AWOL abstinence nation of lazy bums

I won’t go there, I won’t go there

Tell me how old you are

I’ll tell you your age

Feeling like a brief one would fit better today. I often, especially lately, go for too much. Figh figh on me. Well in any case, I feel I’ve missed quite a few days of daily poems for #napowrimo. Oops!


Burn your heart to the trenches

To the treanches

To the trenches

Sing song sing song two by two after summer swell


In my belly I’m here there well enough to tell you



That you better back off


Off again again…


The stars are livid with us

For not living our lives

Yet, yet

Yet we keep on living

And to jump over the waterfall

Risks a lot

You know?

Don’t do it

It’s dangerous


We lisp and I cannot resist

I cannot

Tell you that time ought to be

The shape of love on an autumn moon

When two dancers, entwined, trip over one another

And fall back to Earth

That the low-strung orbit hits me in the neck

And sells me lies like no noose ever could

We lisp and I cannot resist

Loving you like the tenderest butterfly in the garden

Because I will never get over how big a fraud I am

Because I am not actually proficient

In anything but stubbing my own toe

We lisp and I cannot resist

Hating you for who you are

Because hate, too, is valid, and to love it and understand

And to balance your mind from one level to the next

To understand that no single plex can sum the roots

Or maybe I am on about something

And we all just deserve better

Maybe I’m settling for less

As the lisp whistles by the atmosphere

And clings to our nebulae

Play Free

But more to the point: I’m tired and upset and I don’t know why this is all so hard. I don’t want to do it I want to be honest. I don’t want to lie in my art. Why are people telling me to lie with my art. I don’t want to do that I want to be honest.

There goes another cherry, raspberry, bleuet, etc. etc. down the freeway causeway whatever shits and giggles memories you had must’ve been siiiiiiickkkk

But fuck, blick, whatever language you swear in, tell me: Does your mother still sing to you at night?

Are you an astronaut (yet)?

Can I have your autograph?

Each signature is so unique

Why are some worth more than others?

I don’t want to lie

I want to be honest with my art

Why are people telling me to lie with my art

Gun to head

I will slip up

And a trigger will be pulled

We just don’t know in which direction

Backward or forward

Up or down

Intravascularly or epidermally

Sick sin, sick sin, soul

Send me satan’s sauce

Send me the eye balls you had as a child

I don’t want this anymore

I don’t want this imbalance

I want to talk to my brother

And I want to be honest with my mother

Why all the gay love?

Why not?

Why all the secrecy?

I don’t want to lie with my art

Please, just leave me alone

It’s gone on long enough

There are others, they say, and some are so high–have been so high–for months

Come down, nasal propaganda marijuana factory

I’m your best friend TOnight

Or some such

And so it goes on

I don’t do it correctly

I need to rectify the matter

Please just go on without me

I’m capable of holding my own in the rear

Please, brother, tell me more about yourself

I don’t want mother to die and we didn’t know each other while she was alive

Or maybe she will know we will

Or maybe she won’t know a damned thing

Maybe her mattress will engulf her in a burial ritual of fire and stems

And computers and televisions and radio antenna

Why? oh Why? Is it like this

I don’t want to lie with my art

Please, just let me be free

And I want to stop,

I don’t want to be the monkey bending over backward

To you


I don’t want to do this

Just let me do what I want

I’m here in my own memory

I’m working too hard

Help me

I don’t want to lie with my art

I want to end it when I want

And that’s all

I’m still here

But I love you

Don’t forget your trance

Don’t forget that the space

Makes a difference

There may be time to discuss

Our differences

Now is not that time

I will sell you my soul for a bargain

Steal it and the contract is off

Some suns set to the right

Others set in the yard

I’m lost

I’ve accounted for all the hiccups

All the songs in time and stride

When preoccupations of vice and jest disgust your last atom

I spill the wine of blood of ordeal of wine of blood of…

Never the last generation, it continues

Well, I see we all know there may be some solace

But in the individual?

Not much love

I miss so much

And I think of lost opportunities

But perhaps you are happy there

Without me

Perhaps you all are happy without me in your lives

What Were You Looking For?

Into the revellion the ever astute demise of calamity the catastrophic meandering two-step I’ve-got-to-make-it-mean-more-than-this that your parents wouldn’t have wanted for your (but these are just borrowed words)

And these, in our coat pocket withdrawn at the cusp of an edge so lightly intercizing the skin rending in half

the forearm and the mains

I never know whether to mutiplex it or not but have at it in one go and remember your times

I will remember your times

There is no nasal spray but that we often get caught up in memories that are grotesque and try to clear them

So to make sense of it

But in speaking: There isn’t any

What were you looking for?

I always wish it were so, but I only need thing on how easy it is to do. One needs only to make it done to do so. So I shall do, to do, and do as I please, duly.

Now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.

Never mind, we’ll just experiment with some verse here.

You know I never learned the dictionary definition of verse and prose very well. The definitions come to me through experience, reading a lot of poetry and hearing the words spoken, over and over again.

Well in any case, the artistic sentiment has passed. I’ll come back here later if I have something important to say, to pacify myself in this the early hours of the morning / late hours of the night.

Although it does seem a waste to draw your attention to nothing so successfully like this.

I do apologize.