What We Know

We know that fleas jump
and dogs bite-
I have known some men who cheat and
many women who lie...
I listen and learn and
not keep score in the corner, but to study
how to
strip a hater's traits
like a boy plucks a flies fly-

Don't ask me
I don't know why
I have to get out what's inside
this ain't what's going on inside your mind
this is mine and I've decided to share it


Is not yours like mine?
Then, fine, let there be no tie
Separate all you want love from grace
Good on you if you can, not really my thing-

I mow the lawn,
I collect the clippings.
My grandfather's barn
not beneath me around me
swirling like molasses
on a stick-
(if you listen closely you may make out the
panthers in the mix)
I do not fear the size or quickness of any man's fist.

By now you'd think I'd done enough thinking
about chain link fences tipped with sharp reminders
of my own tendency towards enemy nature

Maybe that's where we get the nerve to get that
paranoid feeling
when we are stripped of routine.
Ladybugs don't stop to swerve and re-consider
like the drunk at a crosswalk
unsure of any real reason to go.
Horses don't run into trees.

May I?

e-a-b-e

e-b-a-e

b-a(v)-g(v)-f#m(v)-e

b-a(v) -g(v)-f#m(v)-e



Will I swallow
I will swallow
my pride;
I might as well,
I have nothing to hide.

Will I swallow
I will swallow
my pride.

Oh, but I get the feeling
it won't it be
will it,
be
as easy as I was hoping it might
Oh, but it won't it be
will it,
be
as easy as I was hoping.


(I will or I won't
If I don't I will be willfully wallowing in lies
Will I swallow
I will swallow my pride.)


Yes,
be sure I
will hold any position;
I have confidence in stating
any position to be sure.


Can I
find protection in my documents and still be
spearing, sparing no heart?
Found sparing no quarter?
Explore no joy in killing joy;
revealing moral character-


Have I not:
constructed criticism? marked for removal? insisted on justice? held love gently like the last of the water?

(Will I forgive and swallow my pride;
one is forgone, the other is concluded.)

Will I swallow
I will swallow
my pride;
will I swallow
I will swallow
my pride...

Oh, but it won't it be
will it,
be
as easy as I was hoping it might
Oh, but it won't it be
will it,
be
as easy as I was hoping.


Either it will or it won't
it must be done or we won't
end the cycle of don't do what we don't
I feel moved as if by remote-
yeah, as if by remote.

And:

I will or I won't
If I don't I will be willfully wallowing in pig shit and lies
Why would I do that? I have nothing to hide.
Will I swallow;
I will swallow my pride.

The answer to one question to share
before I die-
Why must we wonder why love must be denied?

"...and crown thy good with brotherhood..."

I truly am trying not to
but,
and this is no excuse
I
care about what is going on around me-
The pendulum is in a whirlwind.
I stare and the world is still turning;
this is apparently all the proof most need to worry about their credit or
credit debt-
I stare at my house, burning.
I see now that the rafters have decided the fate
of we who must be crushed beneath their fiery weight.
I am not even looking for the oxygen that is left the room.

I soak in the moments of less heat-
adjust my paradigm to this new pain-
I truly am trying not to, but-

Warning: if you are reading these, and not reading them out loud, you may not complain that you do not understand

i don't want to steal your joy
i guess that is an unintended consequence
i didn't mean to awaken your conscience
i wasn't going to call you out but
i thought you would be awake by now
i have been watching you move your mouth
I have re-trained myself not to only pounce
not to be Pavlov's dog
the bell rings and i go off
no harm intended
and when is it ever?


two problems will require two solutions
more often than we are willing to look for them
if the second bird goes un-eaten, then the wasted effort saved is again re-wasted
finding a truth in stereotype is not ever going to justify hate

this is not about taking away your mania
i don't even need you to be evened-out pavement
this is not that you cannot have anger
not a confrontation
not an intervention
i don't make the rules
just level your tempered
steel reaction
to the actual situation
and keep on your mind the thoughts others have
not for you to see their judgment of you
but so you can see past hasty self-improvement tactics
into
what is happening outside of your eyes

your
shifty mind


i know we both think we tried
i've re-written this a thousand times
still, it's not quite what I wanted to say
you caulk the frame
cannot gauge the loss
bar the reason
en-cage the riot
I have an Idea-
instead,
be quiet.

