DISASTER KICK

maybe you haven’t noticed
but I’m not doing well. 

there are dinosaurs in my landscape
and spiders in my drinking well. 
it’s a metaphor for what I'm feeling
but I see these things. 
introspection over pop-up books
and popcorn in the lap dog
of my history. 
watching the scene play out,
just chillin'. 

and it’s more of what’s inside
than what shows itself in pixels. 
there is no distant signal,
just an outlet
with a neon vacancy sign
that buzzes as it goes
from dark to light, 
losing power from its source. 

we all want to be turned on.

we all want to be the giraffes
we dream of,
necks extending
to the far-reaching fruit
of a blossoming epiphany. 

sun drenched
in the wide open
oneness of iris
and its lesser-known
cosmic explosion. 

stars dying
like fruit
sucked to the earth
by a wanton gravity.
feeding a cycle
and a smile disconnected, 
plucked and dangled
from the out-stretched arm
of a superhero lost
in the blades of his trust. 

let down easy. 

falling hard
to the surface
of a busted ego’s
bruised knee. 

and he’s bowing to what he knows best. 
skinning his ear
on the sword,
knowing least of the blows to his chest. 

and it smelled too familiar
in that chamber
and the scent will stay with him for days
as the universe extends him the favor
he dismantles the moment to pray.

as he resembles the bits of her prey
he disassembles the blissful array
positioned for lingering stains
finding devils in all that remains.

and the kiss
to her face
like the moon
on a chase, 
fleeting night
onto piercing of day.

 

NIGHT OF THE MEEK (a threshold meditation)

awake, a deep breath, circadian arrhythmia, a distraction, a bottle of wine, a blanket, a burning candle, a pine cone, a banana peel, glands, charred holy wood, a journal, a giraffe, two giraffes, an intention, a meteorite, a piece of paper, a piece of jasper, macramé, a necklace, a cucumber, a condom, a new perspective, a rear view, toothpaste, a dying battery, a light, hash, an approaching sun, a new year, a marathon, an old habit, a contradiction, a deprogramming, a sense, a noise, a pause, a hum, a buzz, flora, fauna, fungus, a pattern, more patterns, a sky, a womb, an egg, a birth, consciousness, a piece of furniture, revolution, an envelope, peppermint oil, a scarf, an avocado pit, more avocado pits, Bobo, a flame, hematite, love, love, lavender, sage, a rising milieu, myrrh, shifting in a chair, a fan blade, a house, a promise, a neighbor, stretching, ghee, ginger, honey, garlic, more garlic, mouthwash, whisky, cast iron, spinach, a cat, marzapan, longing, a lover, a locked door, a creek, a creep, a crispness, a stillness, history, roots, a path, mystery, bacon, a piano, maté, composition, decomposing fruit, flesh, carne asada, colloidal silver, ukatasana, salabhasana, dandayamana-bibhaktapada-jenusirasana, savasana, a mandolin, water, more water, water, an atom, fabric, the fabric, truth, trees, fire, a tool, a lesson, language, logos, a kind of insect, chikamasa, chaos, prayer, a book, a story, a tiger, fear, god, risk, vagina, agate, onyx, bamboo, coltan, connection, a crystal, a stick of incense, a poem, a prescription, a symptom, a signal, an explosion, antennae, a haircut, a phone call, a light bulb, a socket, a marker, a wrench, a dog, another dog, some more dogs, comma, comma, comma, comma, semi colon, transient noun, snow, a river, a map, a bag of frozen shrimp, Steve Martin, a scallop, a mountain, a microphone, some music, new music, old music, free music, magic, vulnerability, Facebook, virtue, dying, war, an illness, wellness, heat, healing, a bag of cheese, coffee, a shifting form, some bad news, eucalyptus, a box of coins, balance, a cork, a quark, a cork screw, a hangover, a jug of water with a lemon floating in it, cayenne pepper, 440 steel, quartz, vinegar, scotch, psilocybin, comma splice, muddy shoes, a headlamp, sauerkraut, probiotics, venison, nootropics, coconuts, cashews, a casino, two casinos, five casinos, a gangster, more gangsters, a mother, a friend, an orphan, an asshole, beer, a planet, comedy, a black whole, a comic, a comet, vanilla, lemon, porn, sea salt, meditation, McKenna, a glove, a decongestant, a mushroom, a mantra, a pile of clothes, a memory, more memories, debt, a pair of scissors, a shaman, the moon, the morning, the window, the condensation, the day, the one we measure, the way we measure, time and temperature, Amanita Muscaria, Ayhuasca, diaspora, singularity, the year of the horse, Moore’s Law, Mandlebrot sets, Hoffman’s Potion, Fibonacci, sacred geometry, DMT, ursa minor, rising ocean, resolution, fractals, math, compression, extension, plug in, control, panel, alter setting, altar settings, computation, illusion, entanglement, dance, poetry, poetry, conversation, conversion, words, art, art, dimensions, expectation, tension, patience, patience, intention, expression, vibration.

