nothing makes sense after mom and dad release the reigns
and you enter some german establishment, “KINDER-GARTEN”.
then, like an alcoholic, we’re ushered through a twelve step program
where, mostly uniformed individuals, take our loose hours and
BANG THEM! like dusty rugs against a maypole that
foaming businessmen had plundered the rubies and jade from…

what good is this magazine
if i don’t have a gun
to shoot through the eyes
that peer back at me
from all of these these magazines?…!

…walking through wal-mart,
a whale of a woman
blows smoke rings out of her hole
while her children toss
canned dolphin through them,
denting into the cart,
potentially releasing the
botch! botch! botulism!

Fuck It!!
“Free the radicals!”, i yell
“Free radicals!”
and america puts it’s stove top on high
and burns the olive oil.

…i have a porcelain white face
sad, strawberry red lips
sitting down for a minute on this hilltop, here…
too large for this hill
-what a strange landscape
…i am a clown
i have huge hands
my feet are gigantic
…i will not juggle today
i’m just gazing off-let me be…

underneath this puffy striped suit
is a neon jail cell
one thousand hummingbirds
trapped in a pinball machine
mineral pinball snowballs into a cannonball
balloon pops! and the new years ball
forms a sperm tail
fireballs through our sky circus
and squashes the year of the rat,
running through chinatown.

whatever makeup you see is a
permanent display of my disassociation
towards these microscopic empires
with little iridescent phallus’
in front of reflecting pools
catching the tattooed tears of a clown

black and white both beat red
bleat. both bleed
sheep, most sheep need collies…
e coli for me.
eat. lonely, no pony
or bear on a unicycle
makes it up this hill
it’s steep
but my table for eight feet
fit
all of the teeth of my ex’s relatives,
picking my bones…
so their toothpicks are part of my skeleton.

whatever.
flat footed, taking a smoke break
relinquish my inclinations
the clank of my ankle links,
chained to this tree,
imitate the twinkle of stars
overneath the nose of the sphinx, i think.
inky eyelashes
blink ashes
ashes float, forming
a type written word finding place
on this blue-lined landscape.

when i break free to find my way
to the jungle, enslaved
all i see are toxic fiber optic starburst wands
malaysian rainbows
over the childish faces
of adults, left in the dark…

look around you…
my stilts are chopsticks
in this rice paddy
and all of the kids parents are
whipping fish around.
smoke break.
back to the grassy knoll drawing board
where we all draw our swords…
take a whack at this chain smoke
that dreaded my knotty hair and
painted tears on a blank sky…

o.k.
today, i will juggle-
2 cigarettes, simultaneously
while being crushed
by the weight
of my thoughts.

we need to be held accountable if this guy fucks up because everybody’s banging his drum
but he’s talking war… he’s not a peace candidate… hey barack… bomb ‘em with food, schools and hospitals, brother…
we can choose to be in an endless war, trying to contain the children and the grand children of those we have
tortured and murdered, or we can stop now, remove ourselves from the villages we have turned into battlegrounds
and admit we have become intoxicated with power, facets of our political establishment have been hijacked and
today is the first day in a new era of love, peace and understanding. We have no right to keep any other country in the dark,
just grabbing the indigenous by their skulls, turning them around and reversing their plight into the stone age.
fear breeds more of it… we’re in a collective burn right now with drunk natives, trying to dance for the rain…
I project peace through confusion. we need to lead by example- natural energy and self sustainability as a nation
to help influence and guide the rest of the world into healthier, more productive and creative sovereign nations.
At times I fear it is too late, with the corporate choke hold and all but… just as our own government has been
taken over by neo-conservatives, (or, the fourth-reich neo-nazis, considering the bloodlines and mentors some of these
mad men have been blinded and pulled by) we should counter with good intentions and reestablish our voice in
1600 pensylvania ave. I want to explore more and break down the language barriers with art and food! shiiiit…
blessings to all… let’s not become too comfortable- we’ve got a lot of work to do.

…never thought I’d leave
but I’ll never leave a thought
so now it is time

see you over seas
i was hoping this ocean
would remember me

what a memory!
water will never forget-
it is energy!

I am kinetic
now i see the potential
now I can smell it.

those hedge funds won’t take you anywhere
pull out your hedge trimmers, ed…
dinners about to be served on your face
clean your plate, bed’s
the palate
inside of a palace,
a two story outside of Dallas.

we salivate over the steak…
when we’re out of place,
search for the home you have lived all your life.
skip the dinner, make love to your wife.

after breakfast creeps down esophagus,
feed- get hungry… intelligently.
jotting knowledge, learning,
mapping new opportunities…
purge questions residing silently
tucked under veils where you z… z… z…

My mead marble composition book-
made in vietnam?!?
…the book that I hold closest to me?

-that was the war that the media turned into a movie…

shot from a bunker
for all archie bunkers and meatheads
to cast reel to reel.

real big fish, that dick nixon
-one of the two biggest dicks this world’s ever seen
but at least we stripped him of his dignity.

Hey!… good news…
30 years after intense chemical warfare
stripped trees of their leaves
and ripped skin off the bones of the Vietnamese
they make mead
marble composition notebooks…

Gee… I wonder…
what will Iraq be producing for us
30 years down the road from now?

NIna Simone’s got life and I’ve got Nina Simone
I’m a dreamer, like John Lennon, when he met Yoko
Jimi Hendrix had kissed me with his band of gypsies
Leonard Cohen had suzanne and now he has whiskey
we have what is gone
as the beat travels on
babylon bore a beast under atom’s bomb
now the music we have
does not have the brains that kurt cobain had drained
because all of these artists had pain
in their hearts
now there’s no shame
it’s all fame from the top of the pop charts
aim is way off
because artists get paid to play soft
what the fuck?!
even indie bands play two hand touch
with the blue man group
and talk soup
coup d’ etat…
lets make music to god again
ottoman empire, brooklyn.

back on the farm
connecting the stars
out of harms way
-except for the outerspace arm’s race
satellite car chase
pull the guitar from the hard case and play
we have star wars, twentyfour hours a day
china vs. russia vs. u.s. of a.
and all three have nothing to say
they stay quiet…
they muffle their citizens rage
with a blanket of violence
invisible, digital silence.

back on my resting spot,
connect the dots- but they move
no patience for this constellation
it proves, they have nothing to do
with their time except spy
and spread death from the sky
does my telescope lie?
I have quotes from Ben Franklin,
predicting a time
when we’ll look to the heavens
at man made stars
and a backdrop of mars
with this look in it’s eye

-it’s the twinkle of war
and it shines.

back on the farm
and we’re all going blind
on this island
hawai’in papaya asylum.
trapped on one of the two
last stars on the flag
in this nation
that we took to keep our troops stationed
on bases
that face the direction of asians
and russians…
the clone of ron reagan
pressed down on the button,
igniting the satellites…
an arcade chain reaction
to light up this night
with a neo-con war machine appetite.