in a bottle

a lone car zips
down the road like a jet plane;
beyond the sounds of
ocean lapping at the shore,
breaking like giant bottles
larger than man can make

message not received.

when you look

to look at the
complexity of
the life of the
debt
is to stare
into the vacuum
of space
and to have the
face removed
by that whirlwind of
razors

the lack of this
protection
we live in
like some atmosphere
and we don't see what is
really going on

it is far too mechanical
and devoid of light.

away from you while ants in the trash

relaxing
Emeline asleep
in her space

cat has a
full wine glass
and sits as
curls

i have just opened
the windows
for the first time
this year

light a little
orange blossom incense
to paint the fresh and
salty dying summer
air

it has been
too hot or too damn wet
but not right now
it is right now
as i remember how i
used to love incense
good incense was a staple
just like the
sound track

music
smells
wind and
light
meant clean
as days closed

these days are
beautiful and slightly
different
music sometimes gets
in the way of naps
incense may incense
flared sensors

work stays work
and traffic same
conversations with friends
about

like dreams now
and feelings as the
night before roller
coaster rides or
sinking
like in wait for
hangman’s noose

all the same
popcorn gets away
from you while ants
in the trash
mercenary and the
march toward sweet

when i was eighteen
i sent four poems to a
magazine in norfolk
as i write now i have
yet to send any more
anywhere

i ready myself

one of those poems
was about
ants i think
it went

the ant.
the ant has lived
and worked
and breathed
and walked
round here for
many a day

with a breath i
blew the ant away.

i don’t remember
the other three but
the magazine sent me a letter
-kept two and wrote that
they may use the others n
some future publication or
some such shit

i never heard from them
again what
the fuck is this
and why and where are any
of this here

meem bomb

there is a place in the sand
where rocket grows
duck potatoes inland marshes
creatures crawl and fly

look outside your life
look outside the lie
all the ghosts that sing
"we're tired of re-reminding you"

machines raze bush to sand
put up stalls and shit
build the black road dead the live oak
what the fuck?

there's no stars tonight
artificial light
from the parking lots
where boys dry-hump them little race cars

sleep

sleep peaceful night
-it's only a truck rolled by
-it's alright there
may be a hell storm outside
but you're on the right side
of the window and candlelight

don't let the day cast an early light
for tonight will soon enough erase
today from time and we
don't want to waste what's left of a good ride

all the pretty things ( for A.G.)

i feel the chill in my bones
your ghost's been playin' with me
me and i don't know
anything
when i'm feelin' somethin'
you're
like a dream in my head
you're always playin' with me
me then
i don't know where you go
hundred years ago or somethin'

sitting at the window
thinking times so far away from us
it takes such little things
to keep us on the spot and standing up
looking out that window loving
all the years i've lifted up
all the pretty things,
and the weight when i picked 'em up

reading this back i wonder why i plant the seeds

i saw a painting of a bowl of berries
and it reminded me of my life

they were all at peak;
ripe and ready and even
the ones layed round the bowl
each perfect on their individual
own

meant to be eaten that day
they were and is life
as i pick my tomatoes and
peppers
and they lay for days

past ripe and maybe
i lose them and maybe
i could dry them but
i face it
i don't know the procedures
i don't make the time
and such is this bowl of berries
right now. lately.

my self imposed times out
barely steer this ship com
pared to the beatings rendered
from parents to a boy child

two hurricanes

so this is how we live as
neighbors on the sandbar
scurrying about broomed and shoveling
our mess
back into the places where
we
feel it should go
and keep it there in safe maintainance
until the next time the
weather decides that it should be
spread around like this
our mess,
our shit on display for all
to see...all those private bathroom
moments in thought, once lost and now

in the middle part is a darkness
-a backing into something
a nightmare, a key
a crying child and something said
to me long ago but as i said
just a darkness now on the x-ray
a mass, a backing into a new old hell
the images on this skull jump like pages
turning from zombie to Ernest.

