Pass the Pea Man

Pasadena Lacedaemon
you sit with your spear -
so punk and stylish.

When can I play
with your folders,
scrawled with the graffiti
of rock,
stoned epistles to boredom?

When will the griddles
of diddle
fry you an egg?

Ephor of cool -
spank me
and win
this damn war already.

8-25-06

i have looked at the lamplights across the city
and wondered what sorts of things might
be happening over there
with clinking and motorcycles speeding forth
and animated blue-light conversations

Faith is like paper, and knowledge is leather
and wisdom is plywood although it seems
this whatever-of-a-knife has redoubled its efforts
and seems more-like-a-saw

forgive me if i am a blimp

Whatever midsleep scenarios have been
playing out, are now destroyed by
the conscious... was it beanpods?
Greensnakes? Silver dollars in my pockets?
Driving around with best friends long forgotten?
Crystal clear rivers and skinnydipping
with glances of admiration given and received?
candy? The oddness and delight of
foreign landses? Grand liberation?
I think them all on and off for a bit-
nothing fits, nothing is as good as
the it-ness that it was being

Back to plastic rolling and fluorescent
tubed halls, the everpresence of mortality
ad nauseum, my feet hot and sore
plump
a checkmark in every box
a task in every hour
a needle in every vein
each number followed
by the next

Superpower of concentration of
mindpower is mine-power yet
i think as a zombie
pushed around by unseen forces
propped up
by nothing at all

Involucratus involuntarii

Nugget Stolen From Vern's Pants

Sunstain pangs
are not like
the poopstains
of Spain.

Terrible Atrocities in the Bullpen of Ferrara in the Infinite Space of Whisker Breath

I have an
ankle full of whiskey,
and a face full of knives,
I poke my way along the street,
with fists of brisket.

Only grease knows the true
voice of the universe,
only whispers can
hear the disdain of America.

Has a tree ever fallen?
Has a man ever tried to save a life?
How many points can a drive for home score?

There are 9,000 little reasons in this
jar why I should poke you with a fist
of rage, and only 1 why I shouldn't.
I know the answer.

Writing on walls has never affected me much,
writing on walls has never affected me much.
There's a time and a place for everything.

Flip the card and learn your fate.

"Garbfol estaramon ferarfill ans iptocumin!"
"Garbfol estaramon ferarfill ans iptocumin!"
"Garbfol estaramon ferarfill ans iptocumin!"
Those are the war cries of the unheard
of your nethers.

I have an ankle full of whiskey.