Yeah!

Let's talk about your protective outer shell
Please, let's discuss how this barrier wins-
If the exterior world is still in your face and
despite your excuses
the hatred still exists-
On and on and on you go about the necessity of
hiding in your little room; staying in your self-defined milieu
creating the logic that has twisted
and now will eat you.
More about how clean your soul is,
less about this bullshit that surrounds you you say.

Can Kicking

It may well be in whispers
but the story will be told-
No more kickin' the can down the road

You can print it in italics
Shit, print it in bold-
There will be by me no more
kickin' the can down the road

Problems will crop up on their own,
sure, as we know, but
denial's misfortune is my wisdom foretold-
Each day's trouble is sufficient to it's own
No more kickin' the can down the road

I used to claim genius,
dressed for the job I would have in time-
Little did I know it was the job I held at the time.
I do it today-
I'll be at work the day I die

I hear you say recognize me;
funny, I don't look the same-
If you knew my face, you can be sure
I don't know your name

It may well be in whispers,
yelled or telephone sold...
but the story will be told-
There will be by me no more...
no more kickin the can down the road.

I Write Stories Too

The following is a true conversation between two idiots I overheard in gym class while the teacher, a guy named Rock, no joke, had stepped out, before push-ups and stretching, when we were lined up against the south wall:




hey
hey what
put that in there
put what
this (holds safety pin)
what?
put that in there
no, i know, no way
yeah
no
put this in there
no
c'mon take it put it in there
uh-unh
pussy
fuck you
fuck you pussy
fuck you
c'mon put it in there
no
(3rd) he's coming back!
pussy.
pussy
fuck you
fuck you
fuck gimme that


OW!


(laughter)

what the fuck dude
ha ha ah
yer fucking stupid, dude.
ow
ha ha aha ahahaha
dumbass.
I hate you.





OKAY WE ARE RUNNING LAPS TODAY

Blessed Baby

Move these boulders
we are soon to be-
Soon to be amazed by the shoulders we're over
We've been gliding, coasting, never-ceasing, not boastful-
the smudge of hard work still gets "dirty elbows"
"scraped knees"
Mr. Happy-face-day disappeared (...and if it isn't what is it? and if it is, what is it? what is it if it isn't?)

Blessed baby be, so that I am moved by the boldest of deeds
not just actions I witness
but the ones I know and do Not see
Wizened and brazened, approved of by the eldest,
Wrapped in soft worn blankets
Quilts of an age-old child's dream.

She is not a seal-

she is not a seal caught in an un-intended net
not a spider whose parachute cut loose and is now cast upon the wind
she is not the mite whom, upon jumping on a bird
is moved from Denver to Albuquerque
and then moved back again

she is not the answer to my un-spoken prayer
she carries not the whisper of my mother's hair
she is not the concrete missing from the frame
stairs, steps, walls, roofs,
foundation, weather-vanes

how will I ever write the letter to her if I never let her leave?

Big Love Baby

From an upcoming release on Imaginary Records
\\\
The New album from legendary soul man Fine Print
\\\
A YouMixItProduction
\\\
"Exploration in a new and different sound than any of us expected." -no-one so far
\\\
Don't Be Sad, It's Only The Blues
\\\
featuring 4 new works of middling incompetence JUST LIKE THIS ONE!
\\\
And "Big Love Baby", now playing in his head!






