time,
but it was worth it,
i finally understood that i belonged too her
and she belonged too me...

this was a revalation,
her hand,
held tight.
god i loved her,
even after the magic.

later came others with new hands, and bodies, legs, thighs and breast,
i came to understand those as well.
But her, she was the first to communicate, plant flags in me, make me sing beatle songs for her. like eve, before
the coming desedmona.

she was the first to want, in order to belong there was the want, and the need,

she eventually had to let go,
as did the next
and the next
and so on and so on,
until we come to you....
you, without too much time on your hands
leaving me wanting...but not knowing what to do
you, who can not hold me,
let alone my hand.
you who is one of two birds in the bush,
while i hold none in the hand...
i wanna hold your hand.
i wanna hold your hand.
i wanna hold your hand.
but want to, is to have failed myself.
i'm losing my touch
i'm losing my grip,
you've left me empty handed...

it is time to let go....

as even milton's adam and eve
exited, politely the garden,
"They hand in hand with wand'ring steps and slow
Through Eden took their solitary way. "

i will make my exit, to hunt or gather or whatever it is i do...

"Oh yeah i'll tell you something,
i think you'll understand..."
they say that idle hands are
the devil's play

and i am sure she, the devil, with full
lips and hips, and raven hair,
who ever and wherever she is,
will want to play...
its good work if you can find it.


Thursday, July 26, 2007

Moment of doubt

is not my friend.
It keeps putting words in my mouth.

the speakers,
are liars,
and in cahoots with the microphone
to fuck my shit up.

the plugs

as the echo's
of words
sent on their
mission have failed.

and here i stand in the middle of it all,
like a witness to a
car crash,
helpless as
my poetry
crashes and


Sunday, July 22, 2007


Here i go again,
doing tricks
got a crooked wand,
and a black cape that doubles for the table cloth,
got top hat I don't wear anymore because its full of rabbit sh....

here i go again...
working magic,
and disappearing....
you see me,
now you don't...

its clear its time to go, I read it in cards,
its clear its time to go, I flipped the magic coin,
and it came up heads....
its clear its time to go, to disappear...completely..
magic to some,
a miracle to you.....

Its not as hard as it looks....

Houdini made look so easy,
or at least that’s what i've heard.

But me...
I just slowly walk and stand in the back
of the room,
while no one notices.....
or cares....
and just disappear.....


Wednesday, July 11, 2007

stupid boxer

Stupid boxer,
pickin a fight,
you cant win.

Beatin yourself up.

Instead of fighting for... the thing you want.

You were
never a contender,
but you took a swing,
and missed...anyway....

never a contender...
But this is all you know how
to do.

you knew you were never a contender...
this is all you know how
to do.

The fight was fixed,
you are broken,
you don't take a punch like you used too....

stay down, and wait for the ring.....
stay down, and wait...

Beatin yourself up,

you look silly
in shorts,
too old and
you hit like a girl

Stupid boxer,
Stupid man.


Monday, July 02, 2007

In the absence of Enlightened Poetry

I'm not sure,
what i am doing.

i have always
the cruelty
i am capable of.

i set a path, to unlearn the anger
i learned
from my father.

The ability to
cut with a word
from my

to unlearn...
and yell FREEDOM!

but I just want to scream right now...
a poem of sound, raw, hurt, angry...real.

the sound of
someone extremely lost.....
the sound an animal makes....

i hear the words,
of poets
who have found
their peace, love, god,
ect ect ect... pick a word...

they have words to
well rehearsed.
beautiful enlightened....

i don't know if
they live their lives
by the words they speak....
and I don't care.
I am not their god or mothers to judge ...

i'm not there, where ever there is...
i am here, on my way there...

Don't get me wrong,

Their words inspire me,
push me to grow.

Their words are a promise of
a great future.......

Their words simply

Their words heal......
their words are holy...
to which i have no right to compare.....

Don't get me wrong,
i am not that cynical, because if i didn't
in power of love,
their are a hundred bridges i could prove my point from....

Don’t get me wrong.....
I love their just escapes me, just for this moment..
just for now.

but believe me soon....
i swear...

