Philadelphia Sketches

venus she says silly sally squeezing in stepping up to the bar venus she says to the wonkish willing to please combo meal well-groomed properly scruffy self-proclaimed mixologist of libations loving and lustful

venus she says

while i come in on the tail end of the chit the chat she is ordering she is suggesting she is querying the menu she is eyeing the list of drinks the top shelf

oh she is oh so top shelf alighting as she has in a top shelf over the top vegan ristorante in center city such brotherly love baby i’ll be your brother i’ll be your kissing cousin i’ll be your dog on a leash down at the meeting house i’ll be all ben franklin dirty old man send off my kite into the lightening storm see what strikes my poor richard key

venus she says

yes i do yes i do like it spicy

oh goddamn she be coy

glance tossed over the shoulder coy a little wiggle and giggle coy coquettish coy kittenish coy

that eddies about the room swirling swoon and song and chimera of fred and ginger slip sliding tip tapping frisking frolicking we fall all over ourselves getting out of their way they sweep the room in ghostly gaslight

tap tap tap

even our hooch honcho willy wonka wearing white with black bowtie badly our connoisseur of cocktail our aleman with attitude even he falls he falls over his bottles all neatly arranged in front of the engraved mirror imprinted with a menagerie of baroque curlicues and spiraling whorls and the name not of this bar but perhaps the name of some bar

lost in the past
lost in space
lost in time

back in some story perhaps rooted in the ledgers of ben and the founding fathers those wig wearing whiteboys with wooden choppers

sanded stained varnished

a little sparkle when the sun shines

perhaps the owners simply had it made up down at the custom glass shop down in god’s pocket give the place that little bit of comme ci comme ca let les patrons think what they may what they don’t know won’t hurt them

what they don’t know
what they don’t know

is just a shout away

he our brave bartender he falls over his feet we fall out of our seats the door falls out into the street letting in a cool january breeze

clouds and all

is just a kiss away

and venus she

white bird in a golden cage

alone

venus she

slowly exhales through pursed lips that one demurely diffident eyebrow still arched a fine questioning mark atop hipster-cum-librarian narrow dark rimmed glasses

poised

a deliberate dramatic pause

then

venus she says

i like it spicy but only if you impress me

glancing left glancing right as she speaks ensuring she is noticed she is quite noticeable ensconced in her youngish wharton b-school starched white blouse unbuttoned down to where it’s too classy for cleavage where we all want to be but just can’t find the bus stop

and we just know there is lace down there we just know that lace pervades lace delicately and delightfully denouement

her long and dark silhouette dark raven dark straight hair pulled back so tight into a pony tail that i can easily simply reach out and

grab it
wrap it

around about my wrist yank it back jump on board this overly feminized equus dig in my spurs and still have enough slack left to use the tail as a crop as a whip

leaving pink stripes and hunger

upon what i know on what i can so easily picture imagine sketch a la police artist sitting at the desk with fountain pen and ink are such firm alabaster buttocks

which are right now held firm by this oh so tight pencil skirt projecting proposing such a perfect heart shape callipygian dollop i could i should simply take knife to fork scoop in my spoon hell simply tie a napkin about my chin tie my hands behind my back blindfold myself kneel at the gate of our madonna

swing low sweet chariot baby i got your spice i am your fire your desire your pepper poppin’ prole your piquant picante plebe

put me under lock and key keep me behind cyclone fence come out in the early morning pick a peck of pickled peppers go all locust on my bush strip me bare of all my fruit

oh my sweet’n’low succubus simply show up and swarm me

i’m so willing to impress

come on take a nibble on my pomiculture suck on my seed nibble on my zesty nut i will dazzle i will inspire i will take away your breath with my wasabi whistle white boy wit and wisdom

i will shimmy shimmy shuffle do the hip shake do the snoopy tiptoe dance across your thighs

steam coming out of your ears all bugs bunny like it’s shift change down at the plant down at the factory

love and rockets sugar we’re a hollywood story

john smith and pocahontas
heathcliff and catherine
jett and leslie
tony and maria

we’re never gonna have it we’re never gonna make it work i will sell my fresh new suits on the streets of paris whilst you sell yourself

i will stand in the streets beneath the streetlight and scream for stella

and you will finish your drink you will dab at your lips with a fine linen handkerchief you will give me a grin and a wink you will walk back across the tracks and i can only hope that you will perhaps perhaps give me a backward glance

philadelphia sketches and all that

Singin' Dem Prednisone Blues

goddamn goddamn

tick fucking tock

long breath drawn between pursed lips puckered lips

slow deliberate controlled

one two three
one two three
one two three

one two

one

tick fucking tock

it's two fucking thirty in the morning

i'm wackenroid awake and I can see the cracks in my face showing through the silhouette sliding across the wall not unlike the rat eluding

riki tiki tavi

i can count the cracks

but get caught on three get stuck on three

one two three
one two three
one two three

one two

one

tick fucking tock

i know it's a drug driven manic state of mind that is keeping me out here on my tippy toes on the curb six inches above the road might as well be six feet sixty feet i might even have sixty feet and three hundred toes

goddamn my skin it do crawl

fire ants crawling all over biting my balls nipping my neck ripping my throat

creepy crawly wiggle waggle aluminum foil on the molars oh momma open up a window i can’t breathe don’t you know momma told me not to come

a drug driven manic state of mind that is my own personal combo meal nails screeching down the blackboard with a healthy helping of hellacious heat on

