Archive for June, 2011

Young Ones on Side of Cliff

Tricky patterns in my mind
tip me over into empty Corvairs
going off cliffs with sharp razor
blades flying in my face, spraying
my skull into a full eagle nest
where the young ones are
stuttering out the fact that
I can’t do what I want to do
(to be an artist despite having
no talent for that stupid mission),
and all I can do is avoid the
alcohol that was my false
medicine and hope that some
powerful being will show me
sometime that some thing
I might do might do some
thing to make me feel okay.


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Ha-Ha, Six. Yeah, Six Times Six – A Collage from an Ugly Man

General Malaise, not specific.
Away. She played inside my skull.
Higher powers. Uneven economies.
Thin line. Slip, dead. Find love.
Unconsummated: Failures,
floating in between life.

Seemingly unbelievable asks.
Kind humans gently send me
rewards, fill small universe.
Thick-headed. Remonstrations,
life “preservers,” chance,
dark forest. Crashing impositions.

It’s back. Gratitude soft,
and life. Transitions, hauntings.
Populations sail.
Nothing to confess
goes away. Warmed. Down. Literary
fears. Silky care fills empty buckets,

perhaps. Racing screens,
humans, machines, distant drama.
Mountain. Smoke. Swamps. Lucky me.
How lucky! Survived that.
Don’t make me. Send me away.
Convocations concur.

It’s not my fault? Perish the thought.
Compassionate inspirations
from dark garbage falter,
mutate throughout broken mind.
Searching deeply, inside. Soul,
stop. Me, The Prodigy, dogs.

Twist, baby, twist hard, baby. Twist

for vents. Ideas born,
imprison, penetrating.
Silly crybaby, love soothes.
Kindness sprinkles
foolish esteem.
Forgotten, I’m not totally shitty.

Traveling upwards. Reducing helper-pills.
Mash brings relief. Searching,
percolating crazy. Internalizing.
Want do-overs. Had
frowns, seeking
empty spirit. Love youth’s chances,

almost effective. Circles.
Brain gone missing. Interior,
forbidden air. Hollow. Guilt echoes.
Rough-in terrible caves,
hotly. Run fast. Sit. Don’t stand.
Seeking wisdom, saturated brain,

furiously chaotic, my brain.
Hopelessness caps old day.
Today! Fears jilted. Let go. Hang on.


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My Day in Six Words – 43

“You’re not shy.”




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I need an Editor (More Than Ever)

But not the editor inside

my bashed-up mind.

That editor kills me.

I want a good editor

who loves me

for who

I am.

That is all.

(An editor who likes brevity.)

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Left-Over on Sweet, Swift Day

Hea-vy, bul-

let-proof glass en-ve-

loped the ma-


children in silence: : : : Narrow spill,

o-ver-blown hap-py.

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Gentle with Pink Whale

Harry likes his pink whale.

I like Harry’s pink whale, too.

Harry mouths his pink whale

for hours like he wants to be

a mother. Confusion is whether

or not I want to have a pink

whale, too, or if I wish my

Mother would have treated

me like a pink whale. I had

a pink whale once. She’s still

cute as a bug but she’s grown

and doesn’t need me any more.

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My Day in Six Words – 42

More whoosh,

and I’m toast,


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Office Window Shadorma 2

A silly

bird fluttered in, brave,

baby soft,


moving his head to and fro,

marking carefully.

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My Day in Six Words – 41





almost purposeful.

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Office Window Shadorma 1

Pants hang long,

rural roots shout foul.

Move to street,

spit cancer.

Bounce back to parading dogs.

Grey life smacks monster.

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