I am here. I just am......
here are my words....
coming from a
place i left long a ago
and swore
never to visit..

I get
jealous, hurt, angry, resentful,
in all
its humanity....
all perfectly human,
to me,
to pretend i don't
Feel these....
Is to be a liar.

love is human, joy, forgiveness....
but what is fear and hurt...

do they belong to the cries of an animal?
or to be enraged...human..

is a sickness.
i am sick.

I don't know what i am doing....

I wanna fucken scream,
I don't know what else to do,
and there are no
enlightened poets around right now......
to tell me what to do.


A little war

someone wanted
a little war.
how cute.

have your war, without me.
i just might have better things to do,
like...well anything really.

have your war, without me.
you could win...
if its just you.

you could win...
if no one else
was involved....

i know this joke writer...
i got their number somewhere around here...
your gonna need some help.

this is too ridiculous for even me....
and that is saying it all.


Fire Escape

I told my friends
i loved them once.

it came from a
vulnerable place,
like a room
in a big house that i never
go into.

it came from a place
that usually has
the door locked...

it just happened to
be unlocked, once.

i walked in and realized all
wonderful people i know,

i realized how lucky i was...
and am,

I wanted to tell them...
I needed to tell them.

It felt
as if there
was an urgency....
like some crazy
emergency that needed immediate attention.

like some fire too fucken hot,
like a fire moving swiftly,
like some fire consuming everything
and it was ok.

this was good thing,
it was love.
it was love.

it was pure.

it was urgent.
it was real.

From a place still real.

Now i watch them slowly go their ways,
like ash to the wind.

They are leaving,
whether they are aware or not...
its ok.

its happened before.

They go their separate ways
 until the fire is out and the ashes gone.

That place, still is inside me.

i try the knob on the door,
to see if it will turn...

But mostly i stay in the rooms that
never had doors...

with windows looking out...
rooms on the higher floors....
rooms with fire escapes...
just in case i get any more
funny ideas.....

There is no urgency, no fire....
But a person like me can never be too careful...

so i sit on the fire escape
waiting for a fire,
or any other
reason to


Just some guy

Tony Haynes was right,
there is no taking dives,
you hang in there and take it.

fight with all the love you have.

there are no taking dives.
so i get up,
and finish the job.

the right thing
to do isn't always the easiest.

its gonna hurt like hell.

if I can do this right-

there is no way,
i can lose.

if i can love just
a little longer,
i will remain the last man standing.

i will ache in the morning
at the end of the night...

(standing in front of the mirror)

I can smile again...
With all teeth knocked the fuck out of my face,
But smiling just the same.

Who is Tony Haynes?
Just some guy, who was right.

You have won

You have won,
i admit it.
I admit to all of it.

You win!

you have
managed to bring out
the worst in me.

You have won,
you have been part
of a slow decline,
an ugliness,
a despair.

You have won.
But only slightly.

For although
the worst side of
me was loose,
like a virus,
like a plague.

it was ok.

although all my thoughts were dark,
and selfish
and unkind.

it was ok.

For you see
the better part of me,
was also set free.
the kindness
and love,
The patience and

the best parts of me,
kicked the living shit
out of that negativity.

like atom bombs.

I say simply,
thank you for the lesson i learned.
it made me stronger.

It was a test,
my god had given me.
like a gift.

You won.
you brought out the worst of me,
only to also lose, as it
brought out the worst of you.



Pretending Everything is O.K
isn't that hard,
because i'm not that
good at it.

armature really.

I can't explain and if i could
then i would explain,
so like mini vinilly
i will blame it on the rain,
menstruation (hers or mine),
voodoo, or
Planetary shift,
call it what you

its in the middle in
my living room
dressed up like
a 500 pound
and i don't want to
mention it.

Pretending everything is ok.
is like acting,
and i not good at that either.
i still shake when
i am nervous,
because nervous people shake,
rock stars rattle and roll .

Pretending, to be bullet proof,
is silly when
seen shivering,
your caught red handed,
probably from
a bullet wound.

