21 January 2019



03 February 2018

06 November 2017

06 October 2017

LET ME BACK UP A LITTLE HERE.  Let you take the trunk section pull down seat in this blue '79 Caprice Station-Wagon that faces the "rear" window; but since you have let

 me back-up a little here now you see bumperstickers where it was meant you'd see

  windshields and I am stepping on it. You find it funny and worrisome at once, for this 

is not rear-wheel drive, and my acceleration in reverse gear is galloping - over the raised and bumpy railroad tracks and the Caprice goes airborne like some nissan major motion heckova hunkova ram tough truck commercial and your pants are pissed, you have stopped

 breathing and your adrenals could work no better if a flaming volkswagen beetle had to be lifted to save your own little bundle of joy, for I have not even turned my head to see the road

 in front of you; I am using the rearview mirror - this is what I meant by let me back up a 

little - don't worry it is a lightly travelled straight and mostly flat road lined with

 a lot of nothing but the occasional telephone pole to crash into should I lose

 control, I won't, I keep promising, reassuring it is almost impossible to roll one of these

 Caprice Station Wagons without a steep embankment... I did not want to scare you so though and I feel bad about the excitement upon your

 bladder, how pale you've gone; so now we coast. You take a deep breath, and I 

appreciate this as most of all as it is audience that I want for this little backing up of mine.

 Why don't we visit the drive-thru just like this: you go first I'll let the electric  window down and would you order me a small chocolate shake along with whatever you'd like.

 Do not try to escape or I will close the electric window on you, its one of the few things

 General Motors was doing right in '79 and you would be wise to take my word for the 

python like grip the window-crank-motor is capable of stopping you with - go ahead get yourself some fries if you like and we'll get back to letting me back up a little bit oh thank you, it is the greatest gift a person can give you know, to such an unforward looking being such as I, letting me back up a little, thank you so much, go ahead, make sure to buckle up and

17 September 2017

13 June 2017

12 May 2016

Skinhead Christian Rex, a skate tough or go home powerpop trio from Lawerence Kansas aims for the demise of an entire recording industry with a startling debut that conjures equal parts Samuel Beckett & Pope John Paul, as fronted by the bare chest-lacerating era Iggy Pop.

The title track, Vowbreaker sets the tone for the wailing walls and waves of sound that follow, a sonic eruption that simultaneously celebrates and mourns mortal indemnity, failing faith and feeble human condition confounded by cultural dissonance, blinding visions of glory and throbbing limbic temptations taken and wasted.
Appropriately "unplugged", Secretion Creator relieves with a noodling tap into a pornocelestial-pastoral genre soundtrack for Thomas Disch's filmic ode to the basic training of universal military hatred, Cylinders in Space.

Next, the hook laden Stigmata'm'Sorry is probably the premier song of this collection we'll hear too much of - a gravy of rancid unction and the 1976 fresh of Boston's "More Than a Feeling" segued to "seen my Savior taken away" and the elegiac euphony of Thailand's Carabou guest tracking a simul-dub of Fi-Chek, the onomotapoetic translation of Bic Lighter Anthem.

Turn Back the Tithe (Reverend Ted) is a an excellently wicked and intense 66.6 seconds of amyl nitrated speed metal thrash of anger, compassion and exhilarating co-misery a-juxto'd the beatitude of True Christian Bus Driver Pull Me Along that acapella's Arthur Alexander's last and prophetic "A Doodley Doo's" to tribute the archetypal Elvis shaming show me a black man who can sing like that and I'll make him 100 dollars.
Girl Next Door I'm Outta Detergent is a Bon Scott impossible not to laugh:
"Baby I'm SCUM lookin for a bath"; a good thing for after that all interludes are off and 28 minutes of zero sum cathartic ear splitting agony are launched:"
Islam Don't Smash the Building 
Afghanistans a Parking Lot 
Eardrums Smashed and Shit Coloured Glasses 
Born, Party, Suffer, and Die until finally a faithful listener will beg for an ultimately concluding Rapture, Out of the Sky

17 April 2016

21 August 2015

Po Boy New Orleans

"Mere Nola got me. It's the first poetry book in a very long time I read cover to cover and felt bad that it didn't go on. It's a hell of a book, memoir, diary, journal, told with perfect pitch, great ear, perfect spoken Ingles. Tremendous writer, truly, master of the new Nawrleans lit, if not a chef d'ecole."
-- Andrei Codrescu

I Wuv My Van
DIY Couch Demo

The Mona Lisa Contest

Flower Photography in the Nineties


Rivers Paw


The Garage Door Storey

The Coffee Shop Photographs

There Is A Foot on Geary Street

It's in the Muni bay in front of Martell's Liquors at 20th Avenue; these pictures began in 1987 and end 2003. The last time I checked in 2011 it was still there, collecting its whathaveu. Nathan tries to correct me that Geary is not a Street, but a Boulevard, and a Grand one at that - its mail codes go from 94108 to 94121. But "there is a foot on Geary St." was the mutter that directed me to click my shutter the first time (after three years of notice) and this is what I mean by Language Photography...I recall my mild concern in 1997, when it was marked with orange paint as a defect to fix by a public works employee, but they never got around to repairing this impression made by a shoe cast in wet cement.


Colour Night Real Estate Photography

Corners and Napkins

in the end a pen takes to brick and flails

in the beginning, next to portions of four bricks

is a filthy paper waiting thumbnail, a napkin

chats about waiting in chairs at a reading to hear

then, turning the page a door slams

eardrum pulsing last cigaret looks

these are real corners you could encounter in the world

close at the scale of napkins, inside and out

what I have found, is a wave form

of course,  lunar lighting. stubble of stucco -

I could tell you plenty about Stucco, but Corners and Napkins

is not concerned with stucco, some corners trap

some corners - we do not know

some corners we do, for they Deify light

lime says cool

orange invites lizards to cross

green on the produce sign says notice

napkin relieves, assures

napkin will take a bullet for the Chief

napkin signed verifies invention

napkin tapping at corners of mouth

now decide if to lie and emphasize

cloud billow sail

perfection can be  routinely achieved in the photography of napkins

these resin coated colored 4"x6" papers are satisfying to compile

for the napkin photograph solicits its surface to write on and

i love cycles of perfection to ruin

some of these corners are severe

they are hard and promise it is a cold cruel world

corners you would not like in a prison guard

we like the corner that wanders for god

that cant, that wiggle, is ours

10 Covers of Triton


Inspector Wear Skirts

Hypermiling Saved My Life

   My Life in the Photo Booth

Sqibb City

20 August 2015




Randy's Discipline

Teacher dictated the lyric to Randy transcribed it 25 times.
It was exhibited in 1989 at New Langton Arts in San Francisco,
"Special Collections."