maybe the medication makes me feel like
the rest of the population;
and if this is fact then i want to
feel like i used to
when i was afraid of nothing
i am yet afraid of nothing

hurricane two times

sobers

i understand sobriety
but the drink
-the smoke

they keep me up
in ter es ted

the drink makes the night
come alive, mo
re vibrant

the smoke just makes
the assholes at the spot
bearable

faith

i truly believe
that my faith
requires me
challenges me to
take on that dark side.

nothing is forever

and there is an ugly
but orchestrated beauty
in that

in there/here

therapist

everyone gets the
yes answer
yes, fine
it is fine

golf was
work is
medicine too
it's all

perfect

the only one that gets
the whole truth is
the rapist
so

if you want to
stare down this
tunnel
seeking light
go on-
shoot yourself in my head

cold

insanity may

be mis
understood

brilliance

best i can do

often reminded lately,
too frequently for casual
comforts, how savage
the frailty of the veil.

for Kate

amycat



base ball bat



one silent no,whispered

fuck you



i write this because

beclaws i was getting ready to

give my cat Shiitten some

food



i dunno why it

reminds me but it does



-maybe the cat having little cats

in our closet in that place

that time Katie.



maybe just the

regular



thing to do



remember



after all the years of

circus and un knowing

but tandem



yeah fucked

another short poem here



for you Kate



whilst i sit alone in my house

miss my wife

miss my baby girls

and miss



i miss it all sometimes

and it causes hurt

misunderstandingand

pains and from all of you



i don't evenknow why i'd write this

but

i do know that once you

have read it

then two will have



mistakes and all



in my inbox

starred labled

electronic everlasting

chip connected search engine

branded mail

thulium

split fire
hail and shit
stone leave me there
the blanket of it all
as tonight

three demons
came
to land on me…
and I
spoke them out
and then there was sleep for the
little one

beat and fuck
shine or rust no
matter what
the return nor
trust…I don’t put mine in
no bank mine mind

Claudius had my left shoulder and flank
And thulium had my right
Third he sat upon them, squashed
them and his asshole and grundle and
tail lay there wet from trying
but not succeeding once again
on and about my
neck and shoulders

just fine

i am the crumpled-up

flower

lotus : needing

shower

love bath and antiquity

roll the cinnamon 

through ecstasy

living building breathing

branch

with mercy's chime

lays speaking out

greased about the rims

and fine.

everything here is

just fine

for a tuesday, yeah

fine.

the weight of my style

cold and insane

breathing from the outside in

to the breeding 

of the landslide for the clowns

sun specked around the

blush covered pearls

teeth held back by

couches for lips

and severely manicured 

by years of canned food

her hips sing sweet to me

my lonely boy...astounded

drops knees when thinking

of questions to ask

liquor driven inquest 

frat party-like 

incest 

leave scented trails of 

mist

through winter's air

smells of another tryst

failed...

and boiling underwear...

i want to live down there

will arrive on the scene 

in wine-colored hair

     vagrant's stare...

hey there buttercup--get

your damned cat out of

my mother's favorite chair

i want to caress a while...

want to bask; love heat warmth fills

the weight of my style...

exists in your smile

(11.23.00)

salvage the dishes of poets sin bitches

solid gold necktie
peterbuilt landscapes
sounds of grey thunder
in clouds clapping down

toast with no butter
schoolgirl surrender
knees like bent flowers
crippled with mud

reasons lie silent
reasons for dreaming
clues left for clueless
in place of it all

tadpole lies drowning
visions of nectar
but in reality
stagnant water

blue-green algae
color fall
uck fay all yay
strip flop hooray...

come in the ay em
two thirty's okay
feel one more white pill
dissolve and portray

the senseless
while buttercups
breathe in
my day

one black model cerveza brings me back.....

i'm coming to join now
i was led astray
codeine and fed law
envelope bouquet

plum wine and wishes
drunk then fried fishes ;

.....say now the title....

little girl ... volcano

go on way down low

little girl

volcano

come and sit a while

with me

no one can feel like 

i tragically see

these things which don't 

exist

these things that just

can't be

these things which dance 

before me.

