Sleep.

Little Electric Empires

someone is telling someone

something they should never know

about places in the world

neither will ever go

and they’ll sit sipping their soda on the shores of boredom

enslaved into cozy catacombs of consumption

the dreams and imagery

of luxury has lured them

and somewhere else so far away

they’ll visit in their heads

all day

lounging around

their little electric empires of virtual extension

counting pennies and praying

they’ll be paying their way

out of prevention

somehow word gets around

of proud and prestigious occupations

and someone confides in someone else

their recently acquired

luxury inspired
financial aspirations 

Something About a Man and a Woman

a woman bites her nails
while her man swims in gin
she hopes he’ll take her hand
and then teach her how to sin
the station lights are bright
but the platform is very quiet
the woman pushes up her sunglasses
as her man prepares to riot
at midnight a train approaches
to carry the couple away
the man stands ranting to an imaginary stranger
about making the immigrants pay
the man spits out his insides
as the machine proceeds on its course
the woman, she fidgets in silence
gnawing at her flesh with remorse
the man turns his eyes to his woman
as the floor shutters beneath
without words this woman tells him she loves him
and the man tumbles deep into sleep
the car doors alarm and open
the woman steps to concrete
‘goodbye, for now’ the woman whispers
disappearing into the street

Scribble-Sheet Children

the scribble-sheet outlook: bleak
the children behind the door
scratching their heads in wonder
as we scribble on sheets some more
their parents hate to love: divorce
the children hide behind the door
whispering, petrified, at the screaming
at the scribbling we implore
an affluent affair exposed: denial
the children behind the door
cry aloud as their parents divide
by the scribbling we ensure
a resounding slap across the: face
the children behind the door
dying inside as they blame themselves
and oh, we scribble ever more
a couple vulgar words: muttered
the children behind the door
lose their faith, their hope, their wonder
from the scribbling out we pour
the scribble-sheet outlook: lawyer
the children behind the door
watch as the gavel drops
and from our scribbling their family: torn

there’s a woman, she sees a man
they live they love together
he digs her style and she thinks he’s clever
but how terribly bored this woman is
with her days, her job, her lover,
she scans the streets for worthy others
how ready to taste this woman is
just a bit of something different
something a bit more like what others have
there’s a woman, she hopes to cheat
she waits she stays together
always wanting what could be better
but how terribly ignorant this woman is
the grass burns from her one side
while her lover swallows pride
to keep her about a bit longer
there’s a woman, she comes around
it stinks it reeks of repression
a moldy odor from her dank obsession
how ready to leap this woman is
into another constructed fantasy
no better can this one be
there’s a woman, she’s been hanged
they huffed they puffed her dream down
her life condemned to be now
but this scandalous cheat she is
chained to a static order
slave to a modern boredom

Personal Piccadilly

woe there, a tempo glitch
expressed in the sight of piccadilly’s eye
receiving now the filthy rich
who spend to sculpt the shifting shapes of ‘i’
the temptation within all of us
to tend to hate the resistance that infiltrates the mind
woe there, first worlders!
speak not about the things you do not know
strap books around your shoulders
defend yourself with thought against consumption’s pretty glow
reflect upon your being
dress the character and not the body which it drives
never look without the seeing
of piccadilly’s spell to have you personalize
the honest are the willing
to admit that we have raped our source of lies
woe there, expel you’re petty ego
look for yourself in another person’s eyes

First Rain

no one stood more in awe than another
watching blue tumble down from above
nothing suggested a run for cover
because no one knew what it was
dark brows uplifted in wonder
guard eyes scanning laces of life
cascading to the epic soundtrack of thunder
a spectacle banishing dark from the night
no one stood gasping, whispering, looking away
as all became swamp and lagoon
this time to remember, not time to say
when human saw the tears of the moon