From a collection of mostly handwritten papers gathered by William Passarelli
Including a distressed loose leaf by Randy with a no two letters alike handwriting:

1. I will come when I am called. I will not break dance in
the halls. I will not laugh when teacher calls my name.
(x 25)

I heard, and became a colony of its refrain...

Chris Sullivan April 2009 New Orleans

15 July 2015

Dust on Photographs

An easy and aromatic way to Coat a photograph with a greasy film to
attract Dusts is to set up shop using a magnet easel in front of a restaurant
exhaust register, such as is found out back (remember to bring ladder).
Watch out for Manager Pants though, as no adequate explanation exists
for what you are doing, one hour at a deflective tilt, less if fried chicken
is served; then lay magnetic easel flat and let cure for 24 hours.
Now lets tromp over to the garden, or better, the feedlot, where, recall,
our gelatins derive. One pointed shovelful of well tilled material, and
scatter to max surface area to dry while the greased photographs cure:
"fill" the new matrice by simple spread of soil/feedlot mix.

Allocate the ribbon!

You are the fun best little gentle parts of a 125 microgram LSD trip

of my life, and that's why I'll always be around

if contours of so lovely as yours can be countenanced

steadily inhabited, close and daily -

The Decision to Return to Cannabis (RTC) should

a) be taken lightly

Love is Grins

finest subdivision

a lot of people think Love can do better than that

they don't grin much

About The Author

Colorado sometimes reminds me of a really pretty teenage girl, god
she's pretty -
that boys tend to treat very-very badly. Take Highway 287 south just prior
to Laramie off I-80 to enter Virginia Dale and follow to Loveland to see
this simile come about, may need to be a yearning man in a pickup truck
to see it, maybe not. One winter being enough, another looming, not much
work in the shop, so toward the most interesting region in the United States
in the fall of 2005 I flit, taking highway 287 1380 miles south...


Kit Carson


Campo, Colorado

39 miles of Oklahoma



Quannah, sleep



I was born in Houston, 1958

Can't get little enough of that place.

Lake Charles

Refinery / Casino

Heart broken

20,000 Roads

Lafayette, and slept...

Gas Station, Gramercy

Times Picayune Classified Section

I was a Wanted Man

over and over again

Sheen is Patina's slightly older brother.

I know it sounds wrong, you think - Sheen comes way before Patina -

it never happened. Sheen died long before to its barely perceptible molting

into Luster, swallowed by Patina in one fell gulp, abducted from hundreds of

thousands of private domains into the public domain, rolled out in the end

by wheelbarrows to the sidewalk and dumped, then trucked away for landfill.

As the founder editor and publisher of the Journal of Public Domain,

I knew it was my job to come and observe this conversion.

So I loaded my van and arrived in early October 2005, exited interstate 610

at Elysian Fields in New Orleans and stopped at this intersection, though no

traffic or sign or working light directed me. I saw a biblically scaled Whack-Job,

everywhere: ruined houses, flooded cars, boats, scattered heaps of stuff on the side

of the road, including a miniature purple Kobe Bryant Basketball.

I retrieved it and got to where I was going.

Gutting houses, pushing wheelbarrows, wielding wrecking bars.

After work I drove around, very slowly, trying to comprehend.

Where chaos surrounds, a sphere will beckon - an oasis of salvage, a siren for rescue...

The basketballs I saw were not just Innocent but Endangered.

As the collection grew it resembled a constellation, a unique convocation,

an orgy of misery loving company.

Each addition (rebound) was like the drink of an alcoholic persuading the next.

Until I had 92 and had to consider how to take care of them.

I wanted to elevate them, emphasize the individual, and remove the grime

that so humiliated them.

I arrayed the balls on my fence and on weekend afternoons, selected Catastrophe

Basketballs to come on into my kitchen sink to scrub in hot soapy water.

Some of these balls I then dried and compounded with Amour All for Tires

until I thought I saw a hint of Sheen's return.

Hey everybody its Chip in Lakeview reporting live where I've been doing research under the guise of a demolition laborer and it occurs to me the truth is right out here on the curb like a washing machine a water heater a big rubbermaid tub its all full of stuffed animals and children's books lots of Dr. Seuss, a cooking pot a coffee maker some cups some flooring a dishwashing tray some shuttered doors, carpet, a sink there's a subwoofer a jar of peanut butter a stack of mens magazines some luggage and some framed wall art, kind of abstract, a chair a lot of chairs a floor lamp some cushions and a big pile of pillows and a couch, bunch of LP's and video cassettes, and now a mold mitigation technician is walking by, he's wearing white overalls and a breathing mask is hanging from his neck, here's a nice looking sealy posturepedic mattress, nothing wrong with it, heres a credenza a dining room table, a dozen full hefty bags that someone has tore through, this ones full of mardi gras beads there's some more speakers, here's a gallon sized jar of Power Mass 1000 body building supplement, a kids tricycle, a lot of clothes, a whole bunch of cans of Chef Boy Ar Dee Eagle brand Condensed Milk, Oil of Olay Essential Vitamins, Stereos, Refrigerators; and a taxidermied goose...I really do think this is the truth out here

Poor old house can't take much rain


Royal blue FEMA giveaway grade


Fold it once, double the strength


Heckuva job Brownie now rollup your sleeves


Targets hiring 16 beans


Bobcat backing up beeping sounds


Scooping up shit from the Neutral Ground


Complete Library Meals Ready to Eat


Month of October perfect weather


November too it'll last forever

Used to be a boat there

just across from the dog

with its four legs set straight up

off the neutral ground lawn

and every time I passed that pile of junk

under the long black tarp

I thought oh my god

they got to pick that up

Dear Fe

I wish I could loan you my mittens

Time and Water wait for no man

Heckuva Job

Who can forget the way Mike, wearing his best white shirt,

unsure should he unroll those customarily rolled-up-sleeves

or respectfully look nice in appearance w/ the commandeer-in-

headlights, finally decided yes and pressed them himself,

beamed when the President said

Just three words - an accolade, name endearingly extended;

this year could we all just try and be a little more conscious

when addressing our fellows, of the power of positive

a Cufflinks

b Speech

c Renege forms many takes

d Outright, but I prefer disingenuous

BROWNIE AND I were getting closer over the beers, back there in Tulsa.

