Biggest Sire

don't matter no much bout what day tis today -

     sun skims lightly parade down misty drizzle lane,
lowers growling bowels casts warmth -
     1 part rain
     1 part sun
     1 part noise

what wild animals roam here -

from up there to down here

Shhhhh Peel

poems of yesteryear:

brains trip on aurora borealis, squawking
at topsy turvy relationships between our homes
and the other planets.
revolving evolving reptillian mammallian
under water clouded in crisp sun awareness.
celery stick stimulants and peanut butter opium,
incomparably comparable.
____

mornings gaze, tip toe ways, out and in through a monument called window,
a monument called eyes,
a monument called ears,
a monument called nose,

a daffodil rose.

to sense is to touch is to feel the taste,
the body the body -

a feathered quill.
______

Rain -   in this play all the actors are the script writers. Noone has any weapons but
stand sit and walk like obsidian daggers on the carved shelf of a bone.
the collaborative kinetics of the whole rooms voice, blood packed veins and sweaty
feet. The long house and cross cut boards of our bodies. unblinking eyes closed.
no fretting in communion, adapting to the prevelance of the variable.
relating relations and endearing adversity to more than we previously imagined.
centered in frivelous ambitious acceptance.
__

breathing tea                      cluttered ground
      barefoot shower
                  every few letters
        in front of the stove.

a valid day.

That Past Curls

Oh how i remember that night which through you came,
frazzled grilled egg hair boiling coconut corn cornel and violin bow fray.
under a stalking cap of gold and maroon, and bundled in warm clothes and your home town.
  The streets glistened in the snow freeze crunch and silk silent ice.
we shuffled and slid, wholly gay, under the misted breaths twisting from our mouths,
laughing, laughing, laughing -

how you knit your wool and i sprawled and threw gushing ink on the pages of a new journal -
 as i soon would be in silent meditation over ten days to pass-
as soon we would become, on some washed and blessed night -

and you knit your wool and i sprawled and threw gushing ink on the pages -

and up so late we stayed moving through the cold and broken heat,
listened to sequin rainbow rain drop jazz and drew dreams -

and then it was cold and you went to sleep alone, and i the same, because we didn't
know if the other half wanted to sleep with us.

and we sleep cold, and you got sick after that night,

and i went to meditate for ten days

                           =

A Trilogy of Sincerity

in a rose-quartz twist,
a petrolglyphic hack,
with primate tools.

i n d i vi d u a l l y

sit, sat, sut, the daily pendulum
burns new freckles on our skins,
and we kiss receptively, lips,
to the pores of the constellations,
lying, chanting, climactic climates
of our sensory mutualism-

unagreed, disengaged enough,
to be tangled in a revolutionary
meeting of elongate limbs-

some sexual exhuberance, swimming
in the dark corner of the eye
where a lamp bleeds the sun from
a chord in the wall,
and we sweat in the undeniable
house of winter-

interrogating one anothers souls
so gently that we laugh and wrestle,
and are perplexed at what was said at all,
and laugh some more.

theatrically imbibing,
we are undying,

in a spectacularly glowing feild
of the tallest tales and whales
and pelican beaks-

and all the while,
floating away with the
thistles of some undying dream

becoming alive


1.

in the belly of a cricket tide,
grass hopping after the worn season
of the chestnuts that fell in acres,
under the umber sky,
to the ochre floor,
that sing to bare feet -

this is not lunacy

2.

cracking a shell of egg white,
i fell in love like yellow,
and hooted in the ear of the train whistle,
and thrust and churned and ejaculated
and lay like midnight,
and was fulfilled and unfulfilled,
and burned endlessly through
the tunnels of flesh and greetings

3.

please, and when you say sloppily drunk
i lea
      n
and c
        o
    l  l
  a 
     p
      s
 e
and day is dead,
and sleep leaves ambiguity, desolately straggling
in the tracks of tomorrows ghost town,
and i'm there, on the platform,
where we meet,
and the station growls and rumbles,
rusts and sighs,
i am dissolving in a gutted stream
of the best that can be________________________________________________________________________________________

Tell the Story >->------->

Growl Prowl Trowl

   - shuvel smoke-

liquid ink,
     
        lyrical like Dale Wasserman,

scuttle down track
scuttle down track

swim upstream
swim upstream.

      there is a boy for
 which bed is not a time,

and who dances & kneels legs crossed,

     laughing,

the aproaching trains whistle snaking

  up the tracks.

Wake Cake

Agoura Hills California:

of all the portrayals of the wise leagues,

gandering at tufts of luminescent moss,

startled and alert,

         Oh dancer, come dance,

cast the line,

pristine wilderness fish of native america

come bite into,

the shorter history of snaggle tooth bill

and the cow boy trout half smirks -

     Yank -

when you feel the bite,

know that a new america

is being born.

Traversing the Big Sur Body

Star bowl

Lunar sea

Last faces 

of the

burning pines

King Louies'

lookout

tall grass 

shrub sway

oak grove

summit

switchback

switchback

switchback

climb climb

summit

Hawks,

birds jabber

humid bloom

paradise

pink flag

trail gods

shhhhhhhh

thdump

thdump

thdump

walking stick

lean

over under

over under

Sleep by the road.

Americas burgers are like fish bait but the free and the brave ain't brave enough to pick up a lone hitch-hiker after dark.

Tear Kelp Water Smiles

An ode in the depths of sincerity, to all of you I love so dearly:


       a simple nectar sustains,
climbing trees.
     enough sleep to dream holds us awake,
  swimming in smiles of water between
our youth and humanity -

we love each other