You’d probably do about anything for a buck-fifty
Is that what you’re trying to tell me, bud?
Nobody gives a ____ about what you’re saying
Perhaps we should display the qualifications of a refill, so everyone knows beyond doubt whether they’re entitled one
You ____head
You have to be kidding me
You’re probably the guy who asks for a discount because you’re “such a good customer”
What are you gonna use that buck-fifty on man?
Ha, that’s right
You have a point
Another three refills
You ____head


Naked head

Don’t we often forget
That we’re naked in our head
Don’t we often neglect
That our nakedness is like dead weight
Don’t we so quickly forgive ourselves
For our lack of intentionality
To scrub the dirt from our nails



I’m still winging it.
I want to know you have a plan.
Help me to see it.
I feel like I catch glimpses of you from time to time and then you’re gone.
I feel like I understand you a little and then I forget and you are beyond my grasp.
I feel like I see you occasionally and then you subtly slip away much like in the temple when you announced who you were for the first time. And they all became so angry.
I need you to be ever present.
I need an escape.
I am trapped, or in the very least, I feel trapped.
Help me patient and loving and considerate and kind.
Help me to really see you; to seek you.
You claim you have plans for me, not for harm but for good.
I believe you but I’m scared.
I’m afraid of how quickly things can become disastrous.
I’m afraid my hands won’t be so delicate and I’ll crush what’s given me.
Hold me, Jesus.
May I not feel so destined to fail.


Observations on the Catholic School Kids after school before their Parents pick them up
Look at the kids
Dancing to the sound of their inner harpsichord before well-temperament
They’re playing in keys that are slightly odd
And so the children’s dancing
They waltz a three step riff throwing their shoulders forward as if to tackle an unseen opponent
While leaping over top an invisible foe
Who are our invisible foes?
Must we leap over or plow through them?
The children look like marionettes
Atop a mulch and gravel mix that looks of the end of the world and the moon
Children without space suits in a post-armageddon inhabited moon
Dancing a hoppin waltz to the sound of their inner harpsichord

How unfortunate
Is that attitude part of the solution or is it adding to the problem?
How can we be building up
When you’re tearing me down?
I understand you’re not an early riser
But hey, I make sacrifices too
And they’re not always acknowledged by you, at least they don’t seem to
Can we go for a walk?
Can we talk about it, baby?
Use our bodies to express our anger
At this situation
We could make it up to each other
In whatever shape that fits
These are the facts babe, what will you do about it?
(How unfortunate)

Progress is a Idea of Mobilization
Progress, oh, progress ain’t a word
Like one that I have ever heard
It’s intrinsic meaning makes us believe there’s a goal to which we’re striving and reaching like a child for the cookie jar
Oh, such language, such politics
Keeping us from the truth
We’re not getting closer
In fact, if anything, we’re walking in circles
Spinning wisdom, or convention
What the fuck does it matter what you call it
It’s a means of getting people into the system
Into the economy
Are we defined by what we buy?

I want to look over this new shape you take
Investigate the cracks between us
And make their divide smaller
Your anger makes me sad but makes me love you more for admitting it

Each New Day

Why, oh, why does it have to be so hard?
Why, oh, why does it have to take so long to get to where I feel “home”
And then I’m all alone
Then I feel so powerless , turned around and running on empty
And I don’t have your understanding
Shouldn’t it be enough for me to know how this makes you feel:
So stupid, so foolish, such a waste of time to get up this early for apparently nothing at all
I need affirmation, to know that I’m worth it to you, is that too much to ask?
Could you please sacrifice a little time for the one who keeps you up or are you sleeping soundly?
While the waves are crashing loudly
And I am here drowning
Babe, we’re dying more each new day

#18 – Allen Ginsberg, Greil Marcus and the Metrolink

I step out of my motor vehicle and hear two men arguing about the nation
“Our problem isn’t foreign oil dependency, our problem is outsourcing!”
Their arms raised in the air to hammer down the point
All I hear is the speaker box
Skipping across concrete tiles and grey stairways to a live wire bridge I hear the muffled sounds of the 4:28 westbound:
Destination Shewsbury come hell or high water or an electrical power outage
The sound from the train so badly distorted and echoey even the driver’s mother wouldn’t have recognized her baby boy
In the half-oval underground it’s difficult to distinguish the voice of man from the voice of a cartoon monster or muppet
Was it Animal or Cookie Monster?
The next approaching train sounds like the building of the next Midwest storm
Wind rushing towards me from the west as though the skies ass is about to fall out any second
“Attention passengers. The next eastbound train will be arriving in thirty seconds” the speakerbox garbles as if we cannot hear the approaching thunder and whirlwind
Even so, the information flows forth and is oft times ignored, this time too
The train comes to a resting point and doors swing open, I board
Two men with nothing visually in common are talking together
I catch bits and pieces, mostly random bullshit about TV
My orator in the driver’s seat is soft spoken yet firm, his voice is deep but delicate with a slight lisp kind of like he contains some great power yet restrained, but he’s too shy to assert himself noway
Also, he’s too disinterested to extend any more effort than necessary
His sentences are short, having deleted all excess language long ago. Simplified, Efficient
A man in a white polo with light and dark blue stripes who, until this moment, had been seated two seats in front of me, exits the train two stops after I got on
With his white ear phones he is unaware of the chance music surrounding him and the beauty that is found in the distinct combination of those sounds and the sights that created them
The train pummels forward
Powered by some unseen, Edisonian force
We do not chug we glide
and the breaks screech like a baby pig through an iron grinder
I’ve tried nineteen times” the man in the black fedora says so emphatically, as if it’s true, but we all know he’s exaggerating to make his point and I quickly lose interest in his noise
Half way there, stop 3, Central West End
Link to link to link in view; train, shuttle, bus
We’ve gotta get where we’re going even if we don’t know where we’ve been
From time to time I look up and I see the world like never before
This time I see an electrician in his uniform beige grey blue
With glasses, greying hair and a handle bar mustache you can see his kids dangling from like some kind of swing
He’s chewing gum
It was for a second, yet time stretches
It becomes unreliable
What was only a moment
a quick distracting glance has turned into an extended shot and into a scene
A turning point
The sound of trumpets and fanfare
I do not quickly forget his gaze and his crossed arms, his look of “this is who I am, what I do, and what I will continue to do”
Yet his eyes seem to be saying something else
As though his eyes know that he’s seen what he’d rather continue to do
He prays for it, but doesn’t put too much stock into it for what are the chances
A man has to maintain a sense of pride in what he does or he goes…
In the last moments of the train I recall that I have a destination
I got on this train as a means to an end
The trip was for a superficial purpose, not for what it turned out to be
I’m surprised, even startled when I get up
I move to the place I’m going
This is what I do and will continue to do for months
Another 4
or 6
Do my eyes lie?
Do they say I’ve seen the face of God and cannot settle for less?

#17 – Vulgar Tongue

Must we be so silent?
Unable to speak?
As though our tongue is limp and our mind always on other things
I admit that I feel shame only seldom
when I remember that I’ve forgotten you
I do not know why
How can I care for one I’ve never seen?
have hardly felt?
nor have ever heard the sound of speech?

I believe
You care because to you I am infinitely known
How can you not since there is such an intimacy there?
Do I not because to me you are infinitely unknowable?
do I know you without knowing?
do I see you without seeing?
do I hear you? or are my ears stubborn and refuse it
Do they simple filter you out with the background noise of passing cars and of nature’s creaks and of fools babbling?

Can I ask you
Are my prayers more pleasing when poetry?
or do you prefer a vulgar tongue?