He was so bitter, his critics so legion, his bilious spittle flew in all directions,

his hurt, outrage and even umbrage - I thought it was raining.

I just kept encouraging him - Happy Hour was Young!

And a little shoulder blade nuzzle further with each insidious backslap.

Poured him another and said

- You get it, Mike

January 10 2006

a couple crossing Dauphine street past Frenchman 7:10pm Live

Furious stride, top of the lungs male bellows "who is the






that hit you

I feel sorry for him"

"They say this country is based on hard work, integrity

and worshipping God that's a lie its built on murder man,

mayhem, slavery, oppression, lies, stealing and killing

that's what its based on.

And you can't change it after it started.

Stay away from it, try to get away from it.

Be independent of it, because if you try to deal in it

you become part of it.

Stay away from it, you diminished it by one.

By one"

Voice of Robert, from Bill Daniel's film

Who is Bozo Texino

We went out to eat a real artist

would take the dishwashing job

right down the street - 10 bucks

an hour plus tips equals fear

how uncanny is that?

But later, in the twilight, a happening in the Auto-Zone parking lot

off Elysian Fields - a man slowly rolling bright orange boundary lines

of paint (three inch roller on a pole) to mark parking slots.

The return of normality concerns me, it means my margin is shrinking.

This Chris Sullivan felt right at home in all this ruin and absence and liked

his promotion to the 3rd person by the muted billboards the twisted M billions

not served and, photographer Chipmon'inna be PoBoy Laureate.

There will be NO discussion about the failure of fitting Poetic Substances

into spent insulin vials, save for the Collected Splinters and the significance

of why you didn't think of that is you were too busy thinking why didn't

you think of that; Chip'll have none of it. He thought of that. Chip wanes

at the materiality of it all, and the talent required, the great subtraction

that a basic, continuing miscalculation ("reckoning") sums a conviction:

if it is a poetic substance it must fit into a 10 ml insulin vial; then,

Criteria gets Wiggily.

Kept every one I've emptied since 1978, that's about 400.

10 ml of this hormone is about a 30 day supply.

Suggesting a lunar relation to substance.

I've identified about 40 Substances including one called I Forget.

Most only conjecture unconvincingly on the notion -

is there such a thing?

By cannabis seed yes.

Peanut butter? (what is it about monotony that makes its so appealing)

(from a Squeeze Tube courtesy of the Welcome Home Kitchen)

Is the stuff of poetry bottle-able?

What is the tip of my thumb - oh, to oppose loss.

(put it in an ice filled disposable drink container and drove motorcycle

one handed to Emergency, where a nurse smiled, that won't be necessary)

Mystery! Isn't that among the most valuable poetic services?

The description of without diminishment to wonder.

What is this shard of FEMA visqueen tarp masquerading as if the poetic

needs a roof over its head?

But I really should have asked the guy.

For some Auto-Zone Parking Lot Striping Paint.

Its the type of action an artist takes that could lead somewhere.

Actual poetry in two forms has been experimentally bottled - on the same date

laser printed on 20 lb paper and immersed in well water from Berthoud Colorado.

What's mysterious is that one poetry has disintegrated -

Ron Sillimans "my new belt is wearing because I've been wearing my new belt"

while Jordan Davis' poem 743

The Traffic cone makes a soft sound

Over my head in the rain. Why

Did I sign up for this Experiment?

remains intact.

Suppose the friction of perpetual motion suggested

by Silliman's mobius string of a sentence tore it up.

And the thrum of Davis' Traffic Cone is what protects it.

This collection project founders.

Red Blankey / Coffee, Cool Beans Cafe, San Francisco / Camel Tobacco / Cigaret Ashes, Pop / Ilfochrome Color Print Emulsion Material from Salt Lake, Utah / u / Iridescent Blue Flies / Dichroic Filter Shards / Paper / Ink / Undifferentiated Jalamaliths / Anscochrome of Franny 1958 / Rose Petal for a Son Outlived / Cannabis Seeds / Pollackey Stuff, Milled / Grobeast - dry / Grobeast - hydrated / Dehydrated Baby Carrot / Plungers, Syringe / Signature / Chick in a Bottle / Tall Pine, South Carolina / Atlantic, Sullivans Island / Carving Shards of Perhaps Humanities Greatest Living Artist / Broken Shoelace / poem 743 Jordan Davis / Rivers Fur with Red Floor Paint / I Forgot / Peanut Butter / and Honey / Chanel # 5 / Louisiana Rain / Dirt from Pasaquan / My Blood / L's Hair / Pool Table Felt, Mother in Law Lounge / Shavings from Plastic "Adirondack Chair / "off Spec" Roofing Nail / Crumbs, Gays Fruitcake / Message in a / Pumice, Mono Lake / Obsidian, Mono Lake / Pebble Grain, Basketball / Shaving of Clorox Bottle Cap Artwork from the home of Josh Gibsons Brother, Buena Vista Georgia / Missing / this poor arbitrary gathering, of things, misses at nearly every mark it would make, save Collected Splinters

Limited Poetic of the Workin'man
Compart-mentable Shelves are the answer

sorting fasteners for the future

handy timesaver: I'll do it later

Boss, they didn't have any number 8 coated sinkers!

Hobbies? Hangin out at the cafe with generous table,

assembling earnest reproductions of Poboy paintings as

seen at the corner markets - each photo taken in detail,

like tiles to collage together until a long high resolution

record is complete; what significance the immense mayonaise

drips leitmotiffing a 16 foot long poboy storefront -

Homegirl says they are obviously pornographic

I think its simpler and more ruthless than that

that though there is unequal distribution of wealth

you can have plenty of Mayo...

these are Idylls of the Processed Landscape and all owe a debt

to Hieronymus Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights -

Panel 1 is pastoral in nature, wheat from the ground

harvest of lettuce tomato and innocently grazing farm animal;

the mayo implies the bestial nitrate laced orgy to come in Panel 2

(and my eating whole PoBoy resembles)

Panel 3 is the hell I feel after...

Today at Henry's on St. Claude I heard about the .16 cent potato po-boy

of yore - French fries with a brown gravy on a French roll with coca-cola,

- 25 cents total man, you never went to bed hungry.

Walking, Carbohydrate Metabolism and the Hazard of Reverie

wanted nature damaged vehicle

is gasoline a poetic substance

a throttle a train all cadence

is pause

gross domestic product-wise

Cadence sells where was I

a nature damaged thing the body fails and once upon a times -

shrink, cain't teach height

man playin a five gallon plastic pail

rithmic thump and moan I carried a memory

Jack's advice

"the most important thing is to f/// this chick."

