shepard fairey

ras

ras

ras

ras

ras

ras

ras

gustav dore

our boys

death and burial

wm

Monday, May 31, 2010

Johnny Too Bad


too bad about Johnny, too bad about his girl,
but I tried to warn them both. Mucking with
the monster never furthers. Lose a leg to
save the other, Leave the tracks of their
innocence where they lie.

I started collecting references to yesterday
this morning. I’ve got nine bags full already.
During the night, when today first came
slinking in, I was tempted to tell her where to go
but remembered how sensitive she is about

her low beginnings; which I for one never
considered in choosing her to queen
the festival of my lost heart;
who else ever could?


The St. James Hotel


historic digs, where Bobby D. penned Blind
Willie McTell, tell me a different story, one of
woe to come; your bustier over the lamp, the
open window, speak to me in a fractured voice,
of your lack of faith, your wild ambition for more,
as if there were.


There Weren’t Enough Clouds In The Sky


to hide you there, kneeling at the throne
of God, the piker, the favoritist, the cheat;
he had your black shifting Irish heart, I
couldn’t hold it but for fleeting hours,
and hard-fought was its regaining for
another bare few; your roseate cheek,
musk-bruised lips, and bright eye
tell him, beloved, where you’ve been.


Next


I took down her silver locket. I took down
her crew with one look. I took down her number.
See ya, sweets, I called to her as she disappeared

out of the Steak and into Carl Nelson’s ’63 Sattelite;
the roar of its straight pipes gunned the night
right down in its tracks.


New Day


no new way had presented itself,
so I continued meandering along
the deepened track, thinking that
it would come to me, what was
would come to me. And if I’d
forgotten my original instructions
I won’t ask directions.


Sunday, May 30, 2010

How It Works


this nice DNA water planet is just setting here. the alien intelligence (that's what it is) comes along, marries (like really integrating) with all this nature stuff and its power to proliferate, and together they are responsible for this production, this ever-breathing NOW that continually reproduces itself every instant! and so while it's shocking at first to find out about the alien invasion part (because something in us (our hearts, actually) still identifies strongly with the home planet nature part), despite that, one quickly realizes that one is, and has been all along, every moment of our lives already--half-alien. so, yeah, they're shockingly cold and thoughtless in their purpose (whatever that is), but we are it, too; we are a mix, a strange brew of each element. I think at least we can all agree, we are glad of their unholy union in us, which produces this vast Las Vegas of the soul. basically, DNA meets DMT.


Thursday, May 13, 2010

Among All You Angels


there’s a hole. you should have been filled by Saint Agnes and Saint Joan.
As it stands, we have vacancies for our two top novitiates to be elevated

to host. I’m Charles Rattner, and I’m facing God right now. He’s right here.
He’s combing his hair. I can see a tattoo of a red devil and some tumbling

dice on his left arm, his right is hidden. Now he’s playing guitar.
He’s playing Stairway to Heaven with his nails.

I want to return to the coast. Only LA can rescue me.
I have stuff in Indiana, Texas, and Taiwan. I’m moving west,

but more slowly than that deathless sun.


Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Did I Say Re-Rock


I meant tearing it all up all over again,
as if space could be put back in time,
and time to beginning before Elvis
went in the army, before Don and Phil,
before Buddy died, before
Bobby Fuller even started;
spot that child before
he goes wrong, before
he’s heard the news;
and that radio all damn day.


Sunday, May 9, 2010

I’ve Decided To Go For The Goblet


le Trompe de Reigne would look good
on my résumé. I always liked medals
commemorating service, I think

it’s something you just can’t have too much of;

so in that tradition, I’m now accepting
whatever damn thing is due to me. I can’t
possibly keep track what is owed

and to tell you the truth,
I’d just as soon call it even.


Frankly and Cher


had been there; they hooked up in Tulsa
before the fourth war, before the rocking
public was trussed and drawn up and sent
into the ozone, replacing Chuck Berry, which
people, can not be undone! What if
it had been Buddy Holly?!?


The Poetry Public


is easily handed a mackerel
masquerading as cod, and you
a limp fish for anybody but me


So I Said


is it alright to fight toward the light,
or do you have to relax? I hope not.
All my mares have foaled. I’ve not
the strength to get up and answer
the door; much less open it. If time
were a slide to hell, then dig in
your nails; they look smashing
with your car.


Not Love


You made it perfectly clear where you were going
with this, but I don’t think I’m ready for a long-term
commitment. How about ninety days?


My Long Distance Is Getting Turned Off


but I think of it as a lucky accident; one less to pay.
I’m trying to minimize my footprint on the American
debt market, something I was less drawn to in times past;

we would go along the boulevard, you in your shine,
me in mine, lord did we love and live
barely by our teeth; crazy for love.