(on my 30th)

in ink-pencil love to...

#1 @

11:25

#2 @

12:06

#3 @

12:17

         it's 12:38 and 45

more time

these days in flowing to

and relating from

is all we find

more freakish, every-blind, flowing time.

more and more and

more and more    more time

to open or close doors

build the walls the

world erased

of our mother's nipple

or our father's belt

of a grown man pissing

to a young boy's 

eyes

time...i have said before

is effervescent and

is mine...

the bubbles in the serum

the life which counts for

breath which has

no mind          only

it's inception escape

the bounds of time

the energy that ever moves

and wont likely die

that gives men reason to 

document-count life

waiting for the train

year of the dragon express

wanna feel my best

wanna redefine tenderness

would just take one second

to talk to the people

might last just the thousand blinks that

is a spider's eye        may just

lift the wail in the cougar's cry

i live in dungeons through

mistaken trial

by overlaw.....i

live in painted grass on tainted straw

bed claw nail and suture

live through combine

heavy cloud burst

snow light tree hat clove

      and spoon

to digest sister moon

the law to jungle

in ink-pencil love to

all who broke their castle

love to all the severed heads

bald head hustlers, Cuban

heroes, shorn/locked, wooly

dread.

love saves all through breaking time

love saves us to break with time

clamor and clatter up

the nose in

your chimney...i gotta 

go this time-

get up soon!

(2.20.00)

virgin sunday

i look at the things
pieces of the pictures
here
ready to be made
and its about a dry fuck
i tell ya

my mothers ring from 61
a bloody valentine
and luck
things i cherish and
harbor safe from
this storm of modern reality

so many times my
smaller childs mind would
have me push a blade in
to a senseless suspect
someone who maybe said too much
or very little but
just at the right time(
wrong for him though)
oh
my
my
so i sit here
happy with my codeine and
colt forty five
shoot myself one more time
its the end of the smear
as i knew it
and i cannot rhyme

my desk is a beautiful sight
an extra throw pillow
with a white tile sample
sprinklings of green and light

a ceramic heater
hums three feet away
and as the air drys
and the beer goes down and
later on brings my gag response
and
then i will point it away
but for now it
warms my side in
this cold ass hell.

no matter all the sandalwood
and coverings of smells

i say i think i got
all i need
right here in this
flat       eight by six
maybe ten but
then again
two feet i won't be using anyhow

one more sip
one more drip
one more smoke
and i will put on my
headphones and
fade away---

she shoulda called today

i am glad today
is almost
yesterday
and
is becoming my day
off                         beautiful
virgin sunday

child stars belly

ya know its easier for me to

do it like this

less face to face i

pussy out

wanted to be your freaky

little friend

wanted to make cartoon

childrens music again

wanted to and still

want to find that key

that fits your door

i wouldnt trust me

if i were you                 BUT

throw that out

and the details would be

delicious

all luster of trust and moonshine

dying on the table

FUCK ITs what i say

and if you would come my was

i would show you the back of

child stars belly

the part of you that would

love the bette pat of me

 enraptured now in the spill

i have written you

as you sit and sip water

and my car moans take me home

i wished to be the most

erotic secret toy

you ever loved

(2.17.00)

velvet-black:smeared-blue

where do i start

reach into the fuckin' stars

velvet-black:smeared-blue

i see me and look beyond 

for you

"yo son carabali

negro de nacion

sin la libertad

no  puedo vivir"

sounds so sweet though

not necessarily the origins

of me

i stumble through

the silken locks

i have craved

to sample love's sweet 

victory through bitterness

(the darkest sweet so far

as i can tell)

