Train of Brain Syrup

Motordisco discord in the cordless set… there’s a quiet calm…
nobody is barnstorming or exploding… just quietly
holding on

Like a tongue kiss from a wet Labrador…. your cadaver seized up…
my coffee cup spilled forth… Let’s head North and hope for a better sword
a lesser chore

It’s coming… but before it got here the tsunami stopped in its tracks,…
heaven opened up to belch
just for me

the harps tore holes in the clouds… we are semi-filled in dots… looking for a soul
are you the heart-stopper on the harpsichord?

Take the train to Zurich… Main brain of Maple Syrup… we throw forks at the wall
hoping to make our point… digging ditches in posters of our eyes…. seen so much
of the grave I finally feel awake… I finally walked out, upright, scanning the sky
for brighter things… I walked out alive… with an irascible chihuahua by my side

my love is formaldehyde and cholesterol… two parts ego one part vitriol…
climb aboard… last stop: yelling at the moon… the rhino brings its horn home at noon…
the oligarchs are bellyaching in the heartbreak lagoon.

you are the ellipsis I stop at every time.

Two nickles on the same dime…

the sweet snail smell and slime

YOUR EYES OR YOUR OSTRICH

there is a place
an undeniable space
you get a taste of a trace
and in a trance
you break dance
in a giraffe kinda prance
we drop our shield and lance
fall apart at the drawbridge
watching the assembly
of sausage your eyes
or you ostrich

SCATTERBRAIN MEMORIAL

Facts and reactions spin around
like a game of backgammon
big emotions swirl
like McFlurries
in a whirlpool
synapses snapping
like shark cages
outside the Maldives
I would do anything
for a reprieve…
to get away
from me…

Live in a peanut shell
Dance in a trapezoid…
walk through hell
half destroyed
a void in a
little orb

I would be less
self-absorbed
if feelings had
cotton swabs
I could swab
the vitriol
get rid
of it all
I could save us all
except i fell asleep
a chickpea sesame
The fragile shell
indented in cushions
a shape of a man
you know
or don’t
or maybe just
not quite certain
if you do or don’t

we oscillate on phosphorus
quarry the allegories
ovulate on authority
till our speech is slurry

uncover my undiscovered
underbelly covering
a hundred bellies
hungry for the same same

We keep time by timekeepers
sleep by the sweet sound of
street sweepers
listening to white noise
reverberate and liquefy
across then lost cities’
cacophonous caterwaul
like wallpaper stuck to my eyelid
I do I don’t I did
Give me five yards of penalties
I’ll double skip and loop jump
for a simple dumpling
a sweet taste of nothing…

A Drop of Avalanche on the side of Pizza Ranch with the Goat in the Background Making Goat Noises

Succotash a-plenty.

-a side of aside

Such an entry…

in the feral journal of this
little boy woo

The phantasmagorical oracle
The ant farm speaketh
Sunglasses by Fenti
I’m a make-believe bonsai tree
shape me sweet paramour
drape me in October marigold
watch me walk through the threshold
bankrolled by bravado
lend me half an avocado
I’ll baptize my pot luck in the hot tub
the greatest combination of words ever said –
yes we’re all absurd – is

RUBS ITS BALLS

because of the B’s and S’s
and the BS and because if you
say it slowly the topography
of those letters remind
you of your valley home
there’s an unmistakable
comfortable roll, a Sunday stroll…
tell me a combination of three words
that does more with this little

the phonetics and the visuals
and the twenty-layered meaning

the rhombus sound of RUBS
and the sudden spike of ITS
the bath-like balm of BALLS

a cozy harmony symphony
Beethoven in your Gilden
sweatpants almost forgiven

I wonder when was the last time
I almost felt like I felt yesterday
within an inch of feeling a pinch
I eat my pizza with ranch
please don’t expect this blood
to be ruby red I do a rain dance
when the mood be
a soon-to-be
avalanche.
And I hope
a drop
of
something
drops
to let the whole thing
topple.

A cascade silly masquerade
playing shadow puppets
on little ms tuffet
we check in
and
check out
quietly
faintly
highly
likely.