I gotta big love baby
I gotta big love for you
I gotta big love baby
Mama I swear it's true

right here in my pants
I gotta biig love for you
right here in my pants, baby
this love's for you

I gotta big love baby
My love, it grows for you
I have a huge love, baby
in the form of some hot soup

I gotta big love baby and she
knows it's true

I gotta big love, baby
I gotta share my love with you


I've got so much love to share, baby,
I know you hear me, too
I gotta big love baby
I won't share her with you

I gotta big love, baby
my heart, and body, too
and it ain't never gone no-where
just feel the love around you

from the day we went to find your heartbeat:

A 24-year-old woman who died Tuesday at the UC Davis Medical Center after
being hospitalized with the H1N1 virus is believed to be the first person in Sacramento County
to die from what is more commonly known as swine flu.

so please do not delude yourself as i have that there can be no

"concreteness" (thumps own two fists together)

to your dreams

not only will your words have actions

your actions will have served as words

and meanwhile your body will be out to get you.

remember we know what God wants is whats good

after I decided to just be happy
to let myself be the way I felt to be, like being
I knew immediately that I wanted no part of the others
no part of the way that I could see myself acting
I judged and felt judged
I allowed the judges to judge and I felt great

When I consider the actions of others
I consider myself
I know as well my failings
I trust and decided to trust until I was trusted
After I decided to act in a trustworthy fashion
I felt pressured and comfy, too.

Choose Now, @thehour

I will still serve You-
Though I might run out of words
I know words get in the way.
When emotions are entangled
I am no automaton,
I am no slave.
I am no slave-driver.
I will still serve You-

When the little devil that hides
spews a spittle of hateful lies
from the dark corners of brittle little minds
With Hope and
Faith and Love,
like a little child lost,
I will still serve You-

I will have lost my reason(s)
I will despise my own logic
I may live to see all the seasons
and I will live them for You if You will-

I will have turned my back on the answers
Stuck my hand through the plaster
Known the rebuke of my Master's long-simmering Rage


For those who will not see or even
choose now not to hear
Not for them but for You do I fear

I will still serve You.

ed·i·fi·ca·tion (d-f-kshn)n. Intellectual, moral, or spiritual improvement; enlightenment Main Entry: ed·i·fi·ca·tion Pronunciation: \ˌe-də-fə-ˈkā-s

I write, yes
for my own edification,
for the moment where my fingers are lost
between the thought I have
and the keys I press.
I write for the music I hear when tilting my head just so-
I write to get my mind going well enough and coherently when I feel slow
until, unrestrained, I produce a very satisfying "clickety-clack"
(though not, I must say, as satisfying as the tenor of an old typewriter).
I write for the feeling of drunkeness, of
out-of-controledness
the richness of power that choice brings,
I write when I feel like I have to say SOMETHING;
when the long thoughts become repetitive sentences and visualized ideas
(I mean, I have been thinking all day about
what must be considered-)
I write to seek solutions.
I write for the chance to say something that seems too simple, too reasonable, too commonsensical
to have not been said in so long...
I write to shame the fear that impregnates immorality.
I write because I remember writing everything I have written;
I remember the tune, if not the chords,
where the inspiration came from,
what mood precipitated the chosen phrases,
the people in my life who where important to me at that time
I write for the words I use, for their opportunity to shine,
I write because when I don't write
I realize I am robbing myself, not the universe
of some essential truth
that can only be reached and understood while writing.

So How Much Was Your Allowance?

I remember once I got my dad for ten bucks because I thought my allowance was too low. I was freshly ten, which just means never being single digits again, but I thought it was code to the universe for "entitled to free time." Yet most every school day I woke at 5:15 to:

1. Turn on the back water for the lawn

2. Turn on side water for the plants

3. Feed the Koi

4. Feed chickens and collect eggs

5. Wash and empty dishwasher if not finished from night before

6. Turn off the water after fifteen minutes, repeat for the front lawn and back row of plants

7. Shower, eat, hand water plants on front and back patio

8. Feed and water dog, cat, clean dog poop from garage

9. Sweep kitchen, hall, both decks

10. In the winter, I stoked both fires and pulled at least a wheelbarrow full of log for the day and stacked it between spiderwebs next to the sliding glass door.


