Monday, January 30, 2012

Call Waiting

You wait for the call

Wait, wait, wait

Patiently first, then impatiently

Call from your doctor

Text from your buddy

Fax from your boss

Call from a publisher (any publisher!)

Voice-mail from the cute guy in apartment 3B

Call from your overly pregnant wife

Expect your brother

Wait for news of your son the Marine

Pause for your girlfriend dying of cancer

Anticipate the organ donor clinic call

Wait for just a tidbit from a Higher Power

No news, no returned calls, no e-mails

No text, no fax, no voice-mail


It rings, buzzes, beeps, chirps, vibrates

Your heart beats faster, skips a beat, you sweat

Take a deep breath

And you know it’s now up to you to

Answer the damned call!

Friday, January 27, 2012

the art (for cousin natasha) (and me)

liberty is never dull
holds back the heavy axe above the little bastard cornhusk doll
threats of hellish endless nights
and then it walks away
sometimes bloody
sometimes pale
always breathless
never dull

liberty is never dull
slaps the white and pasty hairless ass of a bloated fool
i remember the advice of that friend of mine
“always gallop toward the enemy
but always trot away.”
sometimes bloody
sometimes pale
always breathless
never dull


but the bars and chains are so damned sweet
sing their siren song

work your art
work your art
practice the craft
bend the bars
break the chains
for liberty is never dull

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Taskmaster's Victim

His spirit crawls within the walls,

Waiting…impatiently…for the proper empath to emerge.

He knows that she will be there eventually.

Free spirits in the art room

Temporarily soothe his torment,

But cannot satisfy his eternal desire.

He awaits her passion, her knowledge, devours her fear.

The recognition is gradual,

Both so self-absorbed in their pain

That they almost miss the connection

Despite the warning

Of the wind

The movement

The anger

Permeating the passageways.

Silently screaming with frustration

Calling out to her within the stifling halls…

He daydreams of her duality…

Is frightened by her company of angels.

She senses him, but then again,

She always senses something, someone, wherever she goes.

Refusing to hear that voice,

Walks outside, breathes in the fresh air

And clears her brain of the improbable.

He begs to tell her his tale,

Of his broken spirit

And decayed soul,

To obtain her absolution.

She dispenses with his foul fumes that pass through her heart,

Continues to walk through the courtyard,

Gasping in the warm, humid air of the night.

Tripping over the headstone of the first schoolmaster,

Wind rises from his grave

Emitting faint laughter

Transforming her thoughts into sculptured ice.

Monday, January 23, 2012


clamor, climb-on, claim it
and sail on through to a desperate end
holding fast to drip-down,
trickle-down, beaten-down
self-suffering alibi
C10 H15 N

methdream methking
walter with the white spitfleck thing
whitepasty saliva paste stuck to a dried leatherdried boca
boca, walter, is what they call the mouth, you know

but methking methdream you suck that red fruit punch
like a hungry, thirsty, slobbering idiot
(god I hate to see it say it think it but I do)
red sugarsweet fruit punch jacks up that bloodsugar
you stand there with the red sugarsweet fruit punch
dripping down your dark leatherskin face
and I know I can't stand it but I watch it everyday
red motherloverslobber methking methstream
suck and suck that red sugarsweet fruit punch
like a fruit punch whore sucking down that
honeysweet sugarsweet red methdream
alive your leatherskin fries and dies and looks like feces
crapped out of the system
smelling like a boot dirtyboot that stands and sweats
sweats that red honeysweet sugarsweet
red honey nectar suck you like a vein sucked dry
C10 H15 N

god how I wish I could draw a picture
and show the world that leatherskin methking
with the white spitfleck thing
whitepasty saliva paste
crusty white in the corner of his eye
dry swollen tongue and crustmouth empty
C10 H15 N

boca, clamor, climb-on, claim it
and sail on through to a desperate end
walter, have some self-respect
show some dignity
that damned white priest with the starchwhite collar
starchwhite hand holding out and holding tight
starchwhite bastard priest thinks he knows so much
starchwhite faces leatherskin feces face and starchwhite priest
the red honeynectar never calls that starchwhite priest
and dies
and again

clamor, climb-on, claim it
and sail on through to a desperate end
while walter sucks the red honeysweet nectar
and you stand there with the red sugarsweet fruit punch
dripping down your dark leatherskin face  


Box-Car Benny with the lemon juice kisser

Gambles on

Left in the lurch

With a bad bet and two bits

In his pocket

Bets on horses, bets on numbers,

Bets his meals, bets on dames.

Paulette with her shoe polish eye lashes and ether perfume

Flutters past her desire for money, desire for fame

Dances past Benny

Dances for rebellion

Dances for kicks

Dances for bets

Place your bets, kick up your heels

For the big payout

The big prize

The big day

Walkathon, marathon, dance-a-thon

Sham-a thon

Days go on

Hanging on

With those blisters and tears

Bet their last bets on broken hearts.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Art of Illumination

Strictly capital gent

Tangos with that flourished temptation

Harmoniously gliding and dipping

Into pure gold leaf

The bold dapper lets his seductive partner sashay

And descend into sepia and indigo

With her pointed stilettos and boisterous past

Entanglements flirting with

Angelic wings and

Questionable acts along the fringes

Hidden between the cinnabar dreams

And saffron visions

Teasing with rubric lace

Across the vellum dance floor

Transporting through time with bold hues

Delighting with their tantalizing textures

Stunning the senses

With a bold stroke of the quill

Instilling memories to be

Preserved throughout infinity.