creativity real or manufactured

it doesn't matter as it

this creativity

this faux feeling of invulnerability this exuberance this need to pick up the brush to slide the pen between my fingers to grab scissors and white pasty glue and colored construction paper and poster board and old magazines and photos of worlds past and even of worlds to come

to become the edward fucking van gogh scissorhands of this new century

having just cut off my own fucking ear

and yet i’m still a simple schmuck that just can't seem to burrow up through this depression this heavy blanket of loneliness this desperation this edge of the ledge this plastic bag over the head

one breath at a time one at a time

there are precious few remaining

and still unable to get to the other side still not enough time never enough time a bog so mucky and thick and sucky and slick and my shoes get stuck with a schlurp schlurp and a burp such a trudge to budge only inches at a time

a dog paddle against a chilly current and i just never seem to get there

all the while wondering

where she is

that doubt

that questioning

it isn't here

why am i denied her breath her breathing her rhythm

fuck my body
then fuck my heart
with a simple morning smooch
a ta ta la de da and
a promise to see me later in the week

perhaps perhaps

later in my life

perhaps perhaps

oh god such busy lives such here there everywhere such hokey fucking pokey put your left foot in take your left foot out put your left foot in and you shake that bitch all about

god is looking down from his perch up on high his oh so fucking superior perch his crag his cranny up above us all he is watching me but i don’t care i don’t fucking care

god is watching me but i don’t care

shoo fly
pudding pie
make ‘em cry
i don’t care just get me high

get me high
take me higher
fuck yeah
spin me around
spinning wheels take me to town
bring me home
leave me alone
close my eyes

oh shoo fly i ain’t shy i ain’t afraid to fly take me into orbit let me hook my fingers into your belt loops

got it
got it
got it

tight

take off let’s take off

to the moon

to the moon with you alice to the moon maybe more maybe beyond through the clouds above the clouds touch the sun grab the lightening bolt from old zeus himself tame the flame

i burn for you

let’s talk fire let’s talk of flames inside outside flames oh flames no flames lick ‘em click ‘em flick ‘em walking through the fiery blazes of hell itself

fuck you oprah and your little fire walking with celebrity gurus you're the biggest fucking pollyanna pussy foot i ever did see

let me talk fire let me talk hot let me talk cock hard steel rod hard glistening porn movie hard ron jeremy monster hard takes two hands to handle a whopper hard

fuck yeah

let’s talk of fire

god is watching but i don’t care

i don’t fucking care the clock tick fucking tock it does tick it do tock the second hand it sweeps it races it runs it does yes it does it hums round and round and around

fuck fuck fuck

the heart my heart my broken heart it races as it bleeds my head my spinning head it races these thoughts these theologically lucid thoughts they sweep they run they race my eyes my baby browns they sweep they run they race they blink they blitz they stare they look away they stare they look away

goddamn these nostrils they flare the love it burns like gonna-fucking-rea

but still this love it burns for you

i can count the bricks in the wall count the cracks in the ceiling count the cracks in my face count the specks of dust dancing in the moonlight bursting through the open window count the fleeting moments

one two three

the hairs on my arm stand tall the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall my fucking pubic hairs they stand tall

body electric
mind electric
stun gun baby

tell me tell me tell me no don’t tell me

just lie to me

speak to me with forked tongue signal right go left cut a fucking donut three sixty seven twenty fourteen forty twenty eight eighty fuck me with a frenzy until i’m numb to it all

tell me tell me tell me no don’t tell me i don’t want to know i just need to go i don’t care i just need to know

to stare into the fire

mesmerized

see no evil hear no evil speak no evil

there is no such thing as pain

reach out reach into the flames lap at the flesh let’s blow it up let’s blow it out let’s catch it let’s catch it let’s wake up and piss the world is on fire and we can’t do a thing about it

goddamn goddamn wake up and piss the world is on fire rip off your panties boil some water make me some tea bend you over the desk fuck you with the frenzy reserved for those special moons full moons dangerous moons oh

lawdy lawdy

oh

run run run
we gotta get out of here
run run run
we gotta escape from the burning building nero play your fiddle rome is on fire and no one cares

step on a crack break your mother’s back i don’t care my momma’s dead i don’t care my daddy’s dead i think that there are parts of my soul dead and buried

and god is watching and i don’t care

resurrect me redefine me right is left wrong is right the dick is limp loose is tight god ain’t watching tonight

traffic lights go red

go red
go red

i don’t care four hundred twenty seven cubic inches of fire breathing sword in the stone sword in the heart hari kari the belly spill the guts until death do us part

supuku for your love

slice dice mince meat i hate meeses to pieces let us pray

oh goddess take this bloody heart catch it on fire four and twenty black birds screaming four twenty seven vroom vroom screech gimme a tank of white gas fuck these traffic lights hurts my motor to go so slow look left look right i could fuck you all night write a verse write a song i could fuck you all life long

but when
but when
but when
does it all end

a dick in the hand is worth two in the bush

but when
but when
but when
does it all end

my daddy
he’s seen the end
my momma
she’s seen the end

my world
my world
please please
redefine my world

put up the walls break down the walls press the plunger let’s blow this fucker down let’s blow this fucker to the ground back to the stone age baby i’ll grab you by the hair drag you into my cave drag you down the highway kicking and screaming