Then perch
wherever we like
like a goat
on a rooftop
in Norway

rubbing

its

balls

A

the Oyster Shell the Driftwood the Ventriloquist

Beguiled by
a night-smile
a loose-toothed grin
all sorts of gin
spilled in the alleyway
a breeze blown from that-a-way
carries the scent of dissent
and a hint of peppermint
…cannabis
posters on walls
this eager desperate crawl
my highball toast
to a ghost
built a billboard
shrine to your
tender
little lying
lips

the compass swinging wildly
like a flagpole barrel role
like a Lite Brite igniting
like an insane weather vane
pointing its rooster claw
right back at cha’ll

we’re all frogs in the pond
lily pad of sadness
….alone in the cyclone
little horny abalone

dance till you’re down
to your really, silly
bone of bologna
and before you moan
into a drunken telephone
see if there is a king
and a whore
you can dethrone
then set sail
on the jet set hell
throw your self
into the nearest
…sea shelf
see what’s there
a transparent
sea werewolf?

when the fright is real
and the sky grows bare
I might just stare at the moon
all night
all full of light
until the phosphorescence
and the neon
pull me back again
…elastic neuron
masquerading as human
a dreary drowsy sop of mope
wrung-out strand of mop rope
but fat with hope
…like a game show dope

drop me off
at the nearest soapbox
hoax
I’ll shed a headline
for the news
at nine

Our passionate pleas
of woe and what-could-be’s
sanskrit bits of driftwood
written word f
rom the undeterred the non-disturbed
a blur on the city curb
we are what our sunglasses
say we were
My love deleted
defeated
and deferred
a velour shoulder strap
rancid smell
backed up
to the trash truck

A minute to midnight
exhaust from thoughts spewing
out of the vaults… New York City?
or maybe just a shadow of me
save the final breath for my last cough

“went down like a spoonful of Van Gogh
embryo microbe rock n’ roll Covid escargot”
the critics remarked in their tictoks
polka dot’d and plotted in the sandlot
What is the sauce they asked
butternut sausage and ravioli
they raved and praised but regardless
we heard them scoff
once the mic was off
“That’s just square pasta”

We have more to offer
than our awful offal
Our livers and intestines
we have things
more exquisite
than gizzard
these feathers
sewn together
tethers us to our ventriloquist
Let’s snip the chord and soar
we’re all looking for a nest to flee…

Oh to be the best Air N B
An Internet sensation
Vacation elation
the sectional sofa
in hi-rez
4-stars for the
closure

Save my ashes
for something fashionable
on this planet full
of emerald and pearl
you get a fistful of wistful prose
for a dollar and a listless rose
a vase to stuff my sentience into
when its meant to
what a funny Earthly
expenditure
See my signature
the cursive holds the vowels
by their jowls
and the consonants
by something more prominent
We construct monuments
from copper and hobbled
common sense
reminisce
on the slow bleed of innocence
as a pastime
at least
that’s mine

As the jet set chem trails
sail by…

hello and goodbye
to this mundane lullaby
life on the WiFi
the Bill Nye byebye
nothing against Bill
he’s a great guyguy
but hard to hang onto
his rip tide bow tie
when you’re on a vague
kind of spiral
kinda spiraling
you’re on camera
…so smile
it’s so sanguine
the way you lie
like rotten grape wine
on a lifeless vine

I’m too damn photogenic
for this lame photo panic

capture my flag
in the park
with a Capri Sun
handshake
you know
I don’t
get in your van
after dark

I’m the most pinata-esque man
you ever swatted at
bust my gut
and you might get
a treat for next week
tonight
…you might get
the secret to peace
tonight
is the night
we let
all the Toms peep
and release
the ghosts from
the deep

