make me feel like Boulder, CO (2/94)

i don't know if i've ever come up with
more clever rhymes to enter
the keyhole of my mind
but this will serve fine as an introduction to this
one time announcement meant for that
special no-one

it's like i'm living
in a broken down town and
the only things running
are running from me
running from this or this one,
i yell and jump and scream
and still they run

but this is perfect,
once again tasting my shoe i'm
left with the same
solution
just shut your mouth boy
she's sweet yeah
but not for my teeth

but that sweet tooth jones was coming on
and coming on to take me over, run me down
feelings like
now i exist in
every eye of every child
running from me in every
ghost town

once i thought it would calm me down
let me hang
but now those strings are
loose conversations
and written with too much
interruption
this
word corruption must now serve
as the only badge that sheriff wore
shot dead in the head trying to
save old Mr. Johnson's store,
poor poor poor wait-
i see another door

underneath my back on this cold floor
the dreamers weave and the weavers dream
and all of this in a swirling of violet
while every other page
they rage
and stab me in the gut some nights

so fuck you and the
muse which tried to fool me
and the things which were in you but falling short
and those which were in me all along
recognizing the mirror in some songs
some of fear
some of love
some of suicide

forgive
these senseless dribblings scattered
riddles like refugee camps built
underneath exits of
super information highways
run down possum on a country byway
and hey little kitty
come on down my way

come on down honey
or is it too flowery

too truthfully sickening to
make you not skip town

remember my ghost town
with it's millions of buildings
and the millions of killings which haunt
me
keep me company in this solitary
gets me done in a cell made for one
yeah
there's a cot in the corner but
sometimes baby this cat is a goner
so please c'mon over
laydown beside me
get lost inside me
you'll not have to hide me see
i've already taken care of that
so why not try me
try and understand me to
night would be dandy
once vacant cool room with
bed couch and stereo
flourescent purple light

come throw rocks at the window
make everything alright

sometimes i feel like the son of god
and i sometimes feel predictable
and sometimes feel i'm moving slow so
shift my gears and off i go

leaving another handle flying off.
blowing out one more candle on a
million years worth of birthday cake
and all of this leads to this one bit of info
that i've tried to but just can't fake
that
long long ago
and in a mind diverse but
not so strange
not so lame-
i used to love a girl by that name

stumer

my bed is bleeding black blood
champagne stagnant candy love
three more days
and three more trees
lay fell...spoken draft

columns of christmas less
plaster scene cheer
erase all withholdings 'till now
now will shed the light
down anyhow

and humbled when whispers
that i don't know why
and don't know the next
line until she stops by-
i don't know a passage
proven safe over time
to ensure the carriage
of these lines

the crippled lay beating their
canes into clay that
stares upward at a
concrete sky
-the man made skirt that
holds minerals down
is the blanket for all who
seek depth through
glory dirt

the ones who use silk to
bind fast their old shirts

street urchin flames

soft like sunflowers before now
hushed, thick lips pout wet
for a lover's touch
i before, like no man hurried
sprung into an active affection
by that call,
-left this heart of darkness
at her feet.

as sailors gave
to drag the bottom
i give now
as sailors knew
to return home then
i yet know not.
still i give the smallest of
my soul
the bucket to that ocean pour
away my weathered sleeves now...
-called away i left the theatre
and none of them are home with me
none of us sleep well now.

i said before, may my bloodied back
painted like
street urchin flames,
give answers if you seek to know
tells stories
if you wish to dig
the cities up of -no
wait, it's like
the pictures that are flashes,
the psychic and the mis-fired pulses
the images i know and love and
the ones that tie my mind up,
they're scratched into me like
ink on skin,
like cities on the rivers of whip scars
tiny places filled with many hours
of dreams.

i play host as i live inside,
i create them all between first light
and sunrise,
tiny places filled with many hours of dreams.

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