where am i

burning in cairo
burning in beijing
burning in kingstown
burning in bombay
burning burning
burn baby burn
the smell of singed hair the malodorous aroma of kiln fired skin blackened honky party and play got nothing on me let’s burn this fucker to the ground i will write your love into my book i will carve my name onto the back of your throat with my cock i will write your love into my book i will burn the book i will fill ‘er up check the oil check the water check the air in the tires don’t put up no stop signs baby i ain’t got no time there ain’t no roses there ain’t no rhyme i ain’t got no rhythm i ain’t got no music all i got all i got is a pack of matches and a gallon of gasoline it's all i can do to make the scene my money it ain’t dirty my money it ain’t clean but baby but baby my money it do be green

god is watching and i don’t care

delilah she say to samson she say cut off all your hair

pack of matches
fire it up
fire it up
snap crackle pop
shizzle zizzle sizzle

i’m screaming
no such thing as pain
baby
i’m screaming
out of control

pack of matches
fire it up
fire it up
four twenty seven gots to get down the road fill ‘er up drill ‘er down ratchet shifter redneck ride bubba tee you can’t hide when i’m sad i slide

when i’m sad i slide

donnez-moi une autre demitasse due petite café s’il vous plait

yeah

shoo fly
shoo fucking fly

shoo these fucking plans these visions of the future where is the now where is the here such plans such silly little plans are so tomorrow

shoo fucking fly

such plans assume there’s a way to the other side that there is more than a flimsy rope bridge over this chasm between love and belief between loneliness and captivity

one side holds such firm belief that the bridge will weather the storm weather the years we’ll traipse back and forth it’s sturdy it’s strong it don’t swing in the wind

one side tsk tsk looking at the frayed hemp rope that is my isolation that is my desperation that

yes

may indeed be fueled by these maddening additives they put in coffee these days may indeed be fueled by the prescription drugs anti-depressant anti-histamine anti-diluvia anti-christ

antidisestablishmentarianism

let me sing these prednisone blues

such a nasty drug these thoughts this faux adrenalin that deny me the escape of sleep that soma path to a temporary purge of you the purge of questions the riddance of why

that right now

it just bounces bing bang bong ricochet rabbit about my brain like some super ball spiked with psilocybin kerosene red pepper and cunt juice

a threatening match stick poised ready on the black strip running the length of my emotion

goddamn goddamn

tick fucking tock

long breath drawn between pursed lips puckered lips slow deliberate controlled

one two three
one two three
one two three

one two

one

tick fucking tock

it's two fucking thirty in the morning

god is watching and i don’t care she craved my craziness she savored my insanity infatuated with my impatience

the wind it tears up the hill through the alley and up the walls and screams for me to open wider the window and scream back to scream back at the very god that is watching me scream back that he has trapped me in this lonely room

god is watching and i don’t fucking care and all that

Viva Las Vegas

surreality surrounds and lingers tries to capture my separating humpty dumpty mind and body as parts and pieces of my soul seeps out into the stale stillness that is this alien world that suggests sin via subliminal messages beamed haphazardly from closed circuit television cameras one-armed bandits and twirling pasties adhered securely to breasts fake and natural little fingers of energy that tickle the balls of my inner satan

tens of thousands of us suckers slide through the portal that is mccarran station as we are ripped out of long winged aluminum tubular birth canals by our achilles heels held high and spanked on our bare bottoms to elicit screams and fill our lungs with the unnatural desert air spiked with spanish fly and a quixotic need to tilt at the ghosts of bugsy siegel and hank greenberg

and we cue up in lines that wind and wend through paths natural and manmade around the outside of the portal little white earbuds attached to jetsonian communication devices attempting to line up business appointments garner envious dinner reservations or more likely simply chit chat with whomever friend or foe we may be able to reach so that we are perceived by others in line to be both critical and necessary and

above all

hip and relevant and in the know

because we all know because we all fear that the moment either of us is perceived as being irrelevant the moment either of us is seen as being slightly out of touch we are forcefully extricated from this persistent game of musical chairs and relegated to the ash pile of trivial impertinence

tis a land of emotional grecian formula which is carefully distilled and distributed in very elaborate and fancy bottles stored by the thousands in rack upon rack upon rack and infused in libations both colorful and powerful served by female automatons injected with silicon and wrapped tightly yet sparsely in spandex and lace

ponce de leon wasted his time in florida he should have followed his compass across the desert as youth is indeed available if you can afford it

and love

well

love it flows freely and it flows with a heavy price love she is like the butterfly one does not wildly chase love down around through the vegas strip one must sit quietly at the video poker bar sipping on call brand spirits waiting for love to approach and she will oh she will

invade your consciousness squat in the dilapidated dens of your morality

and we make our way to our hotel of convenience our own little personal house of holes and because we are a saintly crew we alight in high rise comfort sans casino and without porn on the television but complete with signs plastered all about the room imploring us nee threatening us not to smoke under penalty of law under penalty of fine under threat of public flogging

which we immediately ignore

as we fire up bowls large enough to hold tomorrow’s cocoa krispies bowls filled with imported northern california ganja green and sticky like money

dirty dirty money

and we call our bookies to express our undying faith that alabama can cover the spread and we point our trusty browsers to youporn for inspiration to expend our fresh off the boat seed quickly and expediently so as not to provide an easy round for the anticipated dalliances that we pray will happen

either by serendipity or credit card

our faith in bacchus such that he will provide

and we descend from up on high to sit at the right hand of our savior the bartender and his faithful disciples we sit around on faux living rooms arrangements of sofas and chairs hip but not so overly comfortable as to suggest a long stay as to suggest pitching a tent alongside our faithful desert steeds

and we swap stories both bold and brave of our journeys across sand and stone stories perhaps true stories perhaps stretched and we measure cocks real and imagined we allow them to swing low we cross them as swords we measure them as metaphor