can't make believe 

i'm not living in hell

lab-caged rat i stumble

for the prize         or

rub my belly i lay down;

my ego circumsized

and this boy has to pee

all the time

blindless blitterings these words

stumble naked forth

from truths cold shoulder

ashes and the embers smolder

all that's left to tell my story true

all that's left when 

times i think of you

i sniff and snort bad 

things out of hate

and hatred's bed she

sleeps me well all day

and 

nothing

i  have left to say is

nothing left was here for me

nothing here was left for me

i am here to sing

your burden fast to

thinking sleep      to

calm the dragons in your 

mind just one last 

loving time-

one last farewell rhyme, or

this. which i give

to you,

ammonia-smelling crystal 

pine sol blue

amber first but stirred

with morning's mist

cry the burning tears that

are stirred by this

loveless

faithless

bullshit

harem tryst.

coming is more of this-

(2.16.00)

a kiss to auburn fur

it's like three now and

i saw you last at twelve

and never before eleven thirty

did we speak and

i'm sure now that you're

home saying- "he was nice"

and to her you're saying "wow-

you just never know, they just 

come out of nowhere..."

and i'm thinking

she needs thirsty sex

my boy-child slurping

every bit of every bit of her

i am such the heiress-

bitch of a man

disguised in well-raised

honey-mask, mama's well-

manicured gentlemen-like

catch of ass.

and i can run it fast

or choose to make it last

but heaven is to be said

of meeting through eyes

and feeling the blood in

my gut and chest before

she says a word-

and i have already known her 

now

is not that sick-

i cannot tell you how, but i have

felt her ride and

tasted her sweat

and for that i'm forever reminded

why i never can stand

and walk away...because her

voice made her incense blow

to me

and i came hot like my

jamaican dog

and fed  on scraps and

nourished by my

second mother -i know how

to fight the other dogs off

without lifting a whisper

i bend soft to blow

a kiss to auburn fur

wishing to keep the

erotic lights in the

softness of my eye-

that blind spot i see 

best through-

it coulda been you

or you or you

but hello friend,

i've been waiting

and i've been true.

yeah...now what is

that you'll have me do?

yeah...true...and i've

been waiting on you

(2.12.00)

rockets 7

my world had grass and trees

and now it's sewered meat

my world was warm and dry

and blue eye green sky sweey

my world was sure of shit

and was the careful trip

my world is on it's knees

and careful that bagging boy

   thre worlds crash tomorrow

   in stunning electric seas so far

   and black

       rockets 7 to mars

new world is brimming with hope

and possibilities wrapped in

warm dough

and skyrides through the sand so red

old world is sliding and dead

new world trying to cope

and old world pulling the rope

and knees wearing scratches may

be old world blown us away

(lyrics scribbled on an old movie poster 4/5-98)

striking timelessly

an' the cigarette tastes like it
tasted when i was ten
in the woods
hiding from my daddy's disdain
and from the knowing it'd bring
mama the gut pain

she brought it on
with old home-fire hearth warmth
and despondence
a never, she
hoped to breathe upon
as these words
and memory frozen fast
i wonder -stumbling
through your past do you
find a trace of me
or just wallow
in that luxury that
was yours, and
you're family's
(and)
what do they think of me...?

the end is sappily upon
us again and your juice
just makes it more easy than the clock
striking timelessly


(conversation with a bottle 2.13.00)

hung

i mix and mash in

whatever fashion

delayed sprung mind time

is effervescent 

and is mine...

she's like greased in

to mine eyes just

one more time

i'm glued to mother

midnight

i'm hung on midnight

mother

and hung when the

noon passes sunrise

and i rise

rub weary eyes and

focus those holes

on the day to be

all of this was 

made special for 

me.

i am a superstar

and i'm well hung on

this way that i see

and i would snatch

purses if my face

wasn't plastered on every billboard eye

i'm of plain white 

shipyard stock

waterfront sleet catcher man

from a highway town

that never made much noise

anyhow

.......in boise, anyhow reality

                                            shifted

and spit me out.

