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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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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(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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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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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 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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(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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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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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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(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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