Smokin’ lawn on this grass
sand scraping out under my nails
mind in the city in the coast in oz
water washing away when it used to tide in trash
pen blotching pages bleeding trees
busted blaring in the begins of shiny never
drinkin’ a bar on the bourbon barrel
soft tunes in the stomach fattening livers
roads only traveled lead to no where
trees wood in the Fall to burn in the Winter
obsessed counting tick-tocks trimmings teathered to panic
no cares inside the funky licks

take a seat fly choo-choo;
factualize this moment in this morning

af

(written with pen on paper)

a poet
should try to strive for
finding this morning of dreams
sarcasm cannot afford not to be listened to
good shit
pretty good
chicken or the egg
realizing
the words breed the words
the egg
evolved
into
the chicken

i want to feel more life

af

(choice pickings from a free-write)

I heard once that the things on this world
are not where we thought they are
and not the sizes we have known them to be

All along, we have been looking at this planet
upside down, underneath all we have
shit on since this nation’s creation

What goes up must come down

It makes me think…
Why would it ever occur to me to ask if
the world as I was taught is not in fact real, true?

If I am in fact south of the equator right now
then that might mean I could also be no where
close to the time in existence I think I am in as well

Living this whole time ass above head
spinning in an unknown time of existence

Is this true chaos?
Is this evolution?

Time, space…I suppose matter is also a complete misperception

and matter is me…

 
af

(written with pen on paper)

a muse is a moment in life
washing over, cleansing my hesitations
draining all the love and creativity
out of me onto the paper

helps me give and strive and give

the muse keeps me curious
allows my sexual urges
arouses my art
encourages me to lie in lust
accepting no negotiation for my passions

my muse makes me want more
gives a purpose to the game of time
relaxes me so I can listen to the music
to be swept away, overcome

a muse is the only reason to keep on living, learning
to keep on trying…

af

(written in little notebook)

I usually have no reason to talk to anyone
always seem to try but it all sounds the same;
All the small talk, all the chit-chat
Can you believe that (politician)
    How about them (sport’s team)
    I’ve been good, just (same ol’ thing)

Seems no different than keeping to myself
so I ask
How’s life?  Tell me about it.

Shock and outrage
everyone stares at me

You’re not supposed to ask that

Back to the generic life, then
Man, that (weather condition)
Nod, smoke, barely listening
then slowly retreat back to my book
…at least I’ll be bored alone

 
af

(written with pen on paper)

Don’t wait till Halloween
to dress up and play outside with your neighbors
walking around creating make-believe
Don’t wait till Christmas
to be with family, feast and share gifts
allowing yourself to be an utter child
Don’t wait till Easter
to reflect on the sacrifices you feel necessary
being immature with treasure hunts and chocolate
Don’t wait till a day, a season, a year, another time
for a reason to be
who you want right now

af

(written with pen on paper)

I learned about enlightenment,
and I lost all desire to write

I learned what the secret to life is
and now I care no more about words

I learned about silence
and now I have nothing else to say

I learned that it is all make-believe
and I became at peace with being a pilgrim

af

(written on computer)