Tonight
we do the
caterpillar creep

Beauty King Blunder

Salt-sprayed castaway

some build churches in worship
some pick splinters in hinterlands

We all deserve an alter, I had mine
a neon Coors sign from 1999
blinking
while an empty bottle is thinking
conjuring a conquering that could never be
a fantasy… if you will

and so we will..
And so I did…

the golden iidle kid

A certain whirling curtain of disguise hangs high
like banners from champions we gaze upon
necks, craned and deranged, wave batons
smile wide – when the motion goes down
(here’s a friendly reminder to keep it inside)

thunderstruck on a wondrous bluff
pixelated sunset + the kind that gets
your guts upset + huntress in a Hyundai
digital address you drove me too crazy
we lost the albatross but gained a cross
to die on, my favorite pagan waiting
watching the world weaving and wavering

you’re my favorite thing I’m savoring
Thom Yorke on the Thames sailing
on a blue day, no longer London grey
ode to younger ways, the natural ways
we all waved, we all swayed
on the balcony balustrade

sandy toes’ worries and woes

The Perfect Sesame

TREMENDOUS!!! sound of the car crashing
and crushing the fender in front of your memory
bank heist inside job poltergeist and…
–here I am, thinking we met by accident

the way dogfate rubs its balls on the carpet
— makes me nauseous like too-much Tylenol

Are you listening to this little belch?
awake… at 2:33 in the am?
Here I am: your favorite pagan

Belch, bleep, uh bloop

Ever wonder about the yore days?
And days before? and before those?
And before those? And there she goes…

How far into the forest can we go
searching for the strongest
smallest spore?

Ever wonder if there’s something more
to the morass than this life-on-the-fritz
Friday half-off sale-on-a-Tuesday free-for-all?

…this busted compass?

THIS IS NOT AN ADVERTISEMENT BUT I’M ADVERTISING

———–

Amazon arrives tomorrow

We all have SOMETHING to deliver
-a snow globe of our own flakes

man’s a demigod type of dude
God is too + good on Instagram
with a halo light tube

B+ branding
C-minus circus
Washington DEEEZ NUTS

God is a bad taxi driver
only going to the
wrong airport
…always arrives late
…and likes to talk too much
about the Mets and about
his son

God is a bore.
Which is a drag
Because you might be
God one day.

give me a life of origami
in a bed of pastrami
sliced just right with a dash
of umami

eat well like Cedric Maxwell
number 31

we’re part of something giant
and something trifle
–something trifling giant
something swept up off the street
and something neat… (like a shot of whiskey)
a thing so fancifully complete
and yet meaninglessly discreet
blokes go down rabbitholes to hold it
but still come up folding the corners
like coroners and plastic wrapped
around porno

We’re sesame
on a bagel
on a planet
in a dark room
spinning to disco tunes

I am a photograph

of a laugh

and like the wind

you can’t hear me

Not your sidewalk T-Shirt hawker pitch
Buy my shit kinda kid,
but if you don’t mind
and feeling kind
buy my shit

We do our best
and that’s the best
we could do
random babboons
on a planet-like zoo

just remember,
when I’m gone…
A signal from Mars
reflects off a swamp
in Mississippi
to the backdrop of
a late night
radio DJ
hippie

———–

the revving of all-night motors
drones over plains and factory fires
like shooting stars you wish upon
gone before the punchline
let’s color the sky we shit upon
blue or beige or brown

Hold your breath + stop time
stop music and stop dancing
stop colors contrasting
make up the difference…
like the whisper of an owl
you hear clearer than the howl
of a leopard jowl
the fowl talk of a chicken…

who… who?

I’m post-modern-old-modern
ready-for-a-nap rap
art deco MC Escher
falling down a staircase
for a laugh-sort-of-chap
I’m whatever will pass
a laughing gas
sorta chap

…so CLAP!

Silliest epiphany
starfish symphony
the music of the silent
hiding on a Saturday night
flying away Thursday afternoon
played for hours and hours
to a derelict moon
the reverberation
breathing into a dummy
mannequin
and now there
he goes again…

raving like your favorite pagan.

till the sun came up violet
I smiled the widest
a kaleidoscopic set of teeth
vibing like the dopest ketamine
meme…dot dot dot communist
wordpress wordsmith
Gilligan and Mr. Howel throw-in-
the-towl-kind-of bratwurst jerk
fancier of words

