Amit the Accoster

Amit accosted me at my desk again today
Changed his name to Rakanishu
Which is NOT a Pokemon but,
Is a lightening demon that I
Over and over
When I was a lad
With my sapphire studded frost sword
Or my wolf claws
Or a really big hammer called
Bonesnap with a 40% chance of

What does he want, I ask myself.
Amit, not Rakanishu.
He appears behind me and
Starts talking like he
Expects something to happen.
Like he is waiting for me to
Blow his mind with
Platitudes become prophecies spun around a moment into
The Grand Unification Theory,
The universal mother of Heisenberg and Einstein, now
Womb mates
Paradox disenparadoxicalized.

Instead, I say things like
This tea you made me is pretty ok
65 degrees outside today,
     how's that for winter?
And then we laugh,
And now I'm the one that won't stop talking as he tries to peel himself away by slowly rounding my desk and looking back the way he came and uttering noncommittal parting phrases in that peculiar high pitched tone that signals the desire to sever the vocal bond for the time being, time being what it is.

visit me softly
visit me sweet
visit me on my feet.
Stand with me at my standing desk
And we can be so leet
As we beat Rakanishu
With your frozen orb
(it's so cold)
And my Cruel Bastard Sword of Cunning and Sharp Pointy Teeth
(look at the bones!)
And save the old skinny ass of Deckard Cain
For the ten hundred thousand million bajillionth time.

water and eyedrops

Water and eyedrops
's Christ in the morning
Sailors take warning
7:30 o'clock in the dickens
Sleep is Slim T. Pickens
Cracka lickens
Make faces for the camera
Disrupt its stanza
I must be famous
So why do I feel so lameous?
Lame us. Le moose. Lamosawa
My eyes are red flowas
They need chemical showas.

Jim Jam
We're in like Flint
    and out like Sam
Poor bugger
They swept 'im under the rugger
But there is no other
Like Sam the husband of my brother
He swears a lot
And he smokes the pot
And he makes jokes about my mother
I changed my mind: fuck 'im
He's dim
Like a two watt half wit
Seriously, he doesn't know shit.

Merge merge merge your bus
Gentrily down the stream
Merrily caroly verily scarily
Strife is but a dream
When you've run out of steam
And you got that dead man's gleam
Right here in spirit's seam
Not to be mean
But I think it's your spleen
It couldn't last forever
And sometime's longer than never

In the shower I don't use Lever
I use Dove on my lowly nethers
It gets in my eyes
Attacks with white lyes
And now they're all red
And my temple rings dead
And my sycophants
Are syncophants
Are slinkophants
Em ah maykin sanse
Do yeh wahn romance
Ahr gimme a chance

The piano man's anime daughter
Likes to slaughter
Legions of tentacled monsters
And sexy big sworded angel monsters
And I'll call you later but didn't monsters
Well good for her
Each our own pot to stir
I'll stick to the tops
Water and eyedrops.

Full tank, man

I've got money and a full tank of gas
So what the fuck
Let's drive somewhere and
see some things
No matter what things
As long as we see some things
And by we of course 
I mean
Just me.
Running up the mountain
Taking a fucking bath in a nice country inn
Reading depressing poetry in a dead bar
Where the kitchen is closed
Even though I am fucking hungry as
Shit biscuits.
Burger King beckons just beyond the car drive
But I'm a bit sauced and don't wanna drive
But I hafta for my stomach.
My beer never finishes itself asshole.
I pay for the privilege of not having to drink it.
That's what I tell myself but I
Drink it anyway.
 Because that's what men, or Americans, or people that mean business
There is no try, motherfucker,
I will fight you.
People who write boring poetry
Should be doomed to a life of

Old Rasputin on tap is kind of bitchin
But not like riding a brontosaurus bitchin
Just your normal everyday riding the spaceship at Winco for 50 cents bitchin.
I could definitely smoke a big fat joint right now
And float back to my inn
On a cloud of
But I'd probably ptfo so ptl for my
Mary Jane bereftitudinality.
Sheeeeee it.

10:19p time for bed!
All bars in Winters CA are now
And who knows what new demands
Tomorrow will
And future.

What words

What words from the Riddermark
can be heard over all that hoofracket?
Fresh squeezed brain juice,
what does that look like?
Does it smell like citrus? Or chloroform?
What pulpy words float,
then settle to the bottom?
  ad Infinitum
The fantastic ineluctable ad infinitum transubstantiation perspicacity.
Utter nonsense. What an atrocity fallaciosity!
Bullshit lodged in cerebral trachea,
Gotta blast that shit out from
time to time to time
and lay down a real mothafuxkin rhyme
Spin it on a dime
Consider its ectoplasmic slime
And slide it acoustic--
          --commit it like a crime.

