What are the collars
of our shirts for
but to hold
back
the
burst

but a doubly insular
and keen witness
to our sweet
noggins
top
our
heads

those blues get
us down
and melt
obligation
to keep
a methodical
still
going

rock and roll?
the duress,
the exhaltation
the fine
release,
the mist

the spirit we mock
is the spirit
that moves
our bodies
to work

apropoganda

The sorority girl gasped
"no!"
"he's so... what a jerk!"
and the sky ripped in two
and down came the rain
dripping from the Land's End
logo
on
to

a bum tinkering
and toying
with the idea of Goebbel;
you know,
the arms stretched forth,
a sea - an inside-out man

and the affection
his own father jettisoned
for a troubled,
turncoat
voyage
across
the
Atlantic

to a strange name:
Soddy-Daisy

The fields are alive
with the sound of music

Bald Mountain

I was at the Pebble Beach Concours de Elegance
and my mind was blown
by the private reserve upon
which so few lived
in the hills outside of Monterey

the perfect grass and the perfect jug band
were perfectly positioned
near the symetrical splay of Hors d'oeuvre
in the aromatic nestle of some valley
with little shrubs like those on my
uncle's train set diorama

A heart felt hello to my father's gay friends
from far away lands
and as they sized me up
I shifted the subject of conversation
from that of prowess
to that of progeny, progress
and the man's Peking to Paris adventure
in a 1938 something or other

and I wandered off to the third coffee
of the evening
and my mind wandered off to a darkened Broadway
where I held her hand but it wasn't quite right

and then my thoughts turned to my
new love
the round-faced girl whose eyes
are cool pools of aquamarine
flanked by the fairest, milkiest skin

and I made a noise that I thought
a baby dinosaur might make
and I smiled

One Million Earths

It was a concerted effort,
the parking job

I watch football
and I believe in miracles

yet

it only takes one twist of the Knob
Creek bottle top

to

fumble the worldly wise
juggling act - I'm caught

redeeming for penny
fish
in Zip-loc bags

and after the confetti
settles

I remember the sun
fits one million earths

The Poorest Brahmin

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

The Fig tree
in the wind
a million leaves
shimmer

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

a multifaceted
synergy:
office parks
on fire

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

the thunderstorm track
in the produce aisle
with the hourly misting
strobe lighting, too

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

the lunch, broken
This is my Body
the cooler, broken
This is my Blood

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

For Willie T

Racoons in the alley
swatting knats in the
Nashville light pollution

and I'm moved to a creation
myth

it's about a boy turned tortoise
and when he rested; the cosmic

river swelled and Jones'd for
the easiest path,

a demiurgic TVA
drawn toward a three-star

moment
of triumph over a stagnation

so characteristic of the Devil -
the great agitator!
The great I Can't.

Behold, New Road

Timidity times ten:
tepid Tervis Tumblers
tear the trousers Tom tried
on
he hushed himself
how horrible has
this
been?

"I want to dig myself a hole
in the Scotts tough turf right about now.
I don't think I can make it past side dish X"
"Try this script on for size:
a man is dials the wrong number and its
his ex-lover's new number. They talk about
the old times.
Then, you hear a horrible cry and you find
out the woman has been hit by a motor vehicle
as she was filling up the generator for her ice cream
truck."
"Wait, this sucks; stop telling me this script."
"Man, this is the same shit I've been talking to my
shrink about. A sort of intellectual imminent domain;
like if the government bought all the Beatles songs
and chopped and screwed them for a Marines commercial
because by then the post-20th-century blackness
would have totally been imbued and thus transfigured
into the actual agglomerated consciousness of post-post
bullshit like "hey we heard that people used to love the
Beatles" like we do with Count Basie now. Every time
I try to pitch anything, it turns into a theft and bereavement."
"Man, will you lay OFF man!"

The End