SPILLING OUT

we ripped bong hits until
our lungs were wide as sky
full of the thick white promise
of a heightened moment.
you said; "follow me into
the morning" and I mistook that
as an invitation to stay up all night.
we stayed up all night
stuffing duffel bags full of feathers
in case either of us needed to break loose.
I was always trying to break loose.
you flung your bag, seams split,
onto my door step and said a prayer
in some kind of gibberish or holy tongue.
I was never very good at reading 
between the lines.
and we climbed margins like beanstalks
toward an avalanche of ever-afters.
it all came down like sunday morning
right before checkout
when you couldn't find the key
and I reminded you that the front desk
really doesn't care about those kinds 
of things. they really don't care about much.
they just want you out on time.
they just want to make it look like
you were never there
but we wove woes and oms 
into the rug and drapes and 
left lines etched in the ceilings
where we laid on our backs
and marveled at our vulnerability. 
I kept telling you
it was a virtue
but you couldn't hear me over
my whirling stupidity.
it was stupid to break down
in that hot tub.
I'm not sure if they build them to last.
so I tested the integrity
of my porcelain promise
and we both spilled out
in the flood. 
I kept trying to save you
but all I could say was;
"happy birthday" 
as I pushed you under.
they'll always remember us here.
it's the one with the hope
in the sheets.

INDIGENOUS SUMMER

this is only dedicated to parts of you
and everyone that comes along with
whoever that is.
let me explain;
I know I must sound like futureshock
to what's left of the muck in your way,
mountains piled high atop ego
under a murmur of murdered emotions
breaking heavy against the weight of a dying forever.

but who chose this?

it wasn't me from my wide open whatever.
it wasn't you either and you were there too.
all slackjawed, agape in astonishment. 
we threw glitter at midnight
to taunt the burning moon
and those embers never came down.
they just floated 
and glided like turkey hawks 
trying to make sense of things.
- we were trying
to make sense of things.
and somewhere between desolate isolation
and the pulsing throng of whirling enchantment
is a man I call myself. 
but he keeps losing shit
and calling it a virtue.
I've got to stop losing things.
I've got to start losing myself.
what is all this light if not
safe passage through darkness?
where are all these bubbles running
off to burst?
shake me in your snow globe 
magic eight ball where we got so high
we looked like Orville-Redenbacher
raining down over the city.

hot-buttery-precognitive-bric-a-brac.

it was me and you in a landscape.
we kissed feathers of swollen exposure.
and when the aperture tore wide open,
we marched like toy soldiers to the beat,
we beat ourselves up in the workshop,
then stayed up all night putting each other
back together. 
we were happy to just level the bass line.
you slid safe,
coming home in my baseline.
I trembled at the treble and pitch,
it was more than I could've expected.
and you told me to take the lighter fluid
out of my expectations. 
and we laughed.
because we both like stand-up comedy. 

Lizards & Gizzards

turning minutes into moments
in the morning the poem opens.
this lingering purpose
is a song with a known chorus.
I'm signaling home
from a drone in the old circus
and co-mingling bone
with souls that have grown nervous.

forgive me the bedlam
I let develop in the bedroom.
it was isolated transformation
contemplating the tremendum. 

I'm sliding my fingers between 
the fleshy underbelly
of a fishy situation
and a land of wonder jelly.
these days are more lizards and gizzards
than blizzards and warfare.
you could say the missiles were positioned
and I'd say thay I won't care.

kaleidoscope notes 
got me bent on duality.
I'm manifesting imaginary 
magical realities
impenetrable to defenders 
of an old and dying galaxy
who wish to see me bludgeoned 
with a dull and dirty fallacy.

light, light, dark,
light, dark, dark, light.
it was me inside the mirror
turning off and on the night.
dark, dark, light,
dark, light, light, dark.
it was you outside with fear
and a monster's hand to walk.

and in this balance
every moon moved through me,
exposing the loudest silence    
of the ugliest beauty.

YUBA RIVER BLUES


she said; "get back to the source, 
you aint so soft, you're hardcore 
but if you're gonna hold the light 
then that's what deep breathing's for." 
[...] 
and then the river went calm 
and she extended her palm 
and I became the withered sentiment 
of the sediment's psalm. 

the diasporic embalming, 
this tour is always evolving 
and when it fails 
becomes the nail 
in the harmonic enlightening. 

I boiled lavender envy 
and sniffed it out of the neti 
and held the hand of my yeti 
until my psyche was ready 
to reconcile the pretending, 
this archetypical rendering 
is the result of defending 
all of this ego in frenzy, 
when it's more about 
the surrendering. 

heart broken, heart open 
is the same orphan unspoken 
and in the morning we morph 
into the glowing and groaning 
and all the growing and owning, 
floating, twisting, uproaring 
channeling in a greater devotion 
to a more meaningful moment.