Then I went to France, now

the name of a Meat Market, in the Bywater

its a walkin city "in between Desire and Piety"

being an inhabitable topography

All requests (who would guess pride is my sin) politely declined -

"sorry brother"

works everytime

junk-pile stars a sputnik era Hoover Constellation vacuum cleaner:

of which I once owned six

A Solid Citizen - Seeking Common Solutions

Waiting for a dish drying rack to appear on the sidewalk in the levees broke battered city,

not on the isle in the corporate behemoth"drugstore" called


that might cost $6.99, about 25 minutes of my labor. I charge 17 dollars an hour as

my rent is 17 dollars a day and buying plastic forms from the Isle of AS SEEN ON TV

hurts - I have seen the commercials - you'd never know passenger planes were flown

into our tallest buildings five years ago.

This dish drying rack would show up and Lo! Include a jar of Royal Panax Ginseng Caps

array of zip-loc bags, a classic restaurant style salt shaker, all items my kitchen lacked.

I'm beginning to suspect the tobacco companies care about me not a whit.

What call from R.J. himself, in gratitude for my loyalty, that for each singly purchased pack

for 30 years continuously supplied, my rebate royalties: 25 cents accruing interest in my account -

so I can stop now.

Getting short encountering upper income people to whom, judged by core sample of

social manners, apparently nothing has ever Happened, or cared for anyone that has

been Happened to, the progeny of wreckage that shades a face forever.

Just don't know how to act - when to keep their teeth hid, laughters muted, familiar with

the concept incuriosity leashed, assumptions barred - I don't know that the Happened to stick

together much as coagulate in brooding class system processes of elimination in or outside the

cash register lines, joined at the ruins, walled off in the waiting rooms, for a miracle...

ATTENTION THIS TEXT IS NOT "No Two by Four Left Behind"

World Class Standing Broad Jump written all over him

No more than a Foot inside the Front Door:

The Doctor will ruin you now.

years pathed / exchange lapsed

a different body to be this timid with

oh exquisite notice, fabulith lisp and verses to ode

I met her by removing a manhole cover.

I am a lapsed period

singular initiate ellipsi







see where I'm going with this?



Today there is no biologically beneficial reason why

I should like food that is crunchy, baby cause I got you

Lead Galoshes don't fail me now...

Call me Mort. A Millonaire if a coward dies a thousand deaths.

Uneasy body of wearying work-in-progress impressionist couch-spot

abiding, I was reading, listening, notebook recording.

Threat of death if the unsolicited admission for these ears alone is ever heard,

a stomach churning eye averting convict of dramatic irony social occasion, precipice -

one conversational slip away from doom, mute as a 10 foot pole, but guess what:

I was molested by a Minister last month!

Charismatic Reverend Ironwork dropped my name in every phrase,

and there were many - directions from a man I thought Righteous.

I thought this was curious but, shoot - I really liked it!

Put a painting mitt in my hand told me to dip it in black

and erase the rusted watermark on the pointed wrought iron verticals

every six inches in a 1000 foot perimeter of the catholic girls academy.

Okay so I'm a behind bars Steinbecks' Lenny cum quasi-modo Frankenstein.

I couldnt lift my head much less look at the 8th graders in plaid skirts.

All I knew is the Superintendent had an eagle eye for imperfections

and I was the Reverend's punk, each painting mitt grasp of bar felt like

I'm an erection attendant. I wanted npr earphones and marijuana so bad.

The Minister lied to me about the check the Superintendent would deliver,

a check for $15.00 x 32 hours 4 days:

here in the Prime Earning Phase of a man's Life, I was boned.

Homegirl said do you believe in Karma doing that bastard in.

I shrugged

- what do you think the 47 year old man behind bars at the girls catholic school

with dripping black painting mitt for hands for nothing is, but Karma Fed-Ex?

Cant tell you his name but his initials are AL BARTHLOMEW.

I'll tell you what else money is:


(clears throat)

it would appear to be about the oil.

Pluming through sandwich wrappers.

We are all in this, Frenchmen Deli

life saving Convenience Store


Two 24 to 28 inch isles veering between the grill,

the shelves, and the beverage coolers - once I counted

27 inhere-ing as if collaborating with Larry Clark and Thomas Hart Benton.

Waiting for PoBoy.

The counter, that Money those Hands with let me guess what on them:

sweat, shit, fuck, piss, cough, mold, scar, tattoo. Oh and dirt.

Sigh, grease, rank: can't see the grill, sandwiches corresponding

to a number, this is lunch - very many ethni-


Man, Frisco's it, absent pacific present in those filthy work denims.

Maybe a quiet rural winter in Michigan.

To set it down.

I won't remember

Thinking about You, apocryphal





guinea Ts, thinking FUCK TATTOO


a REAL JESUS LOVES QUEER shirt in front of me

everything is here, including bandages, toothache

ointments, screwdrivers, usb cables, colanders,

clamps, combination locks, gloves, pliers, flashlights,

fem napkins, lipsticks, paper clips, stamps, envelopes

notebooks, nail clippers, bug killers, mouse traps, tire

patches, ziplock baggies, brillo pads, birthday candles -

mainly dispense cigarets, candy and beer, milk, bread, eggs.

A courteous tireless intense work ethic extended Vietnamese family -

our provisioners. Steaming dogshit on the curb where I have parked.

How can my appetite survive this, will this be my one BLT too many.

8 customer fellow humanities bunched together - supermarket's

in Metarie, it is a grungy ride.

Waterline reminds of a toilet

this is a bowl where people

let themselves go.

Green Purple Yellow - weird.

Concession Speech


Intimations of Doom / Modest Wage / Class Pressures

"A workin class error is something to be"

haven't been there haven't done that.

What makes my heart full is the workin-classness of this -

is not a city anymore; "Village".

Frenchmen Deli is the name of an Opus, if

you want to know the real story - I have let the details

overwhelm and batter me and lost - these 28 inch isles

one shimmies through and around, never sure how

it works out we avoid embracing each other like lovers

incidentally combat-ing thirst, hunger or some edge remover -

never get involved in the thirst of people.

if you want to be happy for the rest of your life

get a non-plus-able post-menopausal woman to

Sausage, Conceived:

AS A KID he rode the Pig Down the Chute with a gun to its head,

at the Vat, Boom, and pushed it in, and the rest

Money is a dream of Denzell Washington

there goes the Mt Rushmore

chocolate city limits maker of Capitan Matthew Broderick proud

eviscerator to the testes of Gene Hackman's reprehensible

admiral rascist, comfy seven dollar seat times girlfriend

I took a job that suggests the bringing of a pillow and blanket

75 for 10 hours oh time and a half after that and

Denzel'll be there.

