Mohawks and chain wallets.

strangest thing.

poor aspiring to imitate the rich,
who steal
culture
art
fashion
language
land
time
from the poor.

save for the time and space,
the other stuff only makes sense
if you make it on your own.

steal away,
put us on the payroll,
when we are edged out
marginalized
locked up
distracted
dispersed
destroyed
by the neverending taking
taking,
all the time in the world,
and all the world in time,
will still be empty
without
us.

seduction.

stand, stand, stand.

kneel, kneel, kneel.

sit, sit, sit.

lie down.

gravity and women
have such a way
of wearing you down...

Nebraska

walking day,
obligitory
transmission melted.
I still like to walk
wait in the gutters
strange corners
with strangers
convicts making good
and the others,
making bad.
it is nice still
to see
smell
hear.

as I walked through the chula vistan mortuaries
j street crematoriums
made up
palm trees line the streets of the dead
I dreamed
inspired no doubt
by the air surrounding,
slow processions
weeping faces
black clad gatherings
sweating it out
in the late summer
late morning sun.

dreams of my death
how I go
where
and the party to follow.

I want to be dropped in the ground,
in the midst of a great corn feild,
under fast moving clouds like today
just a bag of cotton balls
torn apart by a young pup
and strewn across
deep, deep blue.

young corn rustling.
buckets of beer.

I want to fly everyone there,
all the different folks
that I have been with,
seems like a million,
I want to see,
from just up above,
how the dancers
the freaks
the insane
the sane
the pious
the brilliant
ridiculous
brave
old
new
loud
beautiful
mass of people
that have been my life
would all get along.

skylight

hands and head
bleeding profusely
legs spent
lungs burning

cracks like lightning
spreading
it can't take
much more of this.

nor can I.

I could just make good
underneath
safe from the rain
ample space
for comfort
and even a really great life.

but something in me says
that I have to break through
even if it kills me.

I suspect I might die
if I don't...

I wrote this while taking a shit

you might see
a safe quiet place
no speeding cars
neighbors take care
rows of flowers
home in the far off cul de sac
American dream.

these filters for eyes
bent from the beatings
maybe even before that
from just the formation of birth
see
a
dead
end.

I could stay
but I know better
not just for me
but everyone around
the vision persists
and would set me
to burning down
the whole neighborhood
just as a way to make sure I still had somewhere to go.

six billion to 1.

one more time
the dream.
not the watered down
half baked
more safe
easier to swallow
kind of
sort of
close enough
almost
version.

no matter what
after you start
trajectory changes
winds will blow
clouds will obscure
the chosen path
circuits burn
seals give way
every piece and part
of the machine
cracks apart
breaks down
freezes up
under the enormous strain
of lifting this old heap
of dusty childhood
into space.

if you start off half assed
to save on the risk
or the fuel
you'll never even make it
off the ground.

never mind
that flat on your face
up in flames
is a very high likelyhood anyhow.

at least give yourself the option
chance
possibility
that this time could be the one
the great escape
gravity lost
floating
weightless
empty
cool
dark
alone with the stars
is worth shooting for
even with odds this slim.

cold night

when the time for rest
has long since passed
the dreams drop in
regardless
eyes open
5am
spectres
in the cool grey
before dawn.
I'll stay waiting
even one night in ten
makes the whole thing
worthy
wealthy
drenched in love
with the quiet night
far off cars
distant thunderheads
blackened giants
reach for stars
ripples of light burning in thier bellies
as first sun sharpens
glancing off the hanging wires
coiled
at thier post
ready
for the world to begin.

circus tricks

the world can turn upside down
faster than a jugglers twist
and everything you were certain
you didn't know
becomes,
shoving
sometimes violently
all of the old certainties
some from such a long way back
over mountains,
7000 foot peaks
even from before the road began
as a foot path through the grass
some things so certain
they seemed to be the road itself
up in flames
seen surely for what they were
once under the light
of a burning heart.

just things
just tools
for a moment
not the way
not company
only there
materialized
for an instant
to pry through the barbed wire fence
we put up
encircled
to protect the very means of escape
Houdini
at least a hack job anyhow.

now we're loose,
who knows what where when
I will be seen again.

tearing down roads
breakneck
full tilt
tearing down fences.

I can feel the possibilities
in the hole in my gut
where they sat
all along.