and we consume copious amounts of alcohol pretending that this is something we do every monday evening

while we also pretend to be grown ups doing grown up business things we extol virtues of ethereal products promulgate promises to deliver in the next quarter we’re taking orders now get in line don’t you know you don’t want to be behind the pack

you don’t want to be looking for tickle me elmo on christmas eve now do you our biggest collective fear being that of heading left when the world heads right looking under the bush when it’s up in the tree

and we are constantly scanning the room for fresh conquest for those with purchase orders flowing from their pockets for those with freshly fucked yet available looks for those whom we traveled all this way to see

and there she is

she drives me crazy and i can’t help myself and i must make my way to the bema to sit at the mahogany bar and talk to her she all blonde and buxom and her grin is like a scooby snack lifts me up not by the nose but by my cock drags me floating across the room sailing above the hipsters each and every one peddlers of gadgets big and small their shiny balding heads all bowed down praying their fingers dancing along their smart devices their electronic rosary beads angry birds a modern day parable for jesus throwing the money changers from the temple

and she pats the barstool next to her as i alight dizzy and drunk we enter into the hall of seductive discussion i express my respect for her good taste in drawing me near i sing praise for her eyes for her ears on which i lean over and nibble to which i lean over and whisper my desire for

her throat

soft and inviting and vulnerable

and i carry the conversation pretty much all by myself a burden we of the talented tongue must bear

i wiggle words of wonder and wisdom adulterous alliterations alight from my tingling tongue tickling her thigh without even touching

it’s so fucking easy

her vacuous eyes gazing at all the pretty baubles she admires she touches my cufflinks all shiny and bright and sparkling she touches the silky finish of my handmade in hong kong sports coat she takes my silver earring in her teeth with a growl

she whispers wishes to be rid of this place to find a spot more cozy more comfortable where we might where we may get to know each other a little better a wink a smirk a smooch to the air to the gods of love that hover about above us all

but simple sex seems as boring as taking a piss i beg her give me more fuck my mind suck my spirit grab my heart by the shaft soulfully slide your hand up and down tickle the balls of my brain shove a finger up my asshole opinion

don’t you wanna fauna

i’m gonna go to vegas i’m gonna find my joy i don’t want you any more cause you took my joy yeah you took my joy i want it back you got no right to take my joy i want it back

all i’m asking all i’m saying is tell me a joke give me a giggle lift a little of the load because i ain’t feeling it with you and yours

and i’m distracted by a squirrel running across the bar and some other lovely but lonely lauren clad lad slides in between us allowing me to slip away unnoticed to join comrades arm in arm out into the night to be swallowed by the dry desert air lit by moonlight and neon by a monster limousine that whisks us off to spinning wheels and rolling dice and tits in tuxedos that shuffle cards and deal dreams

queen six gotta hit queen seven gotta stick

and the piles grow and the piles waste away til the rhumba thumba of club tao beckons and the past midnight boogie begins we go all john travolta more pulp fiction than fever

oh momma where’s my uma

where is my drink better get another and another hot to trot waitresses never let us down they are always there it seems whenever we turn around whenever we find ourselves empty there she is tray in hand shots of bourbon of tequila of absinthe

of our sin

open up the window i need to catch my breath stop the world and let me off

and the music ends and the morning begins and our chariots whisk us back to the village inn where we will be escorted to our own very special little ten by ten luxury cell with its king size bed all turned down with a chocolate on the pillow next to the cardboard hanger suggesting breakfast be delivered at any time we may choose

and we stumble back and forth across the room turn on the television tour the offerings while we take the time to properly disrobe fold our clothes and hang them in the closet perform our night time ablutions slowly wash our faces with temperate warm water brush our teeth

we cling to the little rituals we hold on to tradition

because we all fear the day we all fear that point in time when we merely collapse fully dressed on top of some pallet on some floor in some fleabag motel found downtown off on some side road three blocks over from the strip

pass out and collapse in our blacked out state

drown in our own vomit

viva las vegas twenty twelve and all that

Missed Connections

November 24, 2011

right at home being lost - m4w - 50 (russian hill)

Date: 2011-11-24, 10:21PM PST
Reply to: your anonymous craigslist address will appear here


there you were standing on the corner of leavenworth and green you wore a paisley scarf about a throat that i know must be tender soft inviting...vulnerable. your shoulder length hair is it blonde is it a sandy brown it was hard to tell in this late november light, the wind blowing it a bit sporadically, in its hilltop gusts. you seemed to know where you were though you glanced up at street sign and house numbers as if you were lost...i know that feeling i live it constantly have become somewhat comfortable in my confusion.

i was walking toward you, from union, longish hair, glasses, a long coat over my button down shirt...

you disappeared and all i remember now all i have left is the click the clack of your heels on the sidewalk...


November 25, 2011

eyes and throat - m4w - 50 (north beach / telegraph hill)

Date: 2011-11-25, 6:52PM PST
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you were in a jewelry and crafts store maybe you worked there maybe you are friends with the woman who did i came in with a friend you were talking i bought a scarf you smiled i bought your favorite one or so you say maybe it was a line maybe you're a craft store b-girl sitting at the bar making us guys feel comfortable and cocky with our wallets but i saw your gaze as you spoke i noticed the sparkle in your eyes beneath your knit hat i noticed the loveliness of your throat naked because yes i bought the scarf...