Pretending everything is ok, is
something i am not very good at
but i will keep at it,
simply because
i wasn't very good at
being hopelessly fucking miserable


The beautiful thing of it all...

The beautiful thing of it all,
is that my friends are
very decisive...

They make decisions and
don't sit on the fence much.

Their loyalty can not be
it can not be

it is fixed like that big fucken rock of Jibralter and shit.

you don't find people like this anymore.

The beautiful thing of it all,
is they took sides,
have chosen
would rather die than betray their loyalty.

unfortunately for me,
they took sides against me.

They chose against me,
would rather die than betray their loyalty
to someone else...

and that is a beautiful thing.


Sunday, July 01, 2007

George comes for a visit.

or rather more
specifically Guatemalans,
are amazing shit talkers.
We export
more assholes
than coffee beans.
Yours truly, being
the proof in the pudding.
We're even better
breaking things and
shoutin in the streets.
The students are smart,
but never smart enough
not to get their
skull cracked in
or find themselves like those before em'
inconveniently cramming for finals
six feet under with no lighting or air...
We don't get over shit.
Death Squads, and the CIA,
Dictators and
poor people buried in the sand.
Call us sensitive....
so uh...Mr.
President of the U.S dude,
good luck,


The poem could be better

The poem could be better i

If i would just give it
more time,
or one more important line.

But these things do take time,
and i got places to go.

The poem had my full attention once,
just like my last true love
and the dead fern.

I tried,
I watered
and loved,
and spoke to it often.

(both the girl and the ferns)

But like i said,
just a little more time,
more political,
more hip hop
more for da yoots,
less ethnic,
more ethinic-

(que chinga)

I don't know.

I think, this is what it is.

It is I.

Imperfect but loveable.
This is what it is.

I can't force it.

This is true for the poem, the girl and the fern.

I couldn't explain it quite right to my love,
and did an even worse job
explaining it to the dead ferns.


A Penguin Poem

It takes so much
to make
a penguin.
so much effort... it is
insane really.

ok ok.
so i just saw that march of the penguins movie....again
(i enjoy morgan freeman's voice.)

but yeah, it takes soo much.
suffering, is one word, that comes to mind.
survival is another,
i don't know.

two black and white birds,
traveling miles,
singing to one another,
creating an
egg that can never touch the ground.

fighting the odds.
barely surviving.
sometimes losing.

only to do it over again, and again
with someone new.

many words come to mind,
but not love.
it is not love.
this is not love, and
they face the wrath of god
for one another,
and brave possible death,
as you
are not
even capable
of pulling out
a cell phone,
and pushing seven numbers
to say


What can they teach me?

What can they teach
that I already didn't know?
the sun the moon the earth....
the ants to the elephants
zygotes and amoebas
carry the one
helium hydrogen iron
inertia slope
as x approaches zero
solve for y
Monet manet Robert Williams
solve for x
napoleon burke Aristotle
Proust Joyce
and Pynchon
the Romans
the Iberians
multiply by pie....

all the fancy book learning
didn’t and isn't worth a damn
I have figured this out on my own
I am in love with you,
and all words and knowledge
have failed me
on how to keep you


What time is it?

What time is it? I asked.
"Time is relative" she says.
I don't talk to my relatives much... I says
"Talk is cheap", she says.

I'm not cheap, I enjoy a good sale though, i says
"Maybe you've sold out," she says
No, I'm pretty sure I've none left. I says
"Left or Right,
its your decision." she says
Your right, your right....right as rain. i says
"It might rain." she says
"Depends on the weather."
Whether or not it does, it'll be good for the planet, I guess.
We'll see, I says
"Sometimes my stomach ties in a knot, and that’s never good.
Once i tried so hard to tell him it was over.
and i kept changing the subject to avoid the confrontation.
It made me dizzy,
he made me sick
i didn't feel well
It made me sad.
it is 2:15 pm Pacific Standard time" she says.

After A Card Reading (at Knots Scary Farm)

we were at a theme park,
and spent an hour at the card reading section.

I am a firm believer in
many things

like science,
a full tank of gasoline.

I had
my cards read

I can assure you
they were incredible.

You are looking at a lucky man.