reality has drifted

from the spat 

between to lovers

never to be

rather to be half-clean

so into the sun let we rise

and hypnotize...-yes! hypnotize

ourselves one by one 

to live as

the prayer

that something deep inside

a plot

is hoping to arrive.

that something is the fuel 

that lets(makes)this broken down 

axle drive

(2.4.00)

of soul

my life's good time

and happy head

are dependant upon

a steady flow

green...ya know and ninety year old

cubans

singing.......WAILING way beyond the limits

of soul

i maybe hope to be that old

i never thought i'd see THIS old

and the expression that

i give when smile is donned 

     and stomach kicks

is not enough to keep the brain on pause

never gonna justify the treatment

i take on

never gonna steal my quiet

          time away

and tomorrow, yes...i guess

i will follow brother's lead

and tell the man no longer

will i bleed the tears i've spilled

my wrist and gut breathe 

a collective sigh,

as my anger lies asleep...

ready to strike at will-

(2.3.00.)

so purple'y

brush my teeth 

till gums bleed

rocks shaken and

rocks shakin in my head

little while longer

then livity

just stayin and

just stayin in my head

and how much longer

should i stick to

that choice i chose

was given me

          (?)

-empty-handed,

pained to see how

busy rainclouds

lay forest down 

while busy stormclouds

         inside of me

     ...against a sunrise

        so purple'y,

  wretch with hailstorm

       and enlightening

(2.2.00)

of paranoid failure scenarios

we sail through auburn skies

and seldom see

needle:  in eye

a joy is lost

in discovering that

we limit ours to self

and miss the bigger 

canvas

random chance is

one handful more

than lucky

more that opportunity

deeper than preparedness

-reluctance to study the 

foresight

of paranoid failure scenario

willingness to look 

on the bright side

is all i have now.

i don't wish to be 

enlisted

in the service of man

anymore

-none but  the urge to forge 

my way

runs thick like rivers

of mercury

streams of imagination time

seeing in my store 

again

the pages of my mind

to paper words from inner voice

come

fresh painted glossy

still smelling and

sticky to the touch

the hard base reality

the true illusion

that will provide for many

so importantly much

(on the subject of self employment i think...4/18/00)

& is

soft hair on smooth 

peach and only some

through frantic garden shake

but take enormous white mother

watch baby and

one and those is lazy

        & is

less like need girl

above like someplace

though time falls beneath

      men to beauty

asking cry and swim

       sit      smelling

            blue

 (4.20.00)

delta dawn 1997/8

spring in autumn time

inverse universe mind

smells of orchid blossom

cherry sage and chive

bear with full throttle

lifetimes and aged

loves set to beat and rhyme

um, fruits yes

not yet lending sweet

and sticky water to tongues

nobody 

yes nobody topless

cigarette

cling now to the instant

between waking and 

dreams

write this down:

the woman gave birth 

before him.

he helped with breathing

and stomach rubbing

and then it lay

in translucent packing bag

no cord but juicy

he cut the bag open

and there's the boy.

like smoothing a lump from

a tired muscle she

once again was sexy

only seconds later

a bullet would strike

her right between

two starry eyes and

she is neither first nor last.

he was the women's

volley ball coach at

some university

she was known by most 

as infinity

they were tangled 

from the second

their eyes met in

February.

dry ass veggie burger

made barely palatable

by breath she'd 

left on and extra

special bitter,

and dairy-

soul vicious the hammer

that rains blows on

a mind

in the forms of

millions of memories

of a life since time

began

-that and delta dawn

and his mansion

in some sky

icebergs and blue 

    followed

and memory of the winds

which used to blow 

him clean...

dreams forecast since

dreams broke through

the milky bubble's skin

and into flesh

coloring inside lines

skill met fumbling

natural law leaving

spirit in jars

called religion

son of a bitch.

