My Own Tragic Hands

My own tragic hands. 
Drunken sousaphone players. 
My death at age infinity from causes unknown. 
All the lonely nights I spent looking for the incredible whiteness of her being. 
These laments so profound that the dark night fairly ripples as I cry out for you and only you and the edge of nothingness approaches but I cry. 
Not. 
There is love and there is eternity and there is the madness of the man on the precipice. 
I tried to fake it. 
But no more the tears than the wasted years of everything I ever said or did. 
And still I dream.

There are apples that explode with the juices an mingle with the saliva and spell the word healthy. 
I munch. 
You love me. 
You who are so lost sometimes in the passing cascade. 
Come to me, my love. 
Share in the tomorrow of my yesterday. 
As I strip away the false hopes of tender hearted lies. 
We who are happy smile.

Put Off Until Tomorrow

I delay delay and again I delay
Forestall put off
A pro at procrastination
Adept at...
Never mind too much work to go on
Must set this aside for later
There is no greater cause then...
Oh bother -- another
Can't let this go on
Spun out of the way
From the fray
Cannot conceive of...
Hold on
Hang on
Just a sec
There's no rush anyway
And so I die
With much undone
What for fun?

A Hot Day in Berkeley

A hot day in Berkeley
Is a bad day in Berkeley
City not made for heat
All the scruffy looking people
Who dwell in this city
Look all the scruffier
The streets are dirtier
And more desolate
AM radios blasting
Cars, cars, cars
Everywhere there are cars
With people in them
Being hot
And they blast more noise
More heat
Hairy men in shorts and sandals
Looking hairier then ever
Bad smells are worse
All the trash bins seem overflowing
No one is happy
People in wheelchairs whir by
Joggers sweat past you on busy sidewalks
Sweating bicyclists crowd onto sidewalks too
The assholes
No central air in the house
Just a weak little fan
Praying for the fog

Except For The Simpsons

Soft like a dream or kisses from an angel. 

Gentle breezes and complex whispers buttoning my caresses so that I could face the day. 

Then the walk was over and I faced the snarling reality of 

What should have been home and hearth.

Only my fantasies could protect me now. 

Feed them the pulsating rock music, or tickle them with a novel. 

Or sedate them with television. 

You accursed box, dulling my mind since early childhood. 

Telling me your feeble stories, refusing to challenge me or ask me even the simplest questions. You great pacifier. 

You ugly menace to society. 

You purveyor of indelicate lies and trodden hopes. 

Death of the mind your spawn. 

I shouldn’t have had you as a lover. 

But we all risk it.

Kick It

Junky
You funky
On your back you got a monkey

Backwards
Twirling and swirling
Destination asswards

Leave it on the line
Suck on your turpentine
Methods like yours don't rhyme

Have to
Must be there
Must create your own flow

Don't
If you haven't
Likes you never will

So kick the junk
Punk
Your pattern in bunk

I say so
See me so
So do it, bro

Who Cares?

Is anyone out there
?
And if so, where

Is anyone listening
?
Are you shiny and glistening

Does anyone care
?
Are there those of you who dare

Do these words matter
To anyone but me
Do you see

Where I can go from here
If there's no one near
No one dear

Where does
Why does
When does

Who
Oh my God
I don't

Have
Any
Idea

Worst of all I don't bloody care

no capitals

am helpless without the written word

reading, writing

watching it unfold on the screen

the screen

where my heart unfolds to rapturous strains

of

there is no little conceit wrought in words of

our own choosing

musing

the delicacy of our past perfection

those flawless memories

like cats sneaking on our bed

the rest is mere folly

so long as we subscribe to no false notions

nor pander to our own lies

about ourself

done

yesterday is here

tomorrow has been pushed back

so cry

if 

you want