See you when I see you

See you when I see you
as the Spanish say:
It means I don't know when I'll see you next
but when I do
you will most certainly be seen
by me.

Faerie creature, this is what I say
to you,
You who are a pure emotional singularity,
Ethereal spirit living only in the moment,
the only moment,
only momentary.
If I fault you for it
then I must also fault
butterfly and snow leopard
and rainbow and soap bubble
and aurora borealis
and bodhisattva
and ice cream man
and the deist god.

I love you today but not tomorrow
but definitely next week
And I am learning to love you
all the time
But it is hard
really hard
because I'm unaccustomed to
weighing my anchor
so very often
And it's exhilarating but
sometimes it makes me
ever so
But I'm learning.
I'm learning.

Learning to let go.
But I can't let go of everything--
I'll fall down and fuck up my knees.
Learning to let go of self righteousness
and social self consciousness
and self indulgence
and self denial
and selfishness
and selflessness.
What is left?
Just me
I suppose
and the faeries
about time's grand courtyard
tracing erratic firefly lines
across the firmament of my being
inflaming my love and admiration
And then skipping off
to some distant cosmos
to decorate other skies.

Help them shine.
Don't bemoan their freedom
Don't clip their wings
or trap them
or fight them.
Help them shine
and they will help you shine.
I'm learning to love you
all the time
I'm learning.
I'm learning to open my heart
and leave it open.

i hoist bay bridge


i hoist bay bridge over my shoulder
like a flag 
arm over arm
as human frame climbs
step by step
the stairs of Vallejo Street.
Bridge spans rise in starts over embarcadero foreground
with the steady clomp...clomp rhythm of my ascension.

Bell tolls time when pocket
watch cell phone dies
four o'clock.
Let your feet flow forward
pick a point in the sky and
THAT is where you must walk,
busy brave frenzied friend.

  Coit Tower,
 that great big
dick in the sky
looking down
on us with 
lust waiting 
for an earthquake
to satisfy its vast desire and
send it toppling back to the earth.
Go to it,
it's as good a point as any
save the great san francisco Claw
which can be seem from
fucking Mount Diablo!
Go to it, because
tomorrow you shall see the
Great Vaginal Gash / Eye Of Sauron
from the good beaches of Marin
and you shall return to The Womb
and take lots of great pictures.
Gender is a social construct.

Your hair falls in helixes--
soft brown sprongs that
twist the nuclei of my
cells and zip unzip until my
body is twisted around yours--
ancient simple human code,
magic marker for
shortness of breath and
tasting the rainbow color of bliss
in your cup overfloweth brain.


     underground we wait
for train to come
pacing platform from one end
uh the tother
aboveground in the Tuesday night air
cicada hum of trolley rails
cradles Powell St. in its
familiar mechanolectrical drone

how eerie were it to cease
and plunge invisible hypothetical
sanfranciscans into
desert silence.

tuesdays and thursdays
not end days or middle days but
days to fill the space between dreams
of eyes and nose and lips

tuesday night streets deserted
hotel cafes lit up
but don't be fooled
they're shut

look up at her window but the light is out
tears beg for expression but
eyes are too tired and dry and it feels
like refusing nausea its due

girl of my dreams
girl that dances in my dreams
which way is market?
are you sure?

follow the trolley tracks
they know which way to go
and will lead you to
more tracks, more trials,

more tuesdays

2014 is not a leap year

Twentythirteen screams in electric guitar agony—
         collapsing relapsing
              devouring itself—
It cannot hold! it cannot hold—
Fender fatality—
whammy bar expands and contracts time's weave—
threads vibrate
cry cry crying  for more Dissonance—
more heartbreak—mein herz brennt—
symbols crash—
brain implodes numbly forever—
black hole forming—
more and Moore and more—
            please—more! more! no more! stop!

WHAM BAM back into melody
Feedback history
Vodka and iron on my brain palate
And I wonder what's happening to me
Sitting with head skewed
Jaw slack jack slaw
Lips dry cracked from the cold
World fracturing
alien landscape of
new vibrations
new choices
new weather
new symbols
new desires
new mutations
         and machinations
          and pontifications
           and revelations.

Tuning static, she said.
It felt like I was tuning static.
2014 MHz.

The Snow

And the snow begins to fall on the streets of Brooklyn
dressing the old year in white—
flake by flake—
laying canvas for colorful new adventures.

Grey Sun peels back the clouds
one last time—
parting burst of warm light—
illuming rebirth looming.