Tuesday, July 28, 2009

.132 (pt. 2 of 2)

bright, like the vatican
in a summer vacation rise,
you startle with your
rare diamond splendor.

as the rings of saturn tighten,
i have a hunch what is,
isn't going to
stay static.


i dreamt that i was sick
when i woke up
i was well

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

The Floor 13

Reading at The Floor at King King in Hollywood.
On the mic with singer Dorthea Porter and backed by Walter Davis and the brotherhood of The Floor house band
With Dorthea, dueting on "i see the pain of practice...",
Dorthea trading verses with me.
(Thank you Dorthea!)

Saturday, July 18, 2009


the newspaper held page
after page of 
violent info,
head busting horror
and furniture ads.

weekend specials
and budget cuts.

and in the back
a 1" x 1" ad.

for caskets.



those tri-colored 
neutron bombs
give way
i can smell bupropion
from 100 paces
i can't stop chewing on
the inside of my mouth


a modern day
using 4 wheeled muscle
to shield steel
from musing
over the side

Friday, July 10, 2009

.127/work in progress

it wasn't just about her looks.

she was intriguing.
she was foreign.
and she seemed like someone i could spend the rest of my life getting to know.
i knew i would never tire of her beauty.

she made me quite nervous.
it always felt perilous.
i always tumbled or fumbled
when she was around.

she made me laugh.
i made her sit up 
and take notice.
i was more charming (than psycho).

"you'll have to work hard for this"
she coo-ed,
motioning down her torso 
with perfect hands.

she thought i was a sucker; 
that i was incapable;
but i took her declaration 
to heart.

the next time i saw her
i had a real job.
i quit doing and dealing.
i ran every day.
i also came back.
i reconciled with my family and 
let go of my anger towards my ex-wives.
i read more and watched tv less.
i became a better listener.
i was being recognized.
i started to succeed.

she was impressed-
so she said.
unafraid - 
i moved forward.

i texted and emailed and called.
i spent too much time thinking about her
and buying her things:
volumes of art and
little blue boxes from tiffany's - 
pure french perfume;
and scandalous items 
via agent provocateur.

i crafted mixes of 
music to swoon by:
marvin gaye and al green. 
roberta flack and donny hathaway.
chet baker and nina simone.

i felt like i was in high school.

i gift-wrapped everything myself-
tight like a hug -
and lovingly -
like a home cooked meal on a Sunday,
instead of family and warmth and 
3 kinds of potatoes - 
ribbons and silk flowers and
hand-painted cards on expensive stock.

all this got me was ripe for failure.

she told me
she could 
never be with me.
afraid of what the answer was,
i didn't ask why.
she offered up
'i'm not attracted to you.'
without thinking, i replied
'you don't even know me.'
after that - i couldn't recover.

she beckoned for a ride to the airport. 
my heart was brick and crumbling
and too heavy to do more for her than i had already done; 
she accepted my emphatic 'no' 
but i actually heard her smirk 
through the phone.

as the departure date loomed near,
my caller i.d. once more
displayed the word utsøkt and 
a photo taken of black lace panties up her skirt.

a cruel and persuasive series
of communiques ensued.
the next day i drove her to the airport.
that was the last time i saw her.

she knew 
when to quit.
i was nothing to her.
just a fan-
trying to get 
to their idol.

as obsessed as i was.
i was becoming more psycho 
(than charming).
that had to cease.
i asked for her help.
but that went unanswered.

my dissatisfaction - 
the end came too soon.
what if i had succeeded
and won her heart?
what would i have won?
makes me wonder.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009


hell yes!
it really gets in the way!
when i'm trying to get stuff done
oh shit! here it comes.

when i'm on the phone
or on my way
it can do me in -
in a heartbeat

a finger snap
is all between
the madness and 
the sanity

it's concrete 
out here!
it's madness 
out here!

it's sarcasm and gossip
and ill will
and unintentional 
fuck-ups out here!

it's slow leaking 
fumes and exposed 
electrical wiring
out here.

it's everything 
you're not
out here...

i'm out here.

Sunday, July 5, 2009


how do you find the time,
the patience
the wherewithal,
to plot and
scheme and
and wait.

it's alone 
that i
crest best;
but how alone
can this
man be?


rolling on fresh asphalt,
the choices of signature being-
seeming like an expansive
black ocean-
and become hateful and heat seeking.

painting yellow cresting-
4 under inflated tires,
a handful of change,
and a hard wet
scarring journey.