Isis / Eisenhhower

know thyself, 
beyond all roles and properties, 
know thy true self; 
all hearts in heaps
and hums and harmonies.
highs and deeps
and skies and sovereignties. 
lights and seas 
and tight rolled frequencies.

know your inner molecular monarch;
cellular ruler of inter-dimensional tough talk. 

there are seraphim looming between
the cerebrum and lunar beams;
we're lunar things
with pseudo wings,
from luna-sea to lunacy,
we move between what's lost at (see)
and swoon to ships of suffering.

we are the message    
inside the bottle
inside the ocean
inside a planet
inside a blanket
inside a darkness
inside a darkness
inside a light
in satellite

we are the maritime magicians
marrying time with wishes
fishing on stars turned fishes 
turned riches, turned guns.
turned missiles, turned vision,
turned heads become drums.

torn flesh becomes sand
and we dance under sun
to raise up the resonance 
suppressed by the Sons
of the Crown; 
Cortes and Columbus.
reclaim your stake in the hum 
the destruction took from us.

plug in to the latent rhythm
parenthetic on tickers,
we're bio-electromagnetic
with blisters!

shine a light on the shadow
of your psyche with art
and become who you are 
and come of out of the dark.

bring forth what is in you, 
what's brought forth is what saves you, 
withhold what is in you, 
what you withhold will enslave you.

know thyself, 
beyond all rules, without entropy,
know thy true self, 
that indigenous masterpiece.

The Case of the Falling Butler

I'm home again,
back from somewhere hard and fast.
the doors are off the hinges,
the food has gone rancid
and I keep expecting the butler to mind things -
but he's drunk again.
always when I'm gone.
I can't keep trusting him with this place.
I can't keep leaving.
master of every outward folly,
a stranger in his study.

I saw you perched
in a second story window bewildered 
and eager to return.
tight off the repressed fruits
of too much unbridled trust.
so much air in your purpose 
as you glided down to meet me.
and at my feet you found forgiveness
not in prayer but surrendering
to something else entirely.
you keep bowing for forgiveness,
I keep vowing to end this,
it's a cycle, you know.
all this coming and going.
all this wanting and knowing.

there is fly paper decking the alley
between this house and my holiday.
larva piled in heaps between 
trash cans and sunrise
and it keeps me from coming back.
every rotting moment shoved 
into overstuffed aluminum.

It's all relative, really. 
E equals parts of me

divided by infinity
and infinitely reduced to the zeroing one of now.

the sure shot.

the sharp shooting phantom perched on the turret.

why'd I build those turrets? 

what am I keeping away?

I keep pulling the trigger
and taking cover.
launching counterfeit rockets
at my destiny.
pulling pins like stems from
apple grenades hurled through
freedom's rarefied countenance. 

we're at war with all this dying light.

THE MEANDERING INTENT

hooked on camaraderie
addicted to the love
if I could grind it up in bundles
it’d be the most illicit drug
and my fix would be
when I wish for dreams
that carve through magic worlds
and carry me up on my carpet
tearing down these fleshy walls

and I lose myself in music
when the art becomes abusive
it fits and starts yet still imparts
all that has become elusive

connected through these shows
and all these bros and all the noise
and I’m alive when I’m among
all the beauty, sound and joy

and the irony remains
despite all this outward sync
I’ve ruined some great relationships
to be alone with what I think

it’s a dark and sordid slope
when you’re staring at the wall
finding comfort in the room
you’ve built, drowning out her calls

and she beckoned
and she whispered
and then she hummed
and then she tapped
now she sings aloud
in silence
and she’s never coming back

define this moving on
you toss around with such an ease
‘cause all these moves are lateral
and feel more like a dis ease

all laced with coded language
each message calculated
all underlined with you
undermining my salvation

the void cannot be filled
it must be mourned and rebuilt
the impression that you’ve left
is a much too specific ilk

it’s sad and then it’s comical
when you try to force the mold
shoving her inside of you
and expecting it hold

still not sure of what I need
what I want or where I am
but I’m learning more and more
what doesn’t fit the plan

and I meander like this poem
back and forth from dark to light
swaying like a feather
intent to settle on the night

BLACK

black whole friday is sanctioned looting 
with the privilege to pay for what you stole
I get a greater sense from the unrest 
than the corpulent consumer crawl
I can't camp in the open forest 
or protest from a wall street tent
but I can set up shop in front of wal mart
if I promise to buy in to the debt
it's all matter all broken and bent
it's all clatter with damage and dents
what void are we filling 
with toys for the children 
when they really need love and respect?