Word Play

Fear Dog

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In the desert there is no purpose, but there is beauty. Beauty in desolation. There is life in the details, a thriving community in a void. In the desert the magic is strong and the horizon beats at your chest and you are not alone. The desert has afterlife appeal. The desert lives a dead mans irony. When you walk out onto the hard abused cliffs of the desert you exist in a transitory limbo. Down bellow is a world of brown heat and perceived torture. Above scrolls a vivid blue taunting you with seas of dreaming candy and swarming angels. The wind comes in waves dropping down from the skies...

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Bus Stop Minute

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It had been a very cold day. The sun collapsing into the plastered tangerine horizon only made the night all the more bitter. Bitter cold. Angry cold. The air hating the ground hating the people stuck in between both. My skin stung slap happy red from the frost and the wind and the rain. The itchy cloth on my numb body clung stiff to my bones. I stood slumping against the climate swaying slightly in between shoves from the damp sky waiting for the bus. I was waiting to go home. I stood there on the side walk hating myself and my world and everything my world contained. Everything was B-grade...

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Jesus was a Capricorn

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(Thank You) “Fuck me brutally” you snapped that night and I giggled at your contortionist pose percariously balanced on my one man futon, ruining the moment like magic. “Jesus was a capricorn.” you told me two hours before. And you were right. We eat red meat because we love Jesus. We play baseball because we love Jesus. We cheat with our neighbors because we love Jesus. We brush our teeth because we love Jesus. We laugh out loud because we love Jesus. We beat up that ugly kid because we love Jesus. We drove our car off the bridge because we love Jesus We had a golden...

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Exposure

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So I get my ass hard boot kicked straight out of hell entirely too early and as a fetus reforming I temper tantrum beg for more beatings. Instead a new anything prevails. Bright shades of Zeus's spiteful boredom strike at me with hues of my orange childhood. Tangerine lunch pail slices. Jungle gym paint chips. No. 2 dull. I am undone. No Dorothy to gather the straw. Slapped funny, slut stunned, reeling to a new neurotics confederacy and I am told, very difficult to be around. My side ached from god nat flicking my evolution across years and space and geographic cruelty, with...

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Brutally Rich

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Yes I'm elitist. I smirk tight lipped my adventures I save locked away allowed only for myself and those involved. Regretting every time I share a treasure from my life the air from my mouth corrodes it. But the looks of your peers baffled and stumped are both beautiful and bold dismal I prize it. I recognize it. Some times when I'm drunk slipping I see the bitter clue in their eyes and they know: When you clutch scuffle with the ape gods you live vital and no one doubts you are at liberty, ungrappled or viciously used. Long ago I entered a world chaotically painfully, brutally...

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The Issue

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The family is not an issue the job is not the issue do’s and don’ts are not the issue good health coverage is not an issue doing your homework is not the issue setting your goal is not the issue your priest is not the issue the newest blockbuster movie of the year is not an issue Monday mornings are not the issue showings your kids who is boss is not the issue new shoes are not an issue your neighbors lawn mower is not an issue getting some on the side is not an issue winning at the races is not an issue meeting the Backstreet boys is not the issue being part of the team is not the issue working...

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Late Night Moment with My Me

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(Depressions End) Here I am, desperate. Sitting. And here I ask, secluded, “Who the fuck is knocking at my door?” Silence is my answer. And still, Here I sit Bewildered with my dead muse sternly fused to my head. conscious of my every thought. Narcotic shackles of schizophrenic consistency pierced through my lips, weighing heavy on my every move. Uncontrollable words poisoned and sweet slobber down the links, the droplets strengthen and ruin the different pools each make. A mirror image of my me. In my belly squirm the worms of inconceivable delights. They duel sharp...

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This is Not Elvis

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Elvis is not a person A corpse rotting in the ground Carved stone above and worm dirt bellow Elvis is a state of mind Elvis is our culture Elvis is our heritage Saint of the 20th century Savior of a stagnant youth Prophet Icon Rebel The Harbinger of a generation A plateau to reach for To obtain in body and soul a million star spangled hip gyrations to entertain and save from the monotony of our lives with out rock n’ roll never a hound dog always in blue suede shoes Elvis is not a corpse. ——— (originally written circa 1994-2002)

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Burn Out Poet

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Out of mind? Out of sight. Baby, just flowing with the rolling thoughts stinking inside my head. I move inside the sides of thick judgmental rantings murderous with arrogance enveloped in stale pale heat waves of doubt -ing what's really relevant and in a moment of politic clarity stunning like a high octane low calorie fire cracker bang from my head to my hand to my mouth to you the chilling sick revelation that I have nothing worth to write or say nothing. nothing witty nothing silly nothing cute not nothing nowhere no who no why no reason never not today not...

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Murdered Time

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(the angels scream in heaven, jealous) The night is good to me. My mind balloons confection. Feeling full from the outside in. I grin with the beauty of my surroundings. Hot wax filling my world. Holiday cheer flicking at my eyeballs. I sigh with pleasant contentment. Everything icing and sugar. Sweet indulgence in my chest. Snakes sooth through my bones. Cats lick at my tongue. Birds peck in my skull Violin strings plink on my skin. The sounds of sweating air burns through my ears. Pastel colors drip meaningful ideas and humid emotions. I take a bite from the sky, like god. Peering...

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