November 26, 2011

hill-spiration - m4w - 50 (russian hill)

Date: 2011-11-26, 12:21PM PST
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i walked up hyde from its beginnings or endings depending on where you set your emotional compass you were three steps in front of me and before you even reached beach you had stretched your arms above your head and shed yourself of your top layer i begged you to shed even more but did so quietly to only myself my momma she raised a gentleman you crossed the cable car tracks kept going up hyde i followed matching you step for step up the hill my eyes swinging with your hips the base of such a sweet hourglass the sand trickling down trickling down trickling down you paused at the light at north point i looked both ways and kept going passing you only so i could get that glimpse of who i followed putting a face to a figure then i paused on the other side to check my phone and you leap frogged back ahead of me and we kept climbing on up hyde up up up your sweet wiggling stride guiding me pulling me up the hill your hands went behind your back clasped together as if they alone could push you on up we walked leaning forward walked until my enthusiasm pulled me alongside you where i said something corny not wanting to stop mid-slope and break the momentum knowing that if we did we would never get to the top but you smiled and i grinned because sweet smiles drive me cheshire

and then i lost you in the group of tourists at the top of the lombard street hill

Hardly Strictly

me the black seals a few of us in our stoned drunken glorious euphoric acid baked pod encapsulated within among amidst the multitude we gather in the meadow gather together to celebrate to immerse ourselves

to listen learn participate

doctor john having sailed his psychofunkadelicious whitebelly blacksoul riverboat self all the way here from that french confederate creole haven our majestic lady with a perverse jambalaya of petticoats rye whiskey french reds latex and blindfolds

the city of new orleans

doctor john having come to join us all in reverie and merriment come to join us all in these hardly strictly shenanigans of bluegrass by the bay deep within the whimpering fog long since defeated by the early october sunshine

right place right time

and we the black seals a loose confederacy of dunces of former adherents of the faithful grown older with our aches and pains but looser with our morals and attitude

comfortable in a certain aura of what the fuck that tends to ward the harsh from our mellow

and for that we are grateful

and we the black seals who many a year ago came together about around a bottle of black seal rum imported all the way from that colonial home of knee length shorts and sock garters grown from some rock out in the atlantic ocean imported to our baghdad by the bay

oh what a world

what a world

a gathering around this bottle not out of any committed love for black seal or even rum in general

but rather simply from the inspiration of the moment

one pill makes you smaller

and we the black seals we now gather many years later here in our decrepit presence we now gather to express our love and admiration for doctor john our momentary journey into the heart of blacklit darkness a delving into sunday morning irreverence doctor john our own personal jesus of the hour our own personal satan

god is love is jesus is satan is god is love is jesus is satan

and we the black seals we who yes openly practice idolatry of the most blasphemous and perverse manner we shake our hips we wave our arms we do the funky chicken

we play air guitar air banjo air piano

we play air fiddle with a grin and a giggle

and we give thanks for our sacred church of the temporary respite because regular life won’t let us behave this way

and we pursue our own personal vices be they weed women or wine

and we oooh we ahhh as a big pink balloon comes bouncing back through the crowd launched from some amorphous virginal birth canal up near the stage up it pops bops floats

guided by its own faith its own fate

anonymous hands outstretched rising up above the mass of shaggy waggy bags of flesh and hair jiggling wiggling fingers dancing

here is the church
here is the steeple
open the doors
and see all the people

big pink balloon bouncing bopping

the people wanting only to touch his garbs they say oh they do say he has cured the sick raised the dead

and on the third day the big pink balloon bouncing bopping a gift from the goddess herself she who so loves the world that she farts bubbles of balloons spews them upon her worshipers and on the third day her spawn settles upon a sharpened nail

bursts

with a pop

just like that cycle of life

big pink balloon bops and pops its bloody remains plummeting to earth only to be picked up by an errant seagull who swoops down leaving a jet stream of biologic jetsam and anal jism upon the knit cap lidded cowboy hipsters from the mission an avian packrat fascinated captured by the shiny bauble that is this fragment of latex

who flies away carries it over the hill soaring with its mates over the presidio over crissy field over fort mason along the coast down to fisherman’s wharf circling down to land amidst the fatcat sealions piled one upon the other on the dock at pier thirty nine piled up in some orgiastic slithering and braying bacchanal

one of whom snaps at this avaricious avifauna specimen startles shakes confidences the shredded corpse of our savior the big pink balloon flips flies up into the air

a slow mo tumble cartoonishly animated by sparkles of salty sea sweat

snagged on either end by two other feathery cousins who pull tug stretch jesus armstrong across the span of its invisible cross that we bear

till it snaps yet again our buster keyton savior flip flopping air amoeba tumbling pink cotton candy only to land within the random trumpeting snout of some bubbling bull sea lion

in mid coitus

its rigormortic aquatic cock let loose upon his harem a finny fuck for any and all

who gulps swallows screams a horribly murdered prostitute pre-ghostly wail rolls over his rooster pointing sunward tongue flailing into an effervescent gurgle

a gagging

a sudden stillness

a still silence

a blubbery cock cooked cadaver surrounded by panicked females

witnessed by a towheaded minnesotan all of two and a half years on this here earth who up until this moment had been laughing and pointing at the silly seals while sitting comfortably in his daddy’s arm but who now also

sits still and silent

scarred

who we know will grow up this scene etched in his memory a cave painting of satirical savagery that will haunt him in his loneliness as he ages that will keep him awake at night force him drive him to a career as a midnight to dawn disc jockey of shocking proportions in the northern lake region near the canadian border pandering to anti-immigrant sympathies those who loathe the pasty skinned canadian interlopers who sneak down here to the land of milk and honey to the land of opportunity