Man, I know there was more, and on weekends, I was busy, or expected to be busy most days, until ten o'clock. Cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming the main rooms,dusting the antique furniture, cutting lawns, re-sodding plants, laying brick or stones, etc. Each season meant a different thing; before fire season, there must be defensible space, before planting season, we must weed, aerate, and irrigate, before winter, there must be wood. Before spring, the house must be immaculate. The mosquito trees (manzanita) must be cleared in the fall, the pipes replaced after the last melt.

Early every summer, Dad and I hopped in the truck and headed to the most remote places in Northern California to climb the longest stretches of dirt road on foot, only to fish for three hours and decide if we ought to come back with the Jeep and some chain later. And that's if we found anything. Those days I don't remember well. I do know that having finished the falling of trees and the sawing into logs by himself, my job was splitting and stacking the three cords we could fit into the back of the green GMC. Can't just toss 'em back there, you stack a cord cross-angle, neatly, so as not to waste space. Which, if you can imagine, meant not being free all day until dark to ride my bike, instead sweating an awful lot, building the strong muscles I feel atrophying today, and drinking RRRRRRR's horrid ice tea.

We went camping in the middle of summer for two weeks or so a year, at a little hideaway up in the California area of Tahoe. It was in Desolation Wilderness, near Ice Floe Reservoir, not the more public, accessible place just fifteen minutes up the road we ducked out to for a few hours of water-skiing in the evening, most every other weekend. That was where I learned to slalom and not step on glass within hours as a seven year-old. The first day, the "leaving" day, for Hope Valley, was the same every year. We woke up early to get ready, to see that everything at home was done. I would try to stay out of the way, hang out near my room, getting the daily chores done. RRRRRR and Trish swam through the kitchen, preparing the the two big coolers. That was where we put enough meat and produce to last a week. The ingredients for S'more's and the other sundries were picked up when we stopped to gas the boat at the country store. RRRRRR, who liked to direct me with shouts, had me running around the house filling duffels with clothes and hygiene. Dad typically avoided the nonsense by staying outside triple-checking the boat and the truck and the car RRRRRR uses to drive with Trish to the actual campsite. I know it's almost time to round up Ty Cobb, the family dog, when Dad would start the Jeep parked out back so if we need his brother to come get us he can.

California's drought years meant the water level was never the same two summers in a row. Sometimes, it came up so high I spent the whole two weeks on my bike, riding until it was time for Dad to go out on the boat again. More often, it was so low I could get lost between the dunes, hiking down where another year could not reveal, forsaking shoes and sinking until my chin got a mud bath. And I never knew until we crossed the dam what the water level was. After backing in the boat, though, vacation was started. Trish and RRRRR take the car and the truck to the site, Dad and I and the dog meet them in the cove, and the camping trip is underway.

The pitching of tents, the laying of kitchen tarps, the staking of claims...the Alden's instilled in me the Camper's Code, which is extremely basic and simple. "Leave the place nicer than you found it." He calls me over, just as I'm ready to run off through the sand to the wind-whipped shore and freeze(?) my toes, tells me I can have a penny for each piece of trash I pick up, and hands me a trash bag. The first day was not going to end up being a chore for me. I started by walking the tree-line, picking up after strangers, and only the trash that was valuable to me, until I realized that every piece of trash was valuable to me. I sat down with my eight-gallon bag
full of muck-brimmed liters and twisted aluminum on a mound of sand covered in broken glass.

Ten dollars a week. That's if I didn't "mess up." I counted the glass by the fives, the tens, the dozens. When I knew he couldn't say there wasn't ten dollars worth of removed danger in that bag, I took it to him; when I knew there was more than one thousand pieces of glass in there, that was when I went to him to ask for the money. He cocked an eyebrow and told me I would be expected to pick up "trash" when we left in two weeks, and gave me the ten dollars.

Which I spent a week later when we went back to the country store for sundries and gas, on Atomic Fireballs.

Still, there Are Winners...

You've got your newborn babies and your wasted cigarettes
and you've got your blank pieces of paper
on which you write about the love that you haven't lost yet.
You've got your Fourth of July picnics and your expensive shoes...
You've got your offensive linemen and your...all of you, all of us...special interest groups
but, there are winners.
Still, there Are winners.



