southern comfort…

“southern comfort”
 

it’s all seduction in the
bedroom while my music is
playing too loud for this
unexpected 5 a.m.
wake-up call. capital
letters invade my thought
as tongues loll around
& thoughts of the past
bring me to the present. 57
degrees inside this room
(really no heat at all)
& i need scissors to open
the southern comfort.
 

seduced by the light
on the desk shining
through the bottle in an
everlasting argument with
the flickering candle
ticking it’s way through its
wax prison. my stomach
warms from the liquor
& whatever was bothering me
bothers me no more.
 

i know i shouldn’t be doing this
but “i was seduced” & the bottle
was lonely like me & inside
was the heat & the goodness
i needed to start the day in the right
frame of mind. venom is no way
to begin when it flows so easily;
same extended shot like
a canon going off because
that’s what we need to start the
day.
 

stumbling in flip-flops while
i’m singing along & wondering
about whatever comes next. i
can see me driving to a close town
& getting done what needs getting
done but past that is blank. i
have no clue how i got here
& no clue how to leave.
 

walking towards the bottle again,
drawn across the room for one
more shot of warmth &
peace of mind. it flows so
easy like a shot.

sweet blueberry & the random playlist…

“sweet blueberry & the random play-list“

sweet blueberry scented air & girls from
Heart singing ’bout some magic man.
i’m instantaneous laughter; fall-on-the-
floor
laughter,
’cause i know the magic man;
& he hates that fucking song.

sweet reeking wetter-blueberry than
blueberry’s ever been. Cream
guitars tellin’ ‘tales of brave ulysses’ &
me still belly laughs-on-the-
floor
’cause i met Ulysses & he didn’t
say a fuckin’ word about any
of this to me.

sweet blueberry flowing rivers
around the room; i can reach out,
grab it/smell it/taste it…
Wonder behind it, chiming in
“until i reach higher ground.”
can you laugh yourself-off-of-the
floor?
struck stupid laughter; gales & hoots
& peels of laughter
screaming laughter
breathing laughter
spitting laughter.

bucketfuls of blueberry-fleshed
laughter & Terry Reid
would sing the next song.

 

elusive future considerations…

“elusive future considerations”

 

i’m stabbing cigarette butts

into coconut husks,

making random associations

seemingly vague enough to

be illusionary. all the time

the strength of my words coalesce

between money owed,

various deliveries, receptions,

questions of loyalty &

the truthfulness of what i’m

hearing.

 

the few voices that reach

through the mire of obsolete

promises deliver more vague

assurances of cooperation

while frustration mounts in

torrents of valueless transitions.

today is tomorrow but for

numbers on a calendar.

 

earl grey evening tea salves

a cold night shimmering in it’s

own beauty & stillness.

rapid movement, apportioned

tasks, notions of solidarity

break free from absolutism.

delivery of minor blue potions

relieve the coming days of

cold sweats, sleepless nights,

incessant problems with wavering

homeostasis. ever the optimist,

i trust in miracles of

contingency. nobody is

sick today. there’ll be no

sickness tomorrow.

pterodactyls in the sky…

“pterodactyls in the sky“

ex post facto success & a 3 night score.
only after straightening out came my usual
liberation. dumb-fuck luck seein’ it doled
out liberally & applied fast enough to make
a difference in the dark. got something to
crow about here; if that ain’t worth a few
minutes of preparation to get makin’s right,
what is? don’t worry about it my friend.
here; lemme get that fer ya.

i need counsel. seemingly none to be found
among oldies from The Leftover Gang; better
luck somewhere else. a voice i’m sure wasn’t
mine narrowed what’d been an abundance of
possibilities into fractional remains. no shot
at help tonight, no matter how badly needed
or honestly expressed.

blame is mine to keep as a signature souvenir
of choices made & fate challenged. it’s my
responsibility to ensure nobody knows the
real name or face of the man in charge. i
change it as often as i can since new names
are free with receipt & 5 proof of purchases
of extra strength bath salt. faces are
too expensive.

this one way conversation goin’ back & forth
with paint stuck to the walls says only “it’s
your mess, you clean it up.” how the
paint knew about the malfracted Peter Pan
side of me, i couldn’t tell you. the longer i
hashed it out with the paint, less interest
i had findin’ out why the walls were talkin’
tse tse flies while pterodactyls fill the sky.