I'm an Extra

I Man in Uniform

National Guard

Buck Private Dunn

Lookin the Part

48 Year Old Back

Story Brother Killed

In Nam. Lost

My Keeper -

Orphaned Foster

Sheriff Abuse-d

I Ran, always

Felt Guilty when the Towers

Fell I signed up

To Defend my Country

in a tent with 200 phony sailors

bound for a ferry crossing Algiers

on leave to the French Quarter

I can tell you

a terrorist explosion rips the boat

water splash added digitally

in Los Angeles

Please come to Boston

Ted Hawkins sang

on a milk crate in Santa Monica

and that verifies those were the days

Yeah I think I could

Make Buddy movies w/Denzell

I'd have to train in the Koret Rec Center Pool

w/Danny Glover though, 15lb weights wrapped around each wrist

ankle, heavier belt around the waist we power stride neck high

45 minutes through the five foot lane I give him grief

for Lethal Weapon Nine sure Gibson's

all universe cretinous bingo, Danny uses the money

to help his people at lunch I choose meatloaf

over catfish and ate two brownies, these were delicious.

We were instructed to run through the terminal

to board the ferry bound for mardi-gras, excited

to soon get drunk and laid - this

I found difficult to portray

I thought of my angel instead - she was on that boat

its been fifteen years I have never stopped

not getting over her, I looked for her at every airport

I couldn't act surprised if I sat on a popsicle

my jerry bruckhiemer film career

is over

Hey take a hit off this bong

help me find words that almost rhyme with orange

I've been nodding at the fellow who runs the postal-copy-store.

I see him in the midst of my habit of taking an afternoon coffee, in midst

of his break with a cigaret outside the shop, sitting on some steps.

Now I think he'd like this nod of mine to mean initiate something.

He asked what the initials meant on the return address of the package I was mailing.

So we exchanged these names and addresses of ours, and then he gave me change

by covering my hand with his to pat and linger and say and is there anything else

I can do for you?

That's what my nod has wrought. and now a choice has to be made between being

brave-odd-friendly (oh I like girls) or going to the post office.

What I wouldn't want him to think.

Young man that bounced and sweated and flung himself so furiously to Pete Shelley

"I don't wanna pass by like you're some animal in a zoo"

Samantha's always all lit up and saying

"ain't the Buzzcocks great"

I've lost some hops.

Does anything about it

Everybody talks about the Horrendous

So neat was Uncle Mike he painted without a dropcloth, cooked big pots of potatoes,

kept a cigaret on his lips, lived under the house, once with a duck or more,

read cowboy novels and did his share of drink - after Papa died he had

"to go out on his own"

A question by which few girls are impressed:

- Hey, wanna see how far I can spit?

Skeet then hocked one that coulda beat Bob Beamon at the 68 Olympics,

and lost Mary Ellen.


Product Placement:

Half Pint of CUERVO

sipped and tucked into right pocket of a long black winter overcoat...

Walking home, a limp and corrupt governor of thirst for oblivion

after another day of wheelchair pushing - somehow, he was thinking,

my imagination must be resurrected; and it got strange, strolling

under the sodium lamps, onto the suspended set of

a Reckoning on Frenchmen Street.

That looked just like Toni's immaculate 88 black Ford Bronco, down

to the just waxed black encircling the anomalous islets of grey primer

on the hood, a sparkling driver side electric window he'd paid Pang $225

to fix so she wouldn't have to open the door to pay Bay Bridge toll,

and he'd been a hero for maybe a minute, okay maybe two.

Therese's indomitable 74 Orange Volkswagen Fastback it had taken years

not to see dopplegangers of everywhere;

Cherie's sweet lets just take a ride to Moab in it Rabbit;

Christine's likes to take a shit by the side of the road little brown Renault;

Loren's epaulette stripped justifiably kicked out of the Airborne Express fleet

(was not) red and white Isuzu - oh, something was up.

Whats next he walked, and now the KPFA stickered East Longmeadow Motors

white Chevy sedan her father bequeathed Lisa, always the garlands of sage w/fuzzy

dashboard bunny that taunted he did not know its name, rode in all of once,

she returned him home from the hurting florescent Vietnamese place on 17th dinner,

it was a warm spring night in 96.

Tsunami of anxiety and crushed glass cocktail of cruelty thistled:

the histrionic creator of suicides careless blue Subaru.

Then a flutter of hope across the street at a black Volvo wagon,

Caren, a former of Ray Carver, might be here to protect him...

This could go on for blocks he thought, unable to look at anything but sidewalk,

till it gave up at what had been closed alleyway gate open to his spare humble post

all of this devastation abode -

for what could all these women have gathered in his kitchen but to sharpen Knives?

Left Hand trembled around a useless key.

Right patting useless product placement.

Adrenal plant useless to lift the nearest manhole cover -

a beep beep and there was the little white Tercel of his daughter.

Corina said

Dad, lets go.

Dear A

Do pebble sized asteroid fragments sometimes penetrate a roof

and end up on your kitchen sill to stay? If that room you always have

is still / this closet always waited silently for what ever I wanted.

It could be swept later, or yield proof this was a good time yes

one last clean sock. Converts into a bedroom for its exact footprint

to an oversized coffin, and when the door was pulled -

darkness floored me

dreaming all the time in my waking life, so my sleep, which always comes easy,

is a dim deep well barren of stories, faces or voices, just a brief eternal rest.

Though last year I found the door hiding the steps down to the large lower

garden terrace bedroom where, all this time,

she's been sipping coffee & reading the Sunday papers.

Last week you arrived one morning and parked just down the street,

got out and started down the sidewalk toward me.

All breath, sound and time stopped.

And woke to the differential tension between a wish tethered

to a quivering delinquent regret and gravity's promise to crush.