to the home of the brave

to become one of god’s select

a fallen saul blinded by the expiring otariidae on his trip to damascus many years before a sinner who we know will grow up to seek desperately needed help from the easy high of cocaine

who we know will grow up to go from cocaine to rehab

from rehab to alcohol and nicotine and back to rehab

from rehab to jesus to crystal meth and back to rehab

from rehab to four day a week freudian analysis and ecstasy and enlightenment to wandering the land across the plains across the mountains across the desert clad only in a burlap robe and carrying a bowl to accept alms and morsels provided by the faithful

to wander through the crowds the committed we the hardly strictly devoted who believe in the father the son the doctor with a feather in his cap

we the black seals

we who are grateful we who are blessed in our stoned drunken glorious euphoric acid baked pod encapsulated within among amidst the multitude who gather in the meadow who gather together to celebrate to immerse ourselves

to listen learn participate and all that

Austin City Limits

it had not rained the mercury had not dropped below a hundred in forty days forty nights maybe more

god had wrought holy hell upon the landscape inflicted drought pestilence disease and fire on all that is this home to prairie dog coyote horny toad and fire ant

god had peered down upon wetback and redneck alike and she had declared a war of biblical proportions upon their

sinful sodomite souls

god from atop her mountain seared brown the grass the trees the bushes she boiled the lakes ponds and rivers fried chicken alive within their very own feathery coats sizzled bacon in the stye fricasseed the frogs as they tried to cross the road

just trying to get to the other side

a land so barren and wasted a little morsel of hell sliced off by satan and flipped out of the frying pan into the fire god herself ignores the locals their selfish solicitation for relief in the form of self-righteous pleas for salvation god herself won’t even bother to squat and dribble on this parched scrub that is

texas

the corn don’t grow
the beans don’t grow
the cotton don’t grow
the watermelons they all dried up

a people so guilty of letting loose a pox upon the world a people who threaten to do so again such hook ‘em horns hubris such a land lacking humility

texas

and from such a miserable fuck of a place from the hearts the souls the tickling tongues of such a miserable fuck of a people comes some of the simplest songs of the finest melodies and for such beautiful music we flew into austin from san francisco pulling behind us a bucket of fog to spread generously upon their toasty white bread selves

we circled round and round dipping our long-haired beatnik flower child ladle into the bucket dear liza dear liza drizzling drops of lecherousness lust and love doing our best

our profound earnest best

to douse or at least calm the contempt that just seems to simmer beneath this griddle that seems to keep alive these fires of

i have
you don’t

we sky sailed down from the heavens mary poppins’d from parasols of hope dropping into the fray dropping into the cauldron double doubled toiled and troubled hopping skipping through the security gates manned by uniformed officers of the law and corporate managers of commerce sporting white starched short sleeved shirts skinny ties and heavy duty industrial strength bold black buddy holly glasses

both quoting heavily from the book of revelations

our kind california green bud nestled safely though a bit uncomfortably in body cavities best not described our own attitudes worn callously on our sleeves

my own personal jesus lifting her skirt and climbing up upon the cross i bear a cunt so sweet as to be the honey in my tea the ginger in my ale the doctor in my pepper the branch with my bourbon

following the music around from stage to stage finding shelter in the shade beneath the spread of the live oak when we could

dust dancing inside the intensity of the rays of life of lies when we could stand to be in the kitchen when we could stand the heat

she swung her hips full and inviting inside a hula hoop as the tall negroe man with a borrowed artsy monicker rapped rhyme and verse her arms raised above her head her breasts bobbing on the downbeat

she strutted across in front of me wearing hot pants halter top and cowgirl boots

she leaned over in front of me showing off luscious globes of joy

she stood in the middle of the field her court jesters standing around her surrounding her shaking bottles of water on her her hair her blond silky smooth shock of hair braided and dreaded down a pale sister in wolf’s clothing

she wiggled those little piggies in the dirt this one to market this one staying home this one eating barbecue at stubbs this one having a vegan meal along with the hippies down on fifth street and this one taking a wee wee on my leg in the shower

goddamn she gets my goat
goddamn what a goatfuck
goddamn goddamn

and i sat in my dee fucking luxe folding chair complete with headrest and cupholder tapping my foot like i had the shaky leg tapping my fingers on the aluminum framing keeping a beat with the drummer from social distortion trying to keep up with the beat laid down by naz and damian walking the boogie strut down in the ghetto with stevie trying to weave in and out of the gomez riff spinning around with pretty lights climbing crescendo with cee lo occasionally reaching into my pockets discretely pulling out a baggy of kind green love bud stuffing my pipe looking around for big blue meanies packing heat and lifestyle opinion

flick flicking

my little green bic belying the burn ban waving wafts of godbreath swarming my soul cleaning out small pockets of memory with a feathery duster doling out dopamine by the dram

i am a priest of the sacrament my incense swinging from spice balls on a chain my manhood swinging long and low on a mood

wagging my finger in two four time a little tsk here a little tsk there

waving my cock like fucking excalibur like a fucking divining rod wandering through and over the fields hill and dale beseeching the gods for respite and by the third day the clouds they all bunched up held their breath until their cheeks turned black

oh sinners let’s go down
down to the river to pray

and by the third day she relaxed let loose her kundalini sprinkled her holiness upon us all upstanding citizens and sinners alike

and by the third day the masses looked heavenward intentions of impetration in their eyes in their dust ridden nostrils arms outstretched remorse dripping from armpits raw and aromatic

