Thursday, March 26, 2009

Spicy Mustard

It's like my latest obsession with spicy mustard-
I hated spicy mustard-
but there it was, bought by mistake.
I couldn't let it go to waste.

a whole bottle.

I hated it the first two times-
but now i can't get enough...

I was making meals to put the spicy mustard on
even though I just wanted to taste
the mustard-

I cooked food,
I didn't necessarily need at the time-
don't worry
it's not a thing with me-
don't worry
it's only until the mustard runs out.

[I won't let you
go to waste

rain dance.

I have long since realized,
women are like water,
the oceans,
rivers and
they flow in and out of my life,

like rain they find their way.

they are a force of nature,
Beyond my control-

[the tide, the flow, rise and fall-
all beyond my control]

the seasons bring them
as snow, as hail
as rain,
as storms
as drought

all I can do is wait-

I don't believe in the rain dance.

what brings them has no name-
what brings them i do not understand
and what takes them even less.

but i will not
the dance.

There is nothing in
the sky to

only clouds

the cycle continues
whether i understand it or not
believe in it or not-

what ever the last one is called.]


Tuesday, March 24, 2009

200 poems

I have returned to the open mic,
i had
lost in a cosmic hand of poker.

I have returned as
audience member and
as performer,
no longer, its host, ringleader, villan .

the new host called me up
to show there were no hard feelings.

so i went back- and

the first night i put on a show-

one girl laughed,
thought I was funny-

she asked me to perform the second time,
though i had nothing to say-

took the signup to me the third time,
(prepared-bringing 200 poems with me)

read two short poems, made one up
was told to get off stage,

it was awkward.

I could have disappointed
her and the crowd with only one poem,

I really didn't need to bring so many poems-

I know, I know

I know, I know, that:

I don't know

I don't know more than you.

I don't know everything about
music, or god or women

I don't know everything about
comics or books, or film

I don't know everything
about science, politics, or

I don't even
know myself.

I don't know what to do...

But luckily-
you might.


So like

It is difficult sometimes
to explain
that all you want is nothing.

have nothing you
and you want nothing.

[it is difficult to explain you are offering nothing
as well]

you simply want to
stand in thier presence
in a zen moment of present being-
awareness of existence.


perfect in no

in the nothing.

to stand in thier
with out them wondering

"so like....what do you want?"

because they couldn't give it to you anyways.



It is embarrassing to admit
but it worked.

that thing you did: I was
and entertained
by your entrance-

it was pure spectacle.

you entered loudly
the copy place,
your arrival in cowboy boots and shorts,
hair wild and curly.

accompanied by two other girls,
a trio,
a pack
a gang
you their leader-
Pinky Tuscadero

making copies of god knows what-
you stood behind me in line the faint smell of girl, shampoo, and Buddha.

you weren't conventional beauty-
no that would be too easy-
and your laugh
was artifical- broorish

but you
you just owed it-
you were too cool

our interaction brief-
but it stuck with me all day-
there was no escaping you.

I thought about you later
as I went to write-

I knew you worth talking about -
if not necessarily talking too.

I sat down began writing and noticed your
face on the bulletin board-
one of the copies you made for your show-

sign or coincidence-

there was no escaping you.


we love life

"If you ever get that chimp off your back,
if you ever find that thing that you lack,
oh but you know your only having a
cuz here we go again."-J.C

I finally got around to listening to the last album with your band.
its six year old now,

but I caught it at the right
time in my own life.

Careful what I wish for,
cuz I never was good at dealing
with getting what I wanted

(now I just want some peace and quite)

I wasn't ready for it till now,
like the album
before it,
The sex and the pain are there,
but so are the trees, the river
and the air.

the party is over,
the common people have all gone home-
the fear is gone.

The sun is beginning to shine,
and yes the birds sing,

I can now admit I'm a weed,
no longer askin for permission
to grow,

watching the pretty
flowers grow older-
and wither.

and yes "We Love Life"


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

watching the blue man

there was a league of teenage blondes and brunettes
a couple of rows ahead

watching a comic book movie-
about a blue man
and men in masks

it was funny-
the young boys that probably
prayed to god
for miracles involving these girls,
were home alone-

reading the comic book
theses girls will be watching in a dark theater soon enough.
without them.

a gang of young blondes,
watching a
comic book movie to be cool,
with no intention
of ever reading it-
too cool to get it.

avoiding the
boys who read the comics
because they are so

the movie was
for the
young boys home alone.

one of girls says
outside theater
"that was painful"

i smile inside.


explaining the blue man

"ooo if you changes your ways..
I would lay down anytime with you"- B.N

i went to new place to write on white paper, and drink my green tea,

the counter girl had her brand of beauty-
all pink yellows and blues
in a black apron-

as i sit and write,

the counter girl's co worker
a skinny young man all blue grey and yellow
tries talking to her in his own language

trying to explain a comic book-
trying to explain the blue man and his god like power-
trying to explain cool to the uncool

She doesn't care-
not about Dr.Manhattan, not about your office party, not about the regular customers who try to flirt with their innuendo and definitely not about you-

poor sap,
poor blue boy.
not that i blame him for trying-

just that his failure was on stereo in the red room

while writing and reading magazines bout battlestar
my ride shows up and
tells me she knows the girl behind the counter from her
woman's group.

my ride says she is
one really fucked up person-
[(black grey and purple inside)]
she's doing him a favor.

poor blue boy doesn't know how lucky
he really is.


seriously folks

I had hoped to move the audience with honest words-
Something that had required
great effort to share and admit to an

something serious-

they began to laugh.

it was my fault, i am usually just kidding.
they had assumed i was setting up a joke-
in fact i wanted to bare my soul-

i slipped in a line stating this was not a joke-
and again laughter began-

it reminds me of an old woody allen interview where he brought his clarinet and begins to play-

the audience instantly begins to think its a joke and laughs-

they laughed at him while trying to play the music in his head-
he spent most of his life
practicing alone,
hours and hours

he stopped trying and turned it into a gag

the audience just didn't get it-
he was serious
But he gave them what they wanted anyways-

you don't have to be funny all the time.
[sometime your still the same guy who
practiced for hours and hours-


Tuesday, March 10, 2009


I felt bad I did not
move in to hug you but instead provided you with a stiff firm hand shake-

[i would have liked nothing more to hold a friend close for a second-]

its just you uttered some nonsense about acting normal once-
there is no such thing as normal.

i spent most of life trying that word on like an ill fitting suit
like a tie whose noose was too tight around my neck-
[pretending to be professional-

professionals in firms don't hug. ]

you never realized that
you always had my respect-
now it's all you have.


Friday, March 06, 2009

wild like a weed

There comes a time
to accept that your father will always hate you
and mother will always be ashamed of you.

at that moment you either
or die.

it is beautiful to choose life- growth.
it is the end of fear.

you were only scared they were right about you.
all of it.

even if it is true,
even if you are a weed.
wild like a weed.

indestructible coming back again and again
breaking through concrete and cement
dependent on no one to water them

grow wild like a weed
and never ask permission to grow again


Sunday, March 01, 2009

broken Haiku

I like to think of my poems
as broken Haiku's
crawling on the floor to the finish line


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