29 October 2009

last night i was downtown for a birthday party. at one point i was fairly intoxicated by various things when i was getting berated for playing dungeons and dragons. so i went to a different part of the bar 10 feet away or so to talk to someone else. the conversation turned to me explaining my position on why star wars is more real than star trek. when i was finished, this angry asshole said to me, what if i picked you up and threw you on the fire and burned you alive. explain that to me. and i said, that has nothing to do with star wars. (unless he was talking about burning vader, which he wasn't because this angry asshole probably knows nothing of star wars). so i, being a friendly drunkard, make a friendly bet, saying i bet you 10,000$ you couldn't burn me alive on that fire pit, and then i was about to say something else to clarify that point when the angry asshole picked me up and threw me on the fire pit and held me down on top of the fire. he then pulled me off and said you owe me 10,000$ and i said no because i'm still alive and not burned alive. thinking he was still... kind of joking, and then he said, do you think i'm joking and i was confused. because yes i thought he was joking. what kind of crazy mother fucker tries to burn a complete stranger on a fire for talking about star wars? i assumed he was just a trek fan because he looked like a total douchebag. anyway so he grabs me again and at this point i get serious and im like what the fuck man, what the fuck are you doing you crazy cunt, or something like that. and then hes like im gonna go and i said yeah you better go and then he left and i smoked a cigarette to calm down. on my way out i told the bar tender and he gave me a free drink and told me that if i ever see him let the bartenders know and they will kick him out. FOREVER. i hope i see that angry crazy trekkie cuntbag. not that i would really do anything because im a big nerdy wiener, but i relish in my power of being able to get him kicked out.

27 October 2009

the park

you are not the fog i describe, warm these vents as events arrive;
a holiday garish though, woman laughs--
you recognize it’s gold-leaf rasp
watch in fall as they glide over the dead grass.

25 October 2009

right before getting kicked out of o’rourkes


splitting hairs, here, my honeyed hands,
glued to the glide of autumn hustle.

she makes more bird calls than i care to say,
i say,

& respond, writing words in the stalls,
intimately attached to my wrist, & elbow.

when it’s not gift-wrapped as cats & dogs,
barrels by barrels,

everything sits still, & the smoke saunters,
teetering on the edge of a gutter.

14 October 2009

a whole family of farmers finds water

they speak to the stars & know the weather
years before or after
grow soy beans between their dirty fingernails cleaned
burrying them in blue-jean gardens.
whether bending down over or creeking back up,
their pockets loaded w/ soil,
reaping the maize, fall fields golden ablaze,
they toil, they toil, they toil.
hybrid animal

fuzz tucked under arm, sleeping moon.
a milk line goes, spittle,
she smiles, you think.
feasting from forested phoenetics
& caught drooling down dimples.
not what you were expecting, say to yourself,
mirror, mirror.
her legs gazelle, lark in throat,
repeating everything you say
as if you never said it.
leaving wing beats in your belly, only.
duck killers

being afraid of loneliness,
or attempts to stay that way.
your hand reaching for summer, etc.
asking questions & not answering them
as a note
of depth
line dragging further away from shore line,
wondering where you draw it, a radius of hands
between spirituality & unkempt beard, involuntary fasting.
something goes awkward into the deep end,
where the un-cut-six-pack-plastic-rings—
forgetting the line, taut.
then noticing.
duck killers

being afraid of loneliness,
or attempts to stay that way.
your hand reaching for summer, etc.
asking questions & not answering them
as a note
of depth
line dragging further away from shore line,
wondering where you draw it, a radius of hands
between spirituality & unkempt beard, involuntary fasting.
something goes awkward into the deep end,
where the un-cut-six-pack-plastic-rings—
forgetting the line, taut.
then noticing.

09 October 2009

silent

autumned ribs fold in percussion,
extend drum, nipple from brittle cage.
fingers prod shards of glass, imbedded to make sound,
echoes from mouth toward impending fall
drop scales shed over us
until we are burried above ground.