You've got your adoptive mothers and your unnecessary lawsuits
You've got your fatherless children and your creditors who laugh when they call
You've got your idea of what is right and wrong...You've got your own beliefs on how we evolve
You've got your once-a-year Catholics some people they love Jesus but have nothing to repent
You've got your weekly check-earner who through loans of not-real property support
the Great 2%...
But there are winners
Yes, there are winners
Yes, there are.
i can tell you
And there's nothing quite like coming home to
Re-discover the sparkling gold
There are pieces of the puzzle that fit that we don't own

(Look, at us, how far we've grown apart)


You've got your doctor's oath's, your royal oats
Your patriotic demise
You're sworn in once, what, it wears off?
We are peers over whom we preside
I've found some winners, though, man, some winners,
Not just one.
Yes, there are.

You do have your gospel singers, they get off the ground in a hurry
You've got your starving politician, shaking hands in the street
You've got the love in your own heart, a good seed,
Not spoiled with pride.
Not ruined by greed.
You've got the time that you are given
Not a monument, not a moment more or less (someone calls they take you off a list)

I've never met an angel yet
not one who knew exactly How to live.
But, I did meet one that told me, it's not what we take, it's what we give
A winner, that one a winner,
one righteous man.

You've got your politicians whom you pay to prey upon your fear

warning signals
And you've got your social workers who listen with one turned ear
And you've got me right here next to you
as long as our love survives
And you
with your dirty jokes...
Bite your tongue!
Bite your tongue!
Bite your tongue!

Yes, I Said "Alas"

I remember when I was a poet
and every word that I would write
would have some deeper veiled meaning
every word would carry with it
some intensity that could be felt by its
very existence, even seemed
to change the very world
and instantly sometimes, too.
But alas, my intensity has burned out, even now,
Your attention is wavering
I go on to be a slave to the very things we abhor
There really is no choice.

as with all, read this one out loud

you
turned away from my kiss
before
you left with him
now
i'm about to forgive you
somehow
life is supposed to go on



i know i'm selling out
i know i'm cutting myself
what good can love do when all we share is suffering?

I'm the one down on my knees

When it's you who should be begging please

i'm angry for loving you

i'm angry for missing you

if i could kiss you again

i would kiss you again







I'm the one down on my knees

Silly Man

7-6-08



I can feel like I can feel and hear
The air as it leaves my nose
I can catch myself doing something
And know damn well that I knew I was going to do it
(Like ogling the crack in the ass of the girl up front
Content to be knowing that I know was sup)

There is a (…) strange and different weave of my love
Jaunting along,
Floating w/ me
Of means not selfish conceited concerns the way it seems
Knowing my love is right behind me
I behold it, it is beauty

I feel and hear like I can see every prayer is heard on Sunday
You, of
What can I accuse of you?

(in case you were wondering how fast we’re going…
We could be going 85…I dunno)

We know, it seems like a mistake
To even think that there are mistakes
Like treason’ believing foes from vast vapid, rapid, opinions
Form, conspire and deliver the end times
Insipid plots and attacks
Republicans democrats
There will be no re-trials denies, covered-up resistance
No-one in our country should be proclaimed a “public nuisance”
All I can read is distress and bereavement listings

i fear my sadness has gone
I don’t feel self-conscious I feel awake
Paranoia and phone rings you
Death called you and you are the same

Tiny Torrent

Leave behind:
Fear of abandonment & abandoning.
Understanding difference
No difference and in no way
(in between the way she tells me
She sees when I don’t know she’s looking; )

Roller-coaster residue-

I still feel pockets of air in the water around
me, and I can’t seem to, don’t want to

Enjoy:
The sun
Finally chasing thunder clouds east-
Begin drying drops
Before the tiny torrent can begin-
The taste under your nose
of river water
Burning like a shot of Jack-
(eggs on the sidewalk)

The company you keep-
and the way love treats love