It’s, Not, What, You, Think, Reykjavik

blue

vespertine hollows

love drunk splendid squalor

brilliant little death soil

sprouting magical beans

the vaccine we planted

toasted marigold tin foil

becomes the new king

it’s not what you think

reykjavik

driving down the highway

cold-blooded boomerang

the boomer rang

bowing before a dairy queen

terrible segue

mumbling to oneself

dig this hole and cover it with wine

jump in your silly insecurities

drown in delirious distraction

you silly swine

the last thing you want

the shot not to work

what do you thank god for

red

my blood the color of a coke can

poking holes in the ozone since 88′

I’m not shy

I’m not confident

but that’s neither here nor there

nor a bear in the woods

shitting on your manuscript

the words are just letters

just lines and shapes and ticks of ink

the insect not the spasm

what is the reason you turned the channel

you sewed me a sweater of doubt

and now I’m unraveling

I’m covered in a beard of bees

and up to my knees in needs

green

algae on the reflecting pool

raging at the refracting moon

don’t leave my heart out too long

it won’t spoil but it will dry out

I don’t think my heart’s ever been spoiled

dream of a home you can call your home

even a bear den

orange

rotten rhyme

rag and bone poet

picking up your derelict disinterest

and making a coat of mint to put

my rose of shoddy prose

I slip my poem inside your robe

and slide outside with a hide of cow feathers

leave me to the flood

in the morning I come home

grinning

pink

think

cotton candy and the inside of your lip

and the sunset last night

our last fight

our first kiss

the inside of a piece of steak

you paid 60 dollars

Palm Springs

before the bombing

I’m alarming

I’m out of boundaries

vending machine is out of diaries

world is out of quarters

I seem alarming

wandering and sauntering

hive of dive bars sing along

bring back the last bath of

yesterday

yellow

booming sun to run and follow

into the morning scrum

rum and potato cocktail

end of vespertine blue

surrendered moon

rooster gin

a star on the outer outer bands

brand surf shorts

muffled drift of manuscripts

floating and fluttering

light light bulb burnout

missing word

man child marquee

propaganda

of one

grey

hair on my chin

wisdom from the dimdum

parts of our farts

planet of shards

crystal blueberries

making stars

short time lapse

brain zodiac

double-dipped manuscript

crestfallen crustacean

fortified shell

tortilla flat

my tit and my tat

balmy side of the almanac

postcard address

reminder

always come

back

to black

Give Me a Chance I’ll Score One for the Scoreless

I am a puddle of green rain water.
The spittle of your laughter when nothing’s the matter.
I’m a key card on the garage floor,
I’m something else and nothing more.

We peek over hedges and slow dance in our wedges.
Our neighbors lick their lips for a blade of our lawn.
But the midnight cat is out and roaming about.
You like everybody more once they’re gone.

Our president is destroying the postal service.
The virus is new but the damage has always been here.
We are paper boats in a gutter of hopelessness,
but it feels good to be the captain, don’t ya think?

My fingers tingle and my tongue wobbles,
trying to sing and dance half hobbled,
this life preserver makes me off balance,
so I might as well prance on the balustrade.

Fifty-foot Cliff Bars

I’m on the edge of greatness,
or maybe just the edge.
I don’t know.

There’s a mountain of gold on one side,
and a fifty-foot cliff on the other.
I’m in my fur-lined parka eating a cliff bar,
listening to George Harrison play the sitar.

Has ‘art’ been happening?
We’ve been feeling things,
but have we moved the needle?
Quarantine been such a thing….
Have we rated each other’s emotions?
Where are the awards?
Who can critique the fart I leaked?
How do we know we have done anything?
If nobody is there to gauge us.
Send us into rage just because…
I want an Oscar for my flop into the pool
last night, drunk like a fool,
singing along to The National,
I thought everything was cool.

I swam to the Channel Islands.
Pass porpoise and seals trying to make a deal.
Santa Cruz is an excuse.
Catalina is between us.
Let’s put a cap on Anacapa.
San Juan is long gone.
Back to Zuma so I can resume a life
that’s just a Malibu bird singing in the breeze.
A parakeet trying to keep the beat.
A sweet mango kiss from a boy
that can’t tango or dip.

I do a double shuffle
trying to dance outta trouble.
My heart’s a Buffalo buffalo
buffaloing Buffalo buffalo.
we strung a bee on the honey
and let it loose on all our money.
And it may just be our fault that
in the web we were caught
we had laid a trap beat.

Down inside the vault…
My money’s in Fort Knox.
fuck yo’ paradox.