Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Mindful Journey

Baton down the hatches

And batten down the protesters

Attempting to skillfully replace ammunition

Throwing garnets and pearls

Into the blaspheme

The busses don’t run on the weekends

The clanging doesn’t stop,

Roaring wonderfully asunder

The changing mind of sadness driven

As a wake up call into the dark-place

With the shadows and shapes

Threaded and turned on the silken cylinder

now showing where it grows thin

branching out to root in the wind

Coming and going in all its glorious simultaneity

Saturday, September 11, 2010


Trying to whittle things down to one thing

Boxing with God

Lunging up through a regicidal sipapu

Trying to whittle things down to one thing

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


cover with a new day
waking up, from an already softened blow

Than, Plant
(With full aplomb, mind you)
A plum, behind your year

And soon,
With your hands up
And fingers interlocked you will come to see
what it means to be young again


Life's the infinite simile
symbol free simphony
riddling every little thing
while pivitaly delivering
inspiration at yer doorstep

God's originaly devine performance
hot sauce
where with words
we take shots off
at yer TRUEman show
So we can explore the sets
of where the origens kept.

Now this is America

Now this is America!
Stating again
on the backs of doves turning mid-flight,
my sentiments with a puff of smoke

We perch together.
Watching each-other
watch the days go by diving
into the mouths of monsters and madmen

Friday, April 30, 2010

Peeled Banana Hearts

Ahhh... my providence,
she comes within my choices to keep the ol' beeter open on the bus

Like a golden ray of beer into your principle recesses...
these windows school me
as i keep them open

While each is but a moment,
eclipsing alongside the clouds

but where is god?

He keeps skipping from my moments
into others I'd never planned...
does he want me to change
as he shades us with his mood?...
like the changing art's of lights and shadow
as our minds make mountains out of molehills.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

"The Poet's Have Returned"

The poets have returned...
the ones who speak with my life

Daring that evil things exist

Drunk with inspiration and driving under the influential
tank treads of this "now's" rolling cookie cutter moment

Like crumpled masterpiece's,
in bullet proof trash cans
bus bench proverbs
to be read aloud
under "God" breath
inside ourselves
while feeling beside ourselves
and aimlessly drifting
within our conscious toy planes.