Friday, October 30, 2009

The Wronging Tent

Under the Wronging Tent
I knit the firmament
of has been not yet
wet dreams.
I see the damage
assess the wreckage
aspirate effluvium
and fart in helium.
Under Stanley stand next to me.
Inexplicably aye-aye can see
stutter step Studer
on a reel to real
tracking the trace
of her trains trailing
holding, beholding and whole ding
what case was in any case,
valise coliseum when you can't
call it like you see 'em?
Whenhaps you fine yourself
standing at attention
in misdemeanor,
overturned by the jug
and a peal,
leaf binder bound
to pursuant and purr sued,
you can start buying me
more light bulbs
than you can use.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Scattered, Smothered and Covered.

Driving south,

Hawley's Island, South Carolina.
Sweet Palmetto minarets
swaying like a nightgown skirt
under a Ramadan state flag moon.
Black Dog and (She's so heavy)
are singing through the Georgia woods.
Roll up on Heavy's Bar-B-Q
off the Crawfordville exit,
brunswick stew breakfast
and napkins of bleached white bread.
Around Rock Eagle,
I found where I could get my deer processed
and was asked if I accepted Jesus
every quarter mile.
In the South I just love
driving around and around,
dabbling in depression,
and some boiled peanuts.
Hey, honey...
I'll take my highway
scattered, smothered and covered
with some a glass of sweet tea.

Friday, October 16, 2009


I wish for just one minute I had a small portion of my best friend's sense of self because he is empowered with such a strength of purpose and stubborn resolve in so many instances that would make mere mortals shrivel with embarrassment.  How many of you would dare approach someone in a bar with a pick up line like, "You smell like my ex-wife"?  None? Right.

My best friend is quite funny.  Obviously.  Anybody that would drop a line about someone smelling like their ex-wife on some girl in a bar has to be guided by some meta sense of humor, yes?  I thought so for many years until one night in a basement comedy bar.  My friend drug me there to see the culmination of several weeks instruction in stand up comedy.  He signed up for a UW extension and I promised to come see his 'final exam' on stage.  Everyone in the class got five minutes at the Comedy Underground.  Moments before he went onstage, he whispered to me that he had a sudden burst of inspiration and was going to improvise.  Up to this point, the students who did their routines seemed to follow a pretty safe pattern of doing joke routines related to their gender, national origin or physical appearance - not knee slapping, but serviceable.  Batting cleanup, my best friend took the stage.  This is what he said:

"Hey everybody, I'm a Washington State public servant.  It's a really boring job but you know what would be really funny?  If Arnold Schwartzeneger was the governor of Washington State!  I wonder what his State of the State address would sound like."

I knew right then that he had gone waaaay off into the trees and this was just the intro to his routine.  We had made fun of Arnold and his Austrian monotone since the Hans and Franz 'Pump You Up' skits ran on SNL.  Oh god! He was really going to motor down this old, dusty road.  I watched awestruck with dumb fascination.

"Theeese eeess dah state of dah state address fore dah state of Washingtonia! First oofff, teechaas who say they huv und headache doo not huv und tumor!"

Huh? "Kindergarten Cop?"  CHRIST!  No one is even booing him.  If I farted right now, I would be shamed.  He rambled through some more crap and began to sweat.  A good comedian always has a parachute.  A good comedian.  My best friend isn't even a comedian.  He's my best friend.  He never carries a parachute.

"Duh deficit uv duh state vill be TERMINATED!!!"

Nobody said a word.  Nobody even said something like "You suck!"  Everybody watched my best friend die up there and I could really feel it in the room - complete and total empathy for a poor soul who stood up to do stand up and instead died and when I mean died, I mean completely died.  

"Vote fuh me, Ahhlll be BAAACK!"

My best friend then threw his arms up and strode off stage.  No one laughed.  No one heckled.  Everyone including myself saw our mom, dad, dog, cat and car die up there.  All that was left was murmuring silence.  To this day and after several disagreements that have nearly led to fisticuffs, he still holds onto the delusion that he killed it...


Thursday, October 15, 2009

From This Point We Are Strangers

Viva the psalms of rage.

Viva uncertainty.
Viva the mold.
Viva the broken promise.
Viva the gulf between you and me.
Viva your anger. 
Viva our shame.
Viva our parents.
Viva old age.
Viva in sickness.
Viva the greed.
Viva my tardiness.
Viva your hate.
Viva the lies.
Viva mistakes.
Viva escapism.
Viva death's door.
Viva paranoia.
Viva the uterus we came from.
Viva mistakes.
Viva loss and endless need.
Viva envy.
Viva my hatred.
Viva circumstance.
Viva the Pima County Sheriff.
Viva three strikes and you're out.
Viva geography.
Viva indifference.
Viva the family tree.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

October 2009

Feeling like I slept in a trench
at French Verdun, December 1916.
The back of my head is burning.
Somebody's nursing a grudge
a little more kin than kind.
Everybody's got a white whale
they can't forgive I suppose.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Our Past Mistakes and Present Form

The inquisitorial process of matter.
Externalities constantly molding
past, present and future tense.
The byproduct of electro-chemical impulse
and human musclature.
Formless in the space between us.
Given shape by abstraction.
Given shape by the inquisitorial process of matter
that allowed our wandering paths to cross.
Let all my words to you
mold bonds of love and affection
past, present and future.
Form and truth.