ain’t got a thing…

“ain’t got a thing“

next two days might be unpleasant.
i already know the drill.
shit, it’s been used enough times
on my joints to be an old friend
come to visit. i’d love to know
why this fucker only comes
when supply runs low.

feel the good old hunger,
rest in those kind sheets
wake up feeling better
sometime in the future.
is the something farther than sadness,
waiting undetermined amounts of time
for something else to come along?

is this what is euphemistically
called experience? i want to tell
someone i seen enough,
tasted enough,
felt enough,
heard enough;

still the show goes on,
with no way to get up to leave
before it’s over.

even then, the
next show is even longer.
refreshments not assured,
but a man can hope.

can he still do that?

12 bucks in quarters & a coupla dimes…

“12 bucks in quarters & a coupla dimes”

 

even with all this silver sounding
off in my pocket, i still ain’t got
any calls to make. it doesn’t
make any difference; won’t
stop the all-night laughter or
any of those multi-day voyages
stacking up faster than i
can find places to stick ‘em.

i’ve gotten better at gettin’ by
on my own. after all, i’m the
sonofabitch looking like a cartoon
character & a personality along for
the ride. such obsessive rambling;
no choice but to find a way.
what else could i be looking
for ‘cept another cartoon?
holy fuck. i think they’re
takin’ me seriously.

finding a way to ignore all
those yesterday salvation
seekers selling bullshit
stories is easy even if it
takes a while; i need time to
properly adapt, & besides,
ya gotta want it.

i know, i know.
bad timing for big questions.
ambition only extends as far as
tryin’ to laugh with all the crazies
at jokes nobody can hear.
madness in cacophony, rain drops
jumping off clouds & i’m
screaming over peals of thunder
“someone pass that fucking plate
around!”

i ain’t even close to bein’ done
yet.

a rapaciously good natured villain…

“a rapaciously good natured villain“

no answer once again; why not spend
this night disarticulating exchanges &
trying to pinpoint everything wrong
with this picture? hearts have fractured,
healed, broken & healed again. junkies
learn faster than this.

all this time looking across the table at
no one, i’ve been conversing with walls,
ceiling, getting opinion from the floor
(stepped on repeatedly, last i’d heard.)
they all got real fuckin’ problems & told me
to piss off; might’ve called me a cunt.

few surviving members in that last box of
condoms say everything anyone needs to
know about sudden changes in my station
& title. my good villain never flies a false flag,
preferring negotiation to bloodshed. i’d let
you invade whenever the mood struck but i
didn’t reach out until just too late.

whatever prompted you to call out to
remind the captain of his freshest defeat,
even demure in tone & word, drove him
up the mainmast. scanning the horizon for
your shadow, issuing orders to the crew
“we move into open visual contact at first
light so that the scientists can study this
most curious situation.”

i’ll be here at the fort practicing my just
right smile & graciousness in temporary
defeat. all the same, if i’m stepping
back, it’s only to take a bigger step in
another direction. they don’t call me
fool because i’m afraid to be wrong in
public.

 

& i can’t even breathe…

& i can’t even breathe

 

it got easier

to carry nothing

day by day. my lookouts

silently reporting with

bashful eyes. trapped

between scheduled sunrises

while i overdose for fun

& wait.

there is no terror here;

some nothing, grains

of something in a color

i chose with idiotic

care & piss poor

timing.

 

even if i was wrong

on either count it’s

money certain to pay

off soon. one more

late night session,

paper voodoo sucking

down stolen

melancholia. everything

pocketed & i called out

for more to nobody

in particular. no

answer yet though

i’m bursting with

pride.

 

inside a shot glass

flags wave

as i prepare my attack.

tomorrow when it’s

today i can double down

later; optional mistakes

& intransigent miracles.

& what else do you need?

beginning again…

“welcome back”

 

my words don’t matter or

they do,

each time i wear a smile

rather than a grimace,

laugh rather

than run away,

knife upturned ready

for the party.

 

it doesn’t bother me or

it does,

if it matters at all

(& it does)

while still the glory is

in running the same race.

 

breathe so deep &

drink it all in. a

familiar taste that’s

all dessert &

mother fucker its

all desert. i can’t

say i didn’t know

what was coming

but dodging trains

ain’t my style these days.