Speaking Of Gangsters

speaking of gangsters
the sorry lot
selfishness to it's odd conslusion
intimidation and nods
trust nowhere to be found
stuffing themselves into suits
walking from right to left
leaning all the time
hair products
vocabulary of a dozen
steam room dwellers
afraid of solitude
phony cash
trash cash
minutemen at the ready
gang up boys
the english are dumb
but they fight like desperados


Layers Of Wombs

naturalism takes over
like a momentumed slide,
gaining pace always.

perhaps an aged flesh,
weary and wise due to wounds
of days, provides a balance.

the mind is fully alive and gnawing,
it's own heartbeat, it's unvisited
cubbyholes, unfound jewels.

resisting becomes denying becomes
habit becomes freedom,
layers of wombs.



worn broom sits in the corner
the dead hair it's seen
blue water of unknown
supposed to be cleaner
talk is mindless and endless
as cracked seats spin
reflections everywhere
and razors
cutting eyes
look at every angle
checkerboard floor
of black and white
seventy years old
aged men arrive
calling everyone by name
and just bitchin'
loud and long
'bout weather
taxes and baggy pants
toothpicks always hanging
sighs and hums
two fingers
and powdered necks
windows for walls
no credit cards
layered cuts extra
came in the through the back
doors locked and belled
half eaten tuna fish
orange soda pop
number 8 on top
7 round the sides and back
don't block it off
eyebrows need a trim too
damn congress
girls ok?
thrift store
just had a big truck leave
maybe some used records
drum container
perfect for cords


Believe In Madness

no orders, no rules
no commands, no mandates
just suggestions of obedience
a plan for living, a plan for dying
heaven is not a place of marketing
convincing is not needed, but desired
the rainbow, casting it's shadow of deceit
visions of wonderment and attainable illusions
allowing all to avoid the truth, if only for a few years
the burden of wanting and needing and getting your due
forcing the issue, making the stage yours, the world seems tiny
huge boxes of bones lying underneath the roots and walking hopers
souls of meekness and service all the while living in the midst of divine ages
drop the self reflection, lose the superior mind games, pull up the lost, be constant
believe in madness


Bonfire Brew

off to the west, near the nuclear tests
sits a pile of sand and a hornets nest

huge rocks and french white wines
aching for family and having good times

looks of knowing and hands of grease
saltless maragritas and two kinds of meat

bonfire brew near an amphitheater
blues get light from the noise of a heater

from gear to rides to room and board
made that way so we could afford

hospitality holds a lofty place
next to angels and the One of grace

knee high powder and catching breaths
in a state of mind and a state of unrest

sweetie wakes early and starts to howl
never heard her beg, never heard her growl

junior looks strong and he seems real smart
flaunts a huge smile and a tender heart

up near the divide in a valley of hope
lives a family who will always live near the slopes

a canyon was forged by the eagle river
if my life wasn't waitin' i'd try to live here

smartest man i ever knew got some good tests
it'll take more that that to put him to rest



St. Augustine Envy

ain't that white down here no more. just green bermuda seeping through the dead and worn beige. dallas is mostly concrete, gotta get out to the fabulous suburbs to find the nuevo soul of texas. neon, everywhere. new neon. like new jeans torn and frayed. what would the reckless guitar player think of that? no bordellos around here. no cockroaches. the rats eat them and the snakes eat the rats. of course, we cut the heads off of the damn snakes. poisonous or not.

i envy st.augustine.


Under The Rainbow

talking of pulsing paragraphs
hawking the latest cultural fad
mistaking the gifts they once had
for a theory or hidden meaning

the wind carried the words to finger tips
the thoughts that came from their lips
they threw their tantrums and their fits
so others would find them beaming

in the end, we'll all be dust and ash
the poems will fade, the songs get trashed
under the rainbow, our hopes are dashed
don't you know we're all just dreaming


Good Tweezers

good tweezers are hard to find
ones that won't nick when you pull a splinter
eyeballs have very little feeling
and can bleed
blood, contrasted with the whites of the eyes
create a spectacular painting
if paintings could see,
what tales of indecision!

the muse in the corner
fragile and still
her curves and shapes
my eyes followed
anchored until released
trapped in the coffin of life
suffocating on our own greed
afraid of the world's opinions

shocked by the madness
shocked by the heartless