love with vital hand grenade

the random white car-jack

   steam-loaded apple-smack

the sound that gets the garage door up

and lays the children down

viscous

ever chilled with

vibrant

hand soap colored

shroud

love with vital hand grenade

launched dream time into mind

moon   as earth and

grey as diry

men dig trenches so

clay won't hurt

eyes won't move anymore

and love is all i'm for

strong torn every part 

                 of

storm haze twizz-ted lot

seeing pictures of

a barn

much hay and straw

and numbers on why

my penmanship

may start to drift

funny thought how

brought to now the image of

the scribbled words

written me sent by

my grand aunt:

my hand won't do what

i tell it to do...what i want it to.

fucking daughters

i would bleed for you
right here on my carpet
i would die
just one moment
i would lie onto my
blanket

i have learned the words
you like to hear
and i say them
i know the taste that
blows your childhood mind
i suck and dance
and stink at style
but if only for a chance
if i only had that chance
to be raised like you
i could show too...

the fragile world when
raised like me, i see through

i kick the bucket in on xanadu
and kubla khan
pours sweet drinks to
my soul
and nothing but my shoes
feel quite that old...
and silver and gold....(sing)
silver and gold
plated
in the window just for show
is the luster of that love
i used to know
and the flowers in the garden
that you grow with
the pieces of my soul so
picked and so raw
bet
i must be the worst
you ever saw
and liar,
i am chosen to be free
to roam inside the lies created for me
and i am so many things-
through improper representation
i am a fable in their eyes
just a work horse
fucking daughters
a tasked master alone on
coal black water
a dish of stone and caviar
'tween brothers
a justified worryin' for my mother

and through this massive hell
my children suffer,
suffer and hide fast your holy name-
the tribe you're from has come to pick up
the broken clay pots and flower's luck

lonely mourning snowflake
falling dove,
butterfly, just drift as we stand up......

one day i'd sing into those eyes so
sad and blue
slightly hypnotized by
enchanting candle fire
some called you

a sexy candle's voice that
talked like you...i write
and smoke and fumble off my
shoes,
my shirt and pants and
mirror's laughing fast at
lack of glamour
at stumbling
sense of urgency to
mark a blind man's territory
pissing
in braille lavatories is all we seem to do
so what are we leading our children here to do
and why does your perfume sing me right to
lust
-napping, as mimosas bloom at dusk...
soft pink and white from green leaves
against pastel like dying sky-
wishing out of all i know
i never learned to say goodbye.

my pearls

as i exhale for lack of strength

and leaning back

become part of this chair,

my bed

i barely have the say...

lacking the steam to

fake the dream...

"oh shit,.........." slipped from my mouth

my only conscious mumblings of

this last hour

"i am in none of those places".

she was there-

a million of shes everywhere

and alone again i shrink to find my glass-

and here i lounge,

smoking....

a beautifully wasted, neglected

piece of ass.

the worst about me is my honesty

the words which fall from

mouth to waxed ears

dead fruits for all to see-

and trampled under swine, my pearls

like all my dancing girls

i guess, i long too badly

to be famous

so i tell you everything, and

i suckle, and you're gone and

i move on --

i've said too much...

-it faked my soul out,

bought me with that singular

touch from a lovers hand

bad wednesday

bad wednesday looking around

noticing carpets and traffic and no

sweet tea

i do not know

what time it is

i barely know

it is wednesday

i mixed up my meds

lay there like on

vibra-phome

every truck to rattle twelve's cracks

shakes my necks live core

as i lay there

and stare at the still

of dust on motionless fan blades

-long to turn on the

bubbly water machine on the dresser

and thoughts of calling a doctor

to get more of the right

medicine

shit.

shit and

shit.