Amtrak Lounge Car

Perch they are the best eatin

Didn't they get a big hurricane there a few years back

No they ain't put no Burger King in there yet

The Tree I loved made my swing

Sheltered Birds whose chorus of song

furnished dreams and astonished dawns

of days I knew would be good and long

The Tree I loved

gently swayed and gave me shade

made of leaves that fell and pleased

Mr. Jeffrey I should rake

The Tree I loved

rescued Rivers, the desultory country mouser

the dogs chase after

Notes on the Almost Buying of My Ticket

Bye Chip Saunders

THE POND SCUM HARVEST was exceptional that year, and at 37 dollars an ounce,

even with the extra Evaporators

Fixing New Orleans

one golfball sized spatula of Bondo at a time

if the women who covets my genes

knew what fumes were let into this brain

she'd say mister thats just cancer

and you can stay on that stupid ladder

I'm Clinically Sane, White and 49

one blue spine always says listen

Vol. 3
Dr. Ira

One day collected signs, framed nothing but blue sky

and wire and clouds and dreams of services to supply

Exhibition Opportunity for a Visual Artist in New Orleans


sunny and fine and in the wrong place at the wrong time -

trying to follow Billy's advice - Let Creative Energy

brought me to the intersection of Orleans x AnY Food Mart

is not any Food Mart

the lower case n is a poor mans Ampersand

I stopped to camera collect its sign for a private New Orleans I was making

where Justice may not reign, but Underperfoming Billboards Dream

services on painted plyboard wire-tied eye level to a telephone pole by the stop sign -

are promoted to rub shoulders with SUV manufacturers, Hospitals, Bottled Spirits -

to announce, for example

Cheap Stumps Removal 537-2187

and I thought AnY Food Mart deserved as much.

This is in or around some derelict public housing projects

that though historic and well built, recieved 1/4 inch of water

after the levees broke so all residents were evicted - these buildings

were hard to police; so now one has time to stop his cruiser

and pounce on my Corolla, where I am sitting

fiddling with settings on a digital camera.

A white man in this hood

a) could only be buying drugs

b) is admiring an n as Ampersand

c) you see my problem has always been explaining

d) in my pocket is a Lousiana Safety Net

book of matches yellow cover, black letters


I have a Hubigs Pie Wrapper in the corner of my windshield in lieu of

an inspection tag - I'd have to replace the windshield to get this sticker;

oh - this has been my mistake - to waste the genuis of my getaway car -

for sure the $800 Corolla is capable of delivering me to some moist breeze

salt laden everyday air - and I have persisted in using it to stay here

- Put your hands on the dashboard where I can see them.

Deep breath, I collect CS's - Cuffed & Searched is Coming Soon

my language photography was going to blow the lid off of this place

and we can't have that - I lift my hands


My closet is the home of a pole that hangers forgot

about appearances, presentation, clothing not about identity - or is it -

mine is secure, obdurate of a self requiring no promotion or advertisement

just plain protection and median levels of decency

long sleeve grey and blue to match my eyes, usually -

paint spattered irony that me holding a brush is, as

men willing to hold them on ladders are in demand here

so, at least a I'm a wanted and at some-level competent goop spreader -

a boom I'm sure is about to drop keeps me from dressing up

any moment along with a certain absence -

if present-ation is all I lived on a sad diet of suff and affixual tidbits -

until Kiki, good lord and her sister Murl! who I met at the Hotel -

took an interest, and now I'm off to the mall ready to spend 50 dollars

on a pair of trousers - we are meeting later for drinks and to talk about

being room-mates - my rent is poised to drop to $167 a month -

how not to love this town?

The Exceptional we routinize immediately

Exceptionalizing the routine takes a little longer

In the Future

If's, 200 years from now...

I'll take cataclysm in the plural over singular any-day

If's, 200 months from now

681 bones a monthly, with 23% prescription coverage, maybe

If, 200 weeks from now, Dick Chainey Country Suction Cup Forehead Button

if, 200 days from now, I was in Baja, petting calf suckling whales

If, 200 hours from now

the van's still running - on three cylinders, its 93 degree's, that's 7 days

work enough to send film to the lab and recombine my pictures into what

I thought I saw - that hour, of work at my leisure, involving a long clear table,

scotch tape, and joinery - is absorbing and satisfying in its simplicity and

reward - visual chronicle - the camera's reducing power used in resolution

of my time and place - and hand made

If, probably, 200 minutes from now, watching at the grocery store

kindly queen of the rubber fatigue-mat Save-A-Lot! cash register-ess

renders a ben franklin from my precious dwindling gang of 8, now seven

I meant to get out of there for less'n'40

71, with my discount card, sort of like watching a noose

tighten - "tallest thing I climb's a bar-stool"

said the bricklayer, knee's to the ground, recalling

a three story fall 15 years ago

"saw my life pass before my eyes"

we were discussing the work I was doing

scaffold plus ladder =

those kneepads of his / definition of grounded

I heart creole shotgun houses, one story, for one -

ben franklin's an A.J and change now

the things I'd do and how fast, in 200 seconds or less

if the denominator indian murdering 7th president could take it personally

Question-aire Consolation

Upon what repeatedly sought Consolations have you come to rely?

What is the role of absence in your decision to weep in the art museum?

Characterize yourself biographically in a six word line please

A good junkman could clean up here

Seduced by the opportunity to live in a state of continuous memorial-izing

Fingering Felt from a pool table orphaned from the Mother-in-Law Lounge.

What Obligation Does the Poem Have to Introduce Itself to the Reader?

If so, When?

If no, why?

What Floor are we going to?

Can I get off there if I want?

Is Poem Valet Service available?

Hey Alma Mae

could you cream my cup of coffee

to the color of a brown paper sack

sorry to say its to go but I'll be back

tomorrow Alma you know that

"You might get paid to sit on a bucket and fill your notebook."

Tall, lean, dignified and casually regal, with large and sure hands, voice rising

just shy of falsetto when emphatic, Mr. Raymond, asked by the General Manager

Lester to give me a tour of the Hotels Maintenance Facility, repeatedly

asked me not to ask him about Electricity; for he was a Pipefitter, retired,

and now a Houseman, mainly just to stay busy.

The 10 hour vacuum of work silenced, a walk taken in its wake,

home through the Quarter, its time for some aluminum drink and dime de jour.

Carrying a box that contained a pump where Mr. Raymond drew a diagram of a Bypass,

like he'd operate at the Shipyards. He hated the Shipyard, he wanted to quit, then he'd

come home and see three bright eyed daughters and think,

Naw I can't do that - he asked me if I knew what a Bypass was.

Sort of a Y, I said knowing that's just wrong enough he'd have to explain.

I didn't expect a diagram.

He's shown me his family den in Gentilly.

Before and


these photographs are in a plastic baggie in his workplace locker.

The moment he takes them out it starts to drizzle.

30 People could gather in this Den.

On weekends he wants to see his grandchildren.