Lady God

oh beast, don’t dominate the meaning
that isn’t to say fear the streaming thoughts
only that nothing seamless can be taught
oh ape, operator of space
banish the mirror that shows your face
leave only the trace of your contemplation
shown then will be your true determination
and not the hesitation that binds it
lonely human, fawn of fate
breed not into children your useless hate
and abandon those traits of domination
see other apes, not other nations
and in constant relation to you
what beauty beheld in the things you can do
and if god is truth, then we’re all in her
because the feminine are righteous in all that is sure
the constant allure of mother nature’s bosom
oh beast, don’t dominate the ‘inferior’
physical strength has such a fake interior
one you’re prone to deteriorate with
if you cannot once be caged
and realise you’re only a lonely ape
desiring a friend

i live in one moment by likely default
perched from the surface of a granule of salt
not gazing not blaming for all who take fault
in the pleasure of enormity
not professing our infancy
until we’ve all seen it
and can agree
i live in one body, i do not possess
but somehow perceive my chemical dress
and perch to observe one growing nest
in the groans of desire
sugary envy to perspire
until we’ve all seen it
and may inquire
i live in one mind written by men
perched from the summit of one gallant pen
drunk near the litter of their community den
in the gossip of black ink
pooled into one celestial sink
until we’ve all seen it
and then think 

The Inchworm

fuzzy, you furry, you faint
and forget not you frail
you and the inchworm
the slug and the snail
slither, you squiggle, you squeeze
and certainly now you squirm
you and the snail
the slug and the inchworm
pulled, you pushed, you prayed
and down deeper you dug
you and the inchworm
the snail and the slug
tricky, you timely, you trendy
and surely enough you true
the snail and the slug
the inchworm and you

Kids on the Block

all us people seem so young
still holding plastic shields and felt capes
sailboat hats and glitter
imagining ourselves instead of
trashing down with the social litter
swollen groups of people
popping one another like zits
on great egotistical acne
all us people seem so young
trying to forget the fallen fantasy
from which we
as heroes
once come
trading crayons and markers
for pints and fags
to stain and burn
instead of colour and shape
all us people, we are very young
now holding grudges against and sporting angst
forgetting about our big wheels and little bricks
when we were building dreamers
instead of pricks
who do whatever is
going around
the economies of madness on common ground
let’s get pissed and stumble down to death
for with a refined mind, when then is left
for all of us children to imagine

one can never be awakened
from this lucid living dream
one can only conjure what it could have been
but we know it was
lesbians on piano
and cousins in the lake
these things we’ve seen while we’ve been awake
it was a retired military major
and a grandson’s religious infidelity
read aloud in a café
closing early on a sabbath sunday
we know it was an autistic man
writing letters to mysterious friends
under an asian lamp hanging
opposite a floor where baby toys are banging
it was also an oil spill
in the gulf of an epic quarry
it was devastation and catastrophe
but so much worse this dream could be
for it was also hurricane rainbows
and a wristwatch telling time
it was teenager’s braking lights
going a little too fast this time of night
it was a boundless cyclic love
sourcing passion’s radiant beam
so often as real as a living dream

in the midst of shuffling humans
one nurse prays
lifted toward Christ
one nurse looking forward
to life in paradise
one nurse recollecting
an expert opinion
one nurse, one too many sermons
in the pseudo-savior’s dominion
in the midst of shuffling humans
two men walk
within a glare
two men now considering
what lies beneath the other’s wear
two men grappling
an imprisoning speculation
two men in silent belittling
of the other’s situation
in the midst of shuffling humans
three educators look up
yielding no anticipation
three educators with great anxiety
concerning social stratification
three educators folding
under neutral perception
three educators wholly discouraged
by last year’s presidential elections

Garage

spokegrooves in bicycle wheels
and cylinders of glassy old
with specklespotted remnants of jam
fall-proof shelving support services
a waiting room with car-liquid containers
checkerladen kittens specify sleep
slipping slopslumberly upon tile
beneath watertubs of steel stainless
timerottingly boxes tattooed with blemish
warehouses for masoleummemoriam memorabilia
and macaroni candidcrafts of toddlerdom
concretely exposed rooftop tophat
worn with doordemon mechanized sunlight
that tricktastingly drops kickballs outward
beneath shoelaced children of play
toolbox collections gather dust
under dirtdestined rakes and shovels
hanging spreadsplendidly apart
all broughtburied together here
shapeshift companion entities
in, hipharmonium, the garage

Vanity Arbiter

no such beauty without remit
dear yours does not exclude
shameful stigmata wrap your wit
and leave your perfect figure nude
dark polished hair cloaks your face
where demanding eyes protrude
you recognize your stunning grace
which kills the fucking mood
your cosmopolitan community is deadly cryptic
so crass and inane
a jury of vanity
contemptuous vulture-citizens
perched upon pews of insanity
sculpting callous ideals that viciously infect
all us candid-common and curtailed figures
dear yours does not exclude
grandeur poisons your lavish rigor
and leaves your empty soul subdued