normal nights' nestled

as i just writhe in coils

shed a skin in there

that comfort beneath warm sheets

but not the night before this

bad wednesday

from the journals of Peter Butler; "antic hay/fool's holiday, King's Head 5-18-90"

antic hay/fool's holiday, King's Head 5-18-90

This was a funny show in the sense that it almost never happened. There must have been some sort of screw-up on the electric company's end, as the late afternoon hours leading up to load-in time were looking dim. ...I mean there were no lights! Nada! Shirley was even talking with the bands about maybe moving the show to Elbow Room. I was the least of us there, but I was kinda digging the idea. I never played there, and Elbow Room was an experience. Tight, loud, sweaty, dank. You could taste it in the air.... it laid on you. It was like some alien soul existed there, floating around in pieces on the thrill-borne explosion of spit. It was “all that”, and unisex bathrooms. Anyway...the meeting of the minds turned into; “there's a lot of cold beer in that keg that won't be any good if it gets warm...so...”, and down we sat. There was a whole lot of talk I don't remember now, and a lot of cheap beer swilled from plastic cups. We just sat around that small table, a few feet off the front of the bar, drinking, waiting, conspiring... while outside the mid May sun struggled to lay heat on the Hampton Blvd. sidewalk as the shadows of the bars grew longer, making way for the night.

Across town the Cramps were playing with the Flay Duo Jets. Vernon, I think, had made a cool hand-bill to pass out and put on windshields during that one, hoping to bring that crowd to us. BRING THIS AND YOUR TICKET STUB FROM THE CRAMPS TO KING'S HEAD AND GET A BUCK OFF ! I think it read. Again, everything about our gig seemed dwarfed by something else, going on somewhere else. There was a lot of preoccupation, and “what if” going on. I think everybody wanted to see the Cramps. Our show did eventually go on, but not until Shirley blessed the electric company folks via screaming telephone etiquette. I remember George just sitting quietly, kind of smirking, as if to gesture...”well, what next?...and when...”? After Shirley finished with the imbeciles on the phone she turned her broom on all of us...”okay! Let's get this thing going!” as the Hay kids started loading in for their sound check. It was dusk, and we “fool's” were sufficiently beer drunk.

Hours later it was time for us to stop drinking and play. We went first, and again, something just seemed strange. I had no idea at the time that it would be my last gig with Matt, Darryl and Barry. Anyway, when we took to the stage it was kind of like a “live practice”. Not many folks there right off, (Cramps) and we played almost as if we had a chance to finish early and catch the other show. Meanwhile, I think most of Antic Hay were at the Cramps too, with everybody else. Somewhere along the middle of our set people started to trickle in...stoked from the other show, talking, drinking...shooting pool. It was turning into an Antic Hay show. Finally. On-stage there was a different show taking shape. It was like a “big kids' play-fight” between Matthew and Darryl...but with guitars and REAL blood. True to form every song was about a quarter time too fast, and those guys were in a “fight”, but laughing. They kept banging into each other, seeking blood. Matt appeared to be the instigator, but I think now that they actually planned it during the drinking...i told you, I don't remember what we talked about. But Matt would just give Darryl this sneaky kinda rat look...gritting his teeth and sort of kissing his lips at Darryl like he would, never mind the crowd, they had something else of their own going on, completely oblivious to any onlookers. Matt's eyes, just teasing Darryl through those sweaty curls with a look that said “here I come...” and WHAM! Blood on somebody, blood on something else...and the whole time never missing a riff. As Barry pounded to keep the heart of that circus beating, I just screamed stupid poetry “like a pissed-off wanna-be Lou Reed”, as I think Darryl put it. The whole thing was a blur. It was like watching wild animals. It beat sex. The thing ended for me with “Dog Track”.

MY LIFE IS A WASTE OF PAPER

A LOUD SHOUT ON A SILENT SCREEN

MY BLADE'S GOT A DULLISH TAPER?

I READ MY WORDS BUT CAN'T TELL

WHAT THEY MEAN...