and still they point at

them

yes the them that are not us

so willing to sacrifice fresh blood so willing to set to the stake the souls of the innocent so willing to toss them all into the lion’s den so willing to clip sam phillips of his hair

j’accuse motherfucker

divert the attention of the gods the old spiritual bait and switch rock and roll and hip and hop just ain’t enough to cleanse the spirit just ain’t enough to send them to rehab

we those who are not texans true tejanos are nothing but faggots and fornicators tatted and tainted pierced and pissing our pants

we are driven outside of the

austin city limits they squeeze us in by the third day they close in by the third day austin city limits they just seem so small and

yes

limiting

by the third day we climb back in that jet plane don’t know when we’ll be back again

and all that

metro park

fucking pigeons

winged rats

they don’t give a fuck they don’t give a flying fuck they dance in the street pecking at shit bug shit bug guts mice tails and ears they dance in the street daring the cabs in line to run them over waiting til that last second that urban version of chicken

no orthogonal pun intended

before either the cabbie can step on his brakes or swerve or interrupt his otherwise fairly calm and normal vector through the metro park train station looking for his own pigeon

or it this pigeon it flutters up and away free and clear not a scratch not even a drop of sweat on its brow

how can that fat feathered fuck get up and out of there out of the cabbie space that space that rapidly evolves from asphalt black to cabbie yellow that is the cavalry crossing the bend of the river at wounded knee

how can it escape so quickly

there must be some life lesson lurking about

something deep

the clashing of grand universal ideas of cultures lost in some fathomless history only to rise up as some new age post hippie tie dye fad complete with crystals tarot cards and the dried bones of road kill rodents flipped with the full faith and foreplay afforded such sacraments onto the dusty ground

well she turned me into a newt

and there must be some kind of life lesson here but maybe i’m just a pigeon

not really giving one flying fuck either

i’m down with a good game of chicken and don’t you know i’d love to

flip fly float through the air drop a load at will on any windshield

or hell

even better

on some hipster’s chapeau du pork pie

i do oh i do especially want to splatter some smooth silky chunks on one of those gay-ass lavender lids some skinny jean wearing ben davis shirt sporting shaggy sans scoobee doo glancing up just as i dive bomb down all kamikaze screeching claws all stretched forward like i’m some sort of renegade redtail hawk

pulling up just as he looks up

bomb doors open bombs away load glances lavender lid brim pork pie purple done got spotty

i loop-de-loop to the top of a telephone pole

watching

harry hipster hands wiping at his face lips moving murmuring something foreign and vain betty faux beatnik his soon to be ex-girlfriend

she laughs

but i’m just a schmuck on a bench at the metro park train station somewhere in new jersey somewhere between newark and philadelphia only minutes before i had been sailing along sitting comfortably in my first class seat on the amtrak acela

the conductor dude seeped simmered and boiled in his deep jamaican accent he says

ticket please

i hand him the ticket the one that the guy in newark sitting behind the bullet proof glass that transparent wall that keeps me from him and him from me the guy in this uniform complete with plastic identification badge hanging around his neck on a red plastic lanyard that looked

perhaps because i had just spent five very brownie stoned hours on an airplane from san francisco to newark

strangely like a twizzler

tickets that this amtrak amboy had given me had slid through that little scooped out plexiglass hole

that i had given to my responsible rastafarian requestor his dreds hanging low swinging low beneath his conductor’s cap who said all sing song hey brother man maybe you got other tickets these no good these for different train

and i shrug and he shrugs

and at the next stop the metro park train station stop a sweet little suburban stye with lovely shops and green leafed trees and jersey shore refugees japped out moneypennies lifting their lifted mugs up from behind the wheels of black mercedes and lexi lined up to pick up the bread winner to provide carriage home for lord and master for he who brings home the bacon

and at the next stop the metro park train station stop i exit stage left grumbling and cursing and embarrassed

to find a station agent adorned with accoutrement similar to his conducting cousin his amtrak associate who is also behind a glass wall that keeps him and his world just beyond the grudging grab of my jealous reach

who says

in his south philly finest tongue twisted up with ancestral gullah

he say

he shouldna done that why he do that he shouldna done that

and i shrug and he shrugs hands me another ticket tells me informs me the next train comes along at eight thirty four i look up at the

clock that cannot be wrong the cocksure chronograph passed down from god herself

and see that it’s only seven oh two

and i stumble around the mini terminal all antiseptic with its red brick tile and post-eighties ergonomically enhanced anti-recline plastic benches i am baffled and bounced between buying gas station coffee and a sara lee cellophane wrapped blueberry muffin from the faux seven eleven only three dollars fifty three cents or a bag of roasted nuts gathered in peaceful coexistence with the amazonian rainforest and all its godly creatures and an aseptic container of caribbean coconut water from the gourmet yes gourmet said so in big orange letters coffee place that had only just now completed the end of day scrub down of its big ass brass brought over from italy on a clipper ship espresso maker and was no longer serving coffee

i finally bite the hook that is baited and set in liberal yuppie school that preaches from pulpits on high that nothing that cost less than five dollars can possibly be good for me i need colon cleansing i need my guilt assuaged i desperately require reminding that i am of the uber hip cool

i mean just naturally so

and i fork over the ten and receive a few coins of change and then wiggle then wander out of the terminal out of the station into a little plaza between track and parking lot a lovely little clearing with a ribbon of road looping through

kiss and ride and taxi cabs and black lincoln town cars and black lincoln navigators