I went again to a
different reader,
just to be sure.

just to lock it in.

the second time i pulled the world card,
and although i can not redeem it at
the local store,
is according to her,
a sign,
that everything will be amazing,
or at the very least
I shook her hand, thanked her,
declined to buy a mood ring,
and stepped outside.

I looked up at the sky
and wondered if it might
rain tomorrow.

the weatherman
said it might-

if not tomorrow,


South Central Farm

The eviction
notice was served.

We didn't know anybody inside
so we sat outside on crates and
left over chairs.

We spent the night lookin out for the cops.

“Don’t let you know who” near the emergency horn.

We met Jesus,
Carlos, The Canadians
and the Anarchist Girls.

We saw a blond movie starl, we ate dried apples. We sang Beach Boys songs for a second. They played Frisbee in the street. The trucks honked their horns.

Carlos tried to prove there wasn't a God because God couldn't microwave a burrito so hot that God couldn't eat it....

The cute revolutionist on the bike wears a pink thong.

They had their drums, guitars and sage.
We had each other.

Then Sunrise.

no cops just
another day to
wait for a something to happen.


Royal Crown Promenade

i could not afford a haircut. So i bought a tub of
hair promenade for 4 dollars and 38 cents.

Mother had always warned
that i could go bald
at any time.

She hid my hat
because she said my father wore a hat,
and look at him now.

So i did,
i took a long look at him.
it was a cruel sight, a future that may never happen, a threat, a sign warning that the bridge is out, a sight for which the bell tolls, rings, and clangs out the greatest hits.

Father is bald
as a Franciscan monk.

Father is bald like a Guatemalan bald eagle the Latino cousin to the symbol of patriarchy, war, and the most Viagra prescriptions per capita

Mother says “Don't you dare put
promenade in your hair!”

fuck it i say.

My hair is raven black and does the most amazing tricks
with the help of promenade.

The kind that Elvis himself gets all shook up about. The kind that fucken Elvis himself reaches down from the heavens and blesses my hair!

I do this for you ladies with the red red lipstick, tattoos and bangs, skirts and high heels. I do this for you king of rock and roll and i do this for you father.

for if you still could
i know you would!!

I dip my fingers in the Royal Crown Promenade, anyways.

royal crown, Three flowers, , Murphy’s... i have gone through them all, like a
of fine wines.
Drinkin wine Spo-Dee-O- Dee.

I mean, i look at my dad, and figure someone married his dumb ass, and stayed
and if he can do it bald or not, anyone can.

ayh 07

Saturday, June 02, 2007


This has
happened before.
I look around
a new room,
and see the same

Well not the same
exact photo,
but close.

Its framed,
its black and white.
and in it is you,
(and by you, i mean
the many you's or she,
or they, her's and the
occasional whats her face )

So like i was saying,
its always framed,
always black and white,
and in it is you
and this supposedly
amazing person
who's like your best
friend or the
coolest person in the world.

So cool to the point
i don't know cool,
or wouldn't know it
until i met this

Its always the same
story too,
they are somewhere else.
sometimes far geographically,
sometimes emotionally,
but its always
the same, they say...

"You have to meet them"
You have to meet them...
You have to meet them...

I never have.

nobody ever says...
you have to meet .."me"
and most the existing
photo's of me are in color,
unframed, and blurry....

I never meet the ones in black and white...They always exist frozen
in some perfect past.
As i walk around
a new room
i don't see you reaching for a camera...
and that was ok.

Its the same photo anyway...
always the same

always framed
always in black
and white,
and I have yet
to ever last
long enough
to ever meet

either the perfect friend, or the perfect you in that photo.

Although I
always meet the
slutty relative
who drinks too much
in the cheap
Polaroid’s in color
stuck in on the mirror framed...