I DREAM OF LIES AND I DREAM OF

LOSING...THERE'S NOT A NIGHTMARE

THIS KID HASN'T SEEN.

I SEE MY CHOICES AND DON'T THINK OF CHOOSING,

I BEAR MY SOUL, SHE STRIPS ME CLEAN...

DOGS RUNNING A DOG TRACK

DON'T THINK ABOUT TURNING BACK....

-my throat scratched and cracked over the electrified, broken, and beautiful world which engulfed me.

I remember choking back vomit, as my frantic gasps to suck wind into the machine pulled my stringy hair down to tickle my throat.

DOGS RUNNING A DOG TRACK, DON'T THINK ABOUT TURNING BACK...i screamed twice, like something better than my life depended on it, as Matthew strummed the last few phrases of that one...and I tried to pull some half-assed David Lee Roth thing, missed the low stage on my way down and ended up barely occupying a little slab of cold black and white beer-soaked checkerboard floor. I think as they were literally finishing the song I was making my way on hands and knees through the load-in door. Out I crawled onto the nights boulevard, making it slowly through the passersby to my curbside seat. I remember leaning over as my stomach finally gave up. Shortly thereafter, Laurie spirited me away in her shiny red sports car, to go sleep at a beach access somewhere on the north end of the strip in VB.

I don't remember much of the Antic Hay set, but it must have rocked, -house all full of amp'd-up scene stars, fresh back from the “varsity” rock show. Most of them had missed our little set, but I was there for most of it, and it was truly, home-grown Norfolk rock and fucking roll. It was a great show and a great swan song I guess. I had other issues begging my soul. The guys realized I guess that they needed a better singer, and I realized Nags Head might be a better place to figure it all out. I didn't really know where I was fitting in anymore. To be honest, the amount of other shit that was piling up in my life was creating a pile so high I couldn't see over it. I was running from this, or to that. There were things I needed to apologize for and stuff I was ashamed of, but I was young, and there was lots of octane in the tank. That and my schizoid behavior earned me a spectator's roll at the next Fool's Holiday gig. Ironically, and painfully it was at Mex-Econo, or a Mecca of sorts to any of VA's aspiring rockers that wanted to get out of town and flex their hardcore muscle. Without going into it, just take what I said before about Elbow room, add a great poster of “penises of the animal kingdom”, break a toilet...and there ya go. Mex! They did alright there. I wanted to take the stage, but I wouldn't. Brian was screaming for them now, and although he didn't even have words to all the songs, I stood and watched like a pussy.

Eventually, all of the “fools” would decide they needed a “holiday” and they disbanded. I had jammed a little with a great drummer named Johhny Corbett. I hooked him up with Darryl and out popped Combine. Matthew and Barry added Larry and ______and Candy Snatchers was born. Y'all must have heard of them. Bad ass punk rock! While the rest of the guys went on to tour the known world, I took to hanging out in Nags Head Woods with the beach Rastas. Burning fires, and keeping journals about the coming fall of our current civilization. I would however get the chance to play King's Head again...and a few other joints around town. I blame the Wonder Twins, and Resin Nation mostly...and I guess I owe a big 'ginny thank you to John Finney as well. Maybe I can tell you more about that next time.

the capacity of understanding

i stared into the eyes

of a young man barely

more than half my age

he told me things which

i am sure he did not

think i could understand

i watch the monitors

resting heart rate is

170

normal is 120

blood at 88%

oxygenation

and they say she is on the rise...

three or four things now

this child was born with

a look of concern

-the face of the Sun

as if carved into stolen

wood from a far off place

next, no matter what they tell ya

dismantling a bomb ain't shit

it's the careful maintenance of the 

pieces and parts in a life 

that can't rub together that

takes the strong gut.

the will of an astronaut,

the compulsion of a moron

last

on some subjects

i'd just prefer not

burden

the capacity of understanding

of them that i love