and a couple of benches beneath the couple of trees standing watch hessian mercenaries imported by landscape architects working for

the man

the city fathers whose dual purpose is to increase property values and warn the riffraff to keep away

unless of course they’ve come to town to clean in and around the neat little brick houses and their environs

and i claim my bench as dusk dabs its brush across the sky reds and oranges backdrop for black cotton balls bobbing on their threads tied tethered to old man moon

a sky strapped gulliver

he wants to leave her but he just can’t pull himself away

and i claim my bench beneath the tree stretch my arms wide settle back into the wooden slats

they give a little just a little

open myself up to all that metro park has to offer i let her grab me by the hair and assume a dictatorial position over me she has her way with me

as the pigeons they puff and peck the pebbles pushing them across the pockmarked pavement

prudently

preciously

permissively

and the clock it ticks it tocks i need the big hand to click off ninety some jumps around and around i got time i got nothing but time such a modern world in which we live such an era one can wake up on monday morning in san francisco go grab a cuppa

and a few hours later and our hero he is in some town in new jersey trying to make his way to philadelphia

just like old ben franklin i wonder if before he decided upon immortality atop that building in the city of brotherly love if perhaps he too had sat upon a bench in metro park

and a cab driver wearing a turban baggy polyester pants and sensible shoes walks up and down the sidewalk in front of me he walks down to the corner of one end of the sidewalk he turns around he walks up to the corner on the other end of the sidewalk maybe a total of thirty forty yards

i ask him if he’s counting laps if he perhaps needs a trusty sidekick to click them off as he walks back and forth

to and fro

and he smiles he says from beneath a full beard he says no he says no thanks he says he’s just stretching his legs he’s in a cab all day he’s just keeping it real he asks me if he can drive me some place

me i smile i say from cheeks smooth but for a smattering of whiskers pretending to be a five o’clock shadow i say no i say no thanks i say i’m just waiting for my train i’m enjoying the evening i’m not in any hurry

and so we leave it at that and on the next couple of laps he glances over and smiles and nods and smiles but after a few more passes he doesn’t notice me any more and i don’t really notice him any more and we’re simply background for one another

a meditative meme

and i quietly slide a joint from my pocket and flip open the lighter the engraved zippo given to me on my birthday by man pete

been walking god’s green earth for fifty plus years and i know what from what

and the zippo flame it ignores the slight breeze while i inhale the sugary smoke alongside new jersey fresh air i release it moments later my lips tickling the exhalation massaging the vapors to take shape to take form

a ring of course

and a bunny and a chipmunk

and a bag of pretzels

and every once in a while a group of people bursts from the terminal a stream really of those coming from points north or south cell phones to ears briefcases in hand or backpack on one shoulder or another they dissipate into the parking lot the town cars the cabs the awaiting mercedes or lexus

a bustling of activity and languages varied and accented that peaks then ebbs into the relative silence that slowly wipes across the palette that is my world tonight

and this kid this young adult a teenager with baggy jeans exposing boxer shorts a tee shirt adorned with some faded logo he appears in one of the bustles though i don’t really think he came from the terminal but from some other point of ingress i notice him wandering around talking briefly to one or another random adult

his hands in his pockets his shoulders scrunched up around his neck as if he is warding off a chill that can’t that couldn’t actually be

and as this pod of commuters dissolves into stillness he is left standing there in the middle of the plaza looking around slowly looking around

he chats up a young black woman maybe she’s a teen maybe older i can’t tell she talks to him for a minute or two then slowly shakes her head and disappears into the parking deck

and then he spots me sitting on my bench my ignored joint extinguished from lack of attention and dangling from my fingers he strolls my way and i get this sinking feeling

i am to be driven from observer to participant from spectator to player

and he sits on the opposite end of my bench the bench i had only just claimed as my own he leans forward elbows on thighs head in hands and i glance over and he glances my way

and he asks me if i have a cigarette and i say no and he says thanks anyway and i ask him how it’s going tonight and he says it’s going ok and i ask him where he’s headed and he says he doesn’t know he asks me hey how far is trenton he needs to get to trenton he has a place to stay in trenton

and i say i don’t really know can’t be that far probably too far to walk though

he says he’s in some program something called youth services they have a place for him to stay if only he gets to trenton and we talk for a while about school about how hard it is about work how hard it is to find a job for the summer we talk about the phillies and how good they are about the mets and what a joke they are

he tells me he needs to call his mom he tells me he hasn’t eaten today

my radar goes up my spidey senses tingle i don’t want to be the traveling rube i want to be street smart and cool i want to be hip and hep and cold and calculating i live in the city i’ve heard every story i’ve heard the lines before i’ve walked through the haight in san francisco where all the wannabe punks come in from outer suburbia to sit on the sidewalk and bum bills and coins

i don’t want to be the pigeon from out of state

but

yeah there’s a but

it’s not like some overwhelming wave of sympathy overcame me it’s not like some elitist guilt poked me in the liver it’s not not like jesus sat on my shoulder and whispered in my ear

more like just one of those things that i’m just supposed to do i walk him back into the terminal i offer to buy him some amazonian nuts but he asks if he can instead opt for a muffin and soda

like it was some mcdonalds happy meal hiding a cute little toy promoting some recent movie or saturday morning cartoon

and i buy him a ticket to trenton and give him some spending money

and i watch him smile i hear him say thanks i watch him bound up the steps to the tracks two steps at a time the energy of youth carrying him up to catch the train as it pulls into metro park

and then he is gone passing from sight dissolving into the crowd that exits the train

that exits my metro park world and all that