Friday, June 01, 2007

Talking heads

I was almost late to work yesterday.
i was listening to the talking heads,
not the television commentators, the malpracticed spin doctors, the liars paid to beat truth up in a dark alley,
but the late 70's art rock funk punk pop art Talking heads.
i couldn't stop listening to the first album
i looked at the clock, and saw that if i didn't leave at a certain time
i would be late.
i would miss my bus.
maybe the bus would also be late, maybe it would early.
i didn't know.
i took the gamble because i couldn't stop listening...
i was almost late,
i would like to say sorry.
not for almost being late
but that if i hadn't met you i would never have borrowed your C.D, fell in love with you, lost you and forgot to return it, and listen obsessively to it to remind me of our first kiss while it played in the background, then none of this would have happened.


Thursday, March 22, 2007

Stalking 101

I’m not
really good at stalking.

I don't know many people.
There weren’t many names i could pull out of a hat.

In my defense
I’m not sure what
I’m suppose to be doing.

I must admit
I’ve been stalking the boring.

normal lives
normal tastes

I really don’t care what your favorite music is,
or how
or who.

I’m not sure what
I was looking for,
but it isn’t here.


I just really had nothing better to do.

So now,
I begin
doing work at work.

Its kinda sad.

Your life,
and mine.


Sunday, January 28, 2007

On turning 30

one would expect
that i should become something different.

i would have expected
something radical,
something shocking,

as if i were
the dung beetle in the metamorphosis,
like an aging rock star.

but there was

nothing happened.

dear friends that i could scare
or impress you with.

after all the hype,
the stories,
tv shows about
becoming 30,
i can tell you, with a shrug,
“it’s nothing to fear”.

30 was no monster.

like Grover
in a child’s book:
There Is A Monster At The End Of This Book,

i just turned
the penultimate page,
it will just be me
at the end
of this tale.

cute furry loveable me.


Saturday, January 27, 2007


there were so many maps,
so many signs
telling me where i was,
and how far
to where i wanted to go.

This is the long drive,
the drive
and the places i can only see
in the rearview

the long drive,
to the final destination.

another mile i have gone,
one more mile.
distance covered....

Saying fuck your speed laws,
while keeping an
eye out for
other crazy drivers.

Picking up hitchhikers,
some kind,
some unkind,
some lost,
some worst than i.

The empty roads,
were for thinking.
busy ones
for faith, curses, and crashes.

so many miles so far,
many more to go.

I can not remember
the begining,
can only image the end.
either way,
i am constanlty in motion,
sometimes toward one or the other.

Driving in the light,
and surrounded with a world
standing still as i moved
constantly away.

driving in the dark,
with only a small
stretch of
visible light.
but enough to
make it to
the dawn,
only to do over again.

there were so many maps,
so many signs
to confusing
I asked strangers for

I have asked you
where i was,
and you answered, but
you could only
tell me where you were.

I want to say it was
all worth while,
I want to say i am a great driver,
as opposed to a bad one.
I want to say,
I know where i am going,
the detours, the sceinic routes....
they were worth
i'll get there,
i'm on my way.

it doesn't matter
how much
i put on the pedal,
as the odometer runs regardless,
and records another mile


Friday, January 05, 2007

A poem for the girls in the yellow dresses. ( in reference to that dream i had )

I felt hurt,
not in the dream mind you,
but after; when i had woken up.

it hurt to know that you made fun of me.
and i know it was a good one, because your good at that sort of thing.

I felt hurt,
not in the dream mind you,
but after
that dream
with the two women, both wearing yellow dresses.

it was you and some other girl
i used to know.

you looked beautiful in your dress,
i think yellow suits you.

yet, i chased the other girl, because
chasing you isn't what i do.

sorry you had to leave.

i thought it was
because i was occupied, but i know you
had better things to do.

I still appreciate the visit.

you got all dressed up,
even if it was just my dream.

but when i was awake,
I heard that
you had made fun of me.

even a doctor’s gotta tell
his patient he’s dying,
and still
the bill.

i can take a joke.
god knows,
i can take a joke-
but not the truth.


Monday, January 01, 2007

No bars can hold me, now

it came
metal file,
deep inside

the bars can't hold
me anymore,
not now, not anymore.

there will be much work

but for now,
i imagine how nice the cake,
not the store bought kind.

she baked it herself.
from scratch-

i am moved,
i lick
off an

Then pull a comb out of my back pocket, and begin to prepare


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