Richard Nixon

Richard Nixon dressed in crimson?
Bitchin'!
His wife sprawled in the kitchen,
looking like a vixen.
She is a poet without hope,
just like Nixon without the dope.

echoes of crystal eyes

burn crystal eyes! i smell like urine in latrines. i've got blasted blood veins in my eyes. burn crystal healer! i smell like echoes on the fringe. a washout. a hippie. a burner. a shaman. can you feel me, see me, touch me, be me? i am a slave to this world. crystal eyes, can you free me?

effigy mounds

There lay a cluster to the east, that nearly took my breath away. An ancient way of life, guarded by the thunderbird. The fox is sleek and his guile fools no one. Nearby, the falcon swallows his pride and guards the lost generations. The spirits dance at the festival. They move rhymatically back and forth in time, a lost generation gracefully looking up among the stars. To the west, the eagle spreads his wings and carries chosen souls to land. The turtle, deer, and eagle- the moon, the sun, the North Star. My being pressed against the shore of the lake, my heart beating towards the other side.

tea time for two

my eyes feel like a cesspool of fire and ice.
they feel hot, dry, brittle, and weak.
perhaps it's the fact that i am overly tired.
perhaps it's jsut the natural course of the day.
the wind blows miniscule dander towards me.
my eyes are gasoline and the dander is my flame.
burn eyes! you are flammable crystalline structures.
my infinite optical garden, you are my new wonderland.
a cesspool of fire and ice, broken by the spell of night.
i wander aimlessly among the steel infastructure shared with rail cars.
my eyes scan the track of broken tracheotomy.
up and down this landscape, i see eyes burning.
they burn holes in the tracks, and they feed on crystalline ice.
i see the signs, and there are many amongst me.
they warn of the eyes that stare me down.
this is my showdown with the bridges of the county.
they know that i can see them, and they expect me.
i walk towards them, and they fear not.
my fear runs to far-off wonderlands.
eyes dance with pretty little dots inside my eyelids.
hush child, sleep in peace.
this is the day that all eyes burn out.
we may find bliss in this blanked out darkness.

alone in the woods.

there were no people there. there were only a few choice moemories that set beneath the cresting sun. there was a deathly silence, and the air was thick. i could see the wisps of memories fade into the air just as soon as they came. these memories- these memories were sacred. i gathered them carefully, and soon found myself with a beautiful pile of freshly pressed memories. i folded them neatly, and touched each of them for one last time. a heavy sigh came over me, just about as heavy as the air around me. i checked once more. there were no people there. i took a can slushing with deep amber colored gasoline, and let it blanket the memories. there were no people there, and i was out for blood. i watched the memories with a mournful eye as i set out to strike a match. i let it burn down almost to my fingers before i flicked it towards the stack. in a quick flash, i watched all those years, all those memories, and all those people go up in flames. the wisps of smoke faded until i was left with ashes. ashes of my memories, left to fade, left to leave, left to die. cleansed of all the memories, and my thirst for blood satisfied, i returned to the spot where i stood. alone, in the woods, there were no people.

supernovas in the skies

the fade-away dreams of the summer fell into our sunken cavities. we pressed our faces against the drivng forces that overwhelmed us to walk these streets each passing night. in the swift fusion of lights, shapes, and colors, the sky began to melt like swirling colored waxes. my eyes slid back, and my pupils dialated until they were swollen byproducts of miniature supernova explosions in the sky. they blasted and beat down upon my skin. my gentle skin shone in the hairline coherence of the moment. what obstacles i saw were nearly visions in my lobes. i strung together thoughts on the string theory. the mirrors fade away, and what we are seeing is twenty-six adjoining worlds. they spill like swallowed milk unto the spacious bubbles of stomaches. into these worlds, our summmertime skies melt like the rainbows of swirling wax. the sun rises high and sees all before his heated touch begins to melt the day away. all that is begins to retreat until all that we've seen is black. swallowed by a hole as prolific as Doris Day. As we begin to understand where we are, and what is, we hold our beating hearts to our ears as we hear the birth of a brand new star. my gaping, shaking pupils fall into my eye-sockets like fading holes.

almanac mishaps

hold the baby, breathless, under the water's edge.
close is almost too close and he knows not what i've said.
inside he crawls, outside he walks, the same story in his blood.
choose.
don't choose.
we cannot condone this anymore.
further action may be taken, but i doubt that it will come.
hold the baby, breathless, until all our wars are won.

taking a cold meteor shower

my body now begs and questions as i lay down here in bed.
there are a million jumbled messages inside my worn out head.
i can hear the mass-confusion and the binary breakdown brings me dead.
now all i want is a brush so i can paint my dead bed red.

i have seen the gaping holes left in perfect furtures incomplete.
how are you and can you recognize what you have done to me?
my body's calling for an answer but the time of day is all i've got.
and i sit here and i contemplate moving from this spot.

the lights are on, the doors are open, and anyone could come right in.
i could choose to lock the doors, and drown inside a glass of gin.
what would be the fun in that when i could lie here cold and so awake?
thoughts of train cars passing by -which of them are runnung late?

oaks

long before the shores were settled
the natives grew great oaks.
their songs were sung.
their will was done.