Sunday, July 17, 2011

we will be given arrows

we have grown old.
yesterday we had water.
today, we drink whiskey
and talk of capitalism,
social politics, and the common man.

yesterday, we were
the bottom rung
of a step stool that
never hurt anyone.
tomorrow, we will be
shakers of mountains,
movers of the earth,
at the helm
of a terrible machine we
once were only
a cog inside.

we will be given arrows
backed by guarded gold
and where we choose
to fling them will
tell us just what kind of
men we are.

we have been given the keys
to this city we live in,
babylon of the earth,
and oh Lord let us not
open with them
pandora's box.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

arachnids of progress

they're out there, on the horizon,
arachnids of progress sticking their
straight spindly mile-long
metal legs right down into the ocean floor.

off the easy shaded coast of
carpinteria, santa barbera, they sit
poised and sucking the crude lifeblood
of our economy from far beneath
the whelming flood.

right here, in front of children
skipping through the wake in may's new breeze
and couples cradling each other
fully clothed in the sand
and people who would have been called dreamers
forty years ago left scribbling on
scraps of paper, alone by life's gracious,
graceful hand.

there they are, toiling away grey
hours of daylight all in a row -
one two three four five six seven
frozen steel insects forged
by greed, necessity, and surely
very calloused hands.

they light at night, several globes per platform
in the distance warning us
in a way quite opposite of lighthouses,
"don't venture out to sea, we're
here. you needn't be, and we'll
be just fine

without you."

Saturday, April 16, 2011

falling asleep this
night in a ceremony
shirt and cut off shorts

Friday, April 15, 2011

the graduate's on television tonight

the graduate's on television tonight
and i don't care. i'm sick of it,
tired of romance that looks how
people want it to look.
good God i was mucked down
in that bog for too long.
about twenty years too long
to be honest.

the graduate's on television tonight
and it's reminding me how stupid
i used to be. stupid enough to make
choices for all the wrong reasons.
good God i was stupid,
stupid and mean.

the graduate's on television tonight
and i don't want your company, dustin.
not tonight. because tonight i feel
like just another notch
on a gun somewhere
north of here, just another name
on a what's-getting-long list.
good God i was a hard fought notch
and a name written in calligraphy
on that list.

the graduate's on television tonight
and for once in a long while, i feel
like dreaming myself to drinky sleep.
good God, save me from me.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

that one

i wrote alot of things
about that one.
beautiful things and heartsick
things and hopeful things
and horrible things too.

some were okay but most
weren't okay in any way but
they're all still here, laying
around like a bunch of old
dive suits lined up side by side
in a navy warehouse - the kind with
the big round bronze helmets
and tubes that go up to
the surface for air and
monstrous boots for trodding
around ocean floors and
sunk submarines and the like

but unlike that congregation of
ghastly obsolete apparatuses,
those things i wrote aren't worth
the ink i spent on them

i guess it's time to start over,

Saturday, November 27, 2010

black friday

i had the nicest time
dancing with a girl
through panic on the streets of london
and panic on the streets of birmingham
and panic at our nation's finest
retailers of electronics and expensive
things on sale.
hands hooked together, smiling,
we stepped and bobbed and
sang along,
apathetic to the media material madness
of the day.
on the stage, the man with the fade
and the coke-bottle glasses in front
of a table full of wires and cords
wagged his finger at the crowd,
singing along to his own death threat
hang the dj
hang the dj
hang the dj
and we danced through black friday
into no-one-cares-about-this saturday
and eventually left the sweaty
echo park bar and went home,
i would say, absolutely and utterly

Monday, November 22, 2010



i was much younger then, around
the time of my nineteenth birthday,
standing outside in december,

rain-wrapped limbs holding a cell phone
up to my drenched ear shrouded
by shaggy wet hair, a beard, and

scuba goggles on top of the
whole mess, (i just like the rain is
all.) talking about tea and the

times we agreed to talk - daily -
over the coming month and some
hours added to that. and i was

much younger then. she was hazel
and frail and we were both just a
little insane. leave it like it's

burning you and she did, come the
new year. january. a hollow
month. the next several were forced,

pained to wade through the days -
we did though, muddle our
way around until the
end. and no more rain came.

i was home then, working
out of doors with gloves on.
december, forever.

Friday, November 19, 2010


not a latte

sometimes it bothers me
when i look around
and plastic people are
paying more for

their coffee drinks

than i can afford to
shell out for
one meal in
a given day.

best just to be
thankful though,
that i can at least

pay for a meal.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

nothing sacred

shiny tiles

i was at
an art school
walking down the
windowy halls on

shiny tiles

and there were
flyers posted all over
the walls and
some even on

the windows

and one of these
flyers, amid computers
for sale and
missing cell phones
and offers to score
your independent film,

(let me turn this
over one second)


(once more)

mondays, 5:15 pm,

5 dollars"

millions of people
have been practicing
the spiritual-or-pagan
discipline of


for thousands and
thousands of
weather bruised

absolutely and utterly
of charge

and i just don't
see what gives whoever
posted this pretentious
and profane
invitation to what
i'm sure would and will
amount to spiritual
abandonment and

enlightenment (for some)

of course

the divine-or-godless right

to charge the
ungodly sum of

five dollars

merely to take part in
this ancient

it confused me
for as much time

as it took

to tear it off
the wall and

write this poem
on the back of it.