The house was expanded to remove the entire backyard (faced the Levee).

The master bedroom additioned 30 feet long;

now his wife expects him to find another one.

32 years in the Shipyards.

He misses his pictures and his cameras and videos.

Taken of his daughters he wanted to show their daughters the most;

his 40th anniversary wedding party with the band he hired to play old school music -

he videotaped it all - his buddies from the Shipyard would only drink Chivias Regal.

So that's what he got them. He's never taken a drink.

His Father was a Minister and a Carpenter.

Drives a 1973 Lincoln Continental.

Had a thing for fixing bicycles, there were 20 of them in his garage in Gentilly.

Once I was clearing out a filthy room at the hotel and he asked me what kind of

junk they left and I said it included a lot of pornography on DVD.

- That's me! Raymond said.

Genuine recoil when I told him it was Gay.

Mr. Raymond at the workplace was a little bit of Heaven.

Notes on the Finding of My Smokes


If only you'd show up with a fully charged 18 volt Drill Motor?

Free of Charge?

She'd hang the gauzy lace around your deathbed, stirring broths, changing poultices,

close drizzling the pure brown-gold syrup of her voice in your ear till all the fight went out.

For there would be hazards.

Vulnerable to the word "sawzall" and the clinking of tool belts -

Kiebers' released with a leathered index finger and thumb squeeze of sturdy plastic stops -

a cushioned thrum of clanking clinks on the grass - a crescent wrench passed down

three generations of rippling white t-shirted men everyday of the week since 1923 -

and, as if to violate Newton, a thing going up just as fast.

Amend that contract, Ma-am?

She didn't have to say a word - nor would she, flush with life,

throttling screams to testifying moans, never making it farther though,

than her unfinish-able by definition living room...

Think I'll thieve a little time w/bag of Nilla wafers on the balcony,

Not just the time to make plans, a plain view how.

Over Rampart Street.

Glad my doings this morning were not broadcast on the surveillance channel,

but if they were at least you'd know the steps to take, unclogging a strangers toilet.

How involuntary that "aaaaaugh" at first sight.


Return - Quadrupled with placebo effect Particle Mask, clear plastic face shield,

rubber gloves and Plunger.

Take a deep breath to last and enter.

Even with all this prophylactic, best to set jaw.

The younger fella mighta walked boarded a Greyhound by now,

headed north to stack her rocks till winter, anyway.

But I am applauded and denoted status for these acts.

Its balmy having a Boss who judges your work sufficient

to the extent his computer solitaire games are not interrupted.

I'm thinking down the line 100% Khaki.

And sharing a few of these Balcony Soliloquies,

silent conquoring serenades delivered daily to the ether on Rampart.

Humankind dwarf belittle humble subject-gate lowercase nature - ASAP!


ps make it Nice, eg beneficial bacteria ONLY, repeal of 2nd commendment - etc.


Sara a few slices of your Rue mouldered -

toasted, tasty retro tripn my rife w/ergot head off -

"The most incredible versions (versions abracadabrantes) are in circulation. The baker, a former candidate for the RPF [ de Gaulle's party ], is first accused, then his servant, then the fountains' water, then the modern machines, then foreign powers, then bacteriological war, then the devil, the SNCF, the Pope, Stalin, the Church, nationalizations." [1]

oh the amnesty of magazines in waiting rooms

the phlebotomist's name is Manny

sees my veins and calls me money

I wish you'd a stuck to me

that'd been some softly bobbin swim

down there in the salt lagoons


Diary of an Insulin Reaction

welcome to the search angina

many things spun at 7200 rpm

I don't like this "back"

"in the day" business when there were no cute marks

spinning at 14440 rpm, then -

RiShards Market is a MarvelOpus Thing

lets Capitalize every Thing in the World!

Sloganize it

It's a Thing

Shelves in Order of the Limbic Imperative Mom

Mom has Tattoo covering her arm

tats are cool

No I don't think tats covering Moms arm are


why not

lets make laws and uniform constables in grey pants with stripes on them


lets grandfather in "god"

Capitalize every thing in the world

god had a bard

god had a beard

god had sassafras flavored refreshment drinks

god was angry and coincided with the merciless swinging of

what is this mercy

mercy is sexual

between groan

men and a woman is having a baby every 4 seconds

merci is felt every 4 seconds

bark of the will

o tree relieves pain

so in the beg-inning God crated

in this odor: exclamation, constable, doctor, capitalization, sloganeering

Richard's Market, 7200 rpm, pain reliving willo bark, doctor, merci, and

wets between amen and a women

cruelty and inappropriate smiles

what is this inappropriate?

the chronology?

Chronology is alphabetical

I got so tired rebuilding the ruined city

a smile-less employee took my odor in a dark greasy "store"

where rackety condenser fans and the latent heat of vaporization

were a big deal, along with unequal distribution of wealth, were

a very big deal - by coincidence many of us created or simply

self made unequals were given fist sized hunks of shredded beef heaped

upon on a sliced French roll, whereupon a joyless idiot spatula added mayo -

this was supposed to be my lunch, my wealth

this was supposed to rebuild the city

well I got suspicious

hunks of meat this size, handled in this manner

something was "wrong"

the constable with grey striped pants and amplified loudspeaker


did not car about the wrongs of my sandwich

the constable packed heat, was angry and could not be reasoned with

nor his considerable access to 7200, 14400. 28800 rpms

of many variety, all leading to the court system

I did not want to end up behind bars

this sandwich was wrong

what if I had my own soybeans

what if I could just catch rides

but I wanted - shoot, needed - air conditioning myself

bottled insulin will spoil my brain had been washed and runed

I had a coke

it took a while

my blood sugar returned to noprmal

but this snadwich was wrong

I took crackers then, many crackers

too many crackers I cursed

my primordial hunger

What street is named after earth, take a right

cross bering straight okay land bridge

scatter - most will choose patriarchal brawn, knives, and human sacrifice

a contented few end up making boats, stringing beads, and naming places Malibu.

One day a Spaniard circumnavigates the globe and consequently

(aka 472 genocides later) I grow up safe and sound in a so-cal tract-home.


there is an absentee millionaire property owner in Kenner I am presently

in the employ of, I only know he loathes repairing his buildings, but sometimes

it must be done. Who knows what shade of red and green the interiors of the

vacant apartments were painted, but the spectrographic analyzer at Sherwin Williams

on Decatur street. I bring a few chips scraped off these walls. Now:

its about a year since 43 said heckuva job brownie and Decatur street is empty;

dismounted motorcycle police at every intersection

My van,

known as storm-windows, is going to be put down in two days.

But for now I figure the tags which say AUG 06 still work.

I'm very tempted to start her up and head down the street - but, I go ask

the cop, who's a tough barking 6 foot 5 type of guy - which way can I go?

He says nowhere this is the route of the president of the united states

and this street is locked down.

I said well what if you were looking that way and I made a quick U - turn down...

Route of the President of the United States he says, and that is all there is to say.

I'm looking at him, Dealey Plaza never crossing my mind - crooked sandra day o connor

coup d etat, of junior n jeb smuggling plane loads of coke - to miami, and did you vote

for this fix is on worst president since jefferson davis - these thoughts did -

I just don't get it.

I shouldn't have asked.

I walk back to the van.

I wait.

Then it comes - 40 mph black grey shiny, 26 vehicles in the convoyance of this -

President of the United States - followed by two dozen more local law enforcement


And I honestly, hopelessly, hate them all.

Right across the street is the Canal Place Cinema where I saw the Al Gore Movie.

Three minutes later the scary cop is history and Decatur is open back up to traffic.

Equelle offered me an ice cold complimentry Sprite on a hot afternoon

in New Orleans, which I took, and savored. She's got this vacuum that

straps to her back, is strong and quiet, that she hates wearing, to clean

the rooms with. I ask her well is there a switch to turn it into a leafblower

and she grins no. She worries about the house she's rebuilding in Gentilly.

One of her neighbors put in all new plumbing under the house, which had

been raised, and every line was stolen, for the copper.

I saved a little of the soft drink, wondering if it qualified as a Poetic Substance,

but I don't think so - no hideous prosal turgidity in these containers -

(California Sage, San Ynez Mountains)

Tonight I read about a 1984 Toyota Van with 4,000 miles on it, these put on

by an 83-88 year old man, available for $1000 or 5 three day passes to Disneyland.

This is in or around Monterey, Ca.

A bottle to contain a day late and a dollar short.

i wanna cross a genre, its like gettin outta the hood

no more g's endin the words, mon

sure I'd jump on the grenade to save the comma

there's somethin right about the sight, its past midnight

of my clothes hangin on the line - its a return

to circadian rithm, a refutation of the gas fired centrifugal dryer

I fit into these, clean, and dry, smell like

the air here, which is a way of life. Tryin

to remember what river was that I watched a woman

(to see how a pro does it)

washing my clothes in Thailand - all two pair of pants

five shirts, 8 socks and undergarments unmentioned

the 20 baht I paid coming from the worlds greatest GDP

is related I think to the potatoes our country baked

one morning, in Hiroshima, among other things

somehow I was welcome -

Charlie Feathers

used to play this club in Phenix City

Rozalyn wanted to visit

as we were headin up we met a comin down

a Diminutive dressed as a Clown

with a bloody nose

and he was crying

so we didn't

He said -

You are a Levi's Blue Jeans Commercial in Wait.

She said - I am the younger lettuce repair woman.

He said - right here?

She said - the parent leather sofa of forgery in the bookshop

behind the racks of Hyphen Sexuality yes.


She said - I WAN 2 lose it here right.

She made gestures under a shawl.

Under this they had so much to.

There was an immense popular agitation outside,

(it is in or around a godless left leaning sexually permissive region)

a procession of festive pacifists in protest of war.

In this corporate bookshop, patrons customarily withdrew their shoes,

to be more comfortable.

And so the She said initiated this pleasurable private act took place

in public - and the pleasure was not his, but an old dream

he made an enormous mistake, under this shawl, known to all.

A fine virtuous woman deeply linked to him

was out there in the festive antiwar parade - older, and suspicious of She saids.

He put on shoes, not his, nor a pair.

One worn brown size 15 "Hukka" boot, one size 17 brown parent leather earth shoe

and stumbled out of the bookstore to implausibly deny any recently commissioned

enormous mistake was where he had been to his partner,

even as this tryst with a she said 25 years he saids junior

mints under a shawl on the BORDERS books and music store fat city couch -

was already a subject of popular youtube internet replay

of the surveillance video camera.

The Tracks of he saids pathetic deceitful Shoes

loose shambling props of a clown.

Explaining where his went and how these - got mixed up.

His virtuous did not so much a single she said.

Fare thee, Not he.

Indeed made an enormous "Mistake" and

Woke up.

One sip on a Simpson's coffee cup I Homer duct taped over for you

Corolla squeaks, the coast is clear

Phones don't ring in fiction no more

No more idly fingering

A 25 foot avocado curly cord

every new minute a referendum on the next -

front yard orleans avenue levee wall and sky:

I'd stay with Steve painting eaves its the quiet

abandon demo'd after the storm hear yourself

think even I could afford the brick house next lot

over - there's no trouble here - no late for dinner

bickering spouse child to worry well formaldahyde

trailer fumes subside subsist what is your picture


what is your plan a few 12 ounce cans

form the shape of a wave a day told me to ride

your assurance certainties awaited - us -

I was a happy man just coasting on slow

unincorparated roads

A Tale of Two Elderly Orleanians

3 July

M'landlord, a gay Goldwater republican Tennessee Williams scholar

asks for my help to locate the black wreath he traditionally displays on

the 4th of July. (for July 3, the day the Confederacy lost at Gettysburg and

Vicksburg fell). He's forgotten that someone stole it when he put it out last

November 5th 2008, a Wednesday.

6 July

The Corolla overheats.

Worst case scenario, head gasket and savings evaporate.

I bring it to Mr. Turner.

I suspect he will be wearing his OBAMA 44 cap the rest of his days.

He sees the fan isn't coming on.

- Its your fan sensor...

Disconnects it

- Now it will run all the time

I say

- Just like they used to.

- Nothing wrong with that.

- Now lets check the oil.

- Oh I watch that -

- Tell the truth.

- Its no more than a 1/2 quart low.

(but its been about two months since I checked)

He pulls the dipstick and his phone rings.

He's looking for a piece of paper to wipe it.

- Good morning Mr Solomon

Gives up on the search and squeegees it with his finger.

- Mr Solomon its never a bother to talk to you

Replaces dipstick and pulls it out while continuing with Mr. Solomon.

Says out of the corner of his mouth

- Quart low

I put a quart in while he concentrates on his call.

I wait till he's done.

And he says

- Okay my little baby brother...

COUPLE OF SHADES DARKER than Mocha, the type of person you notice all

at once, as if the universe really was the result of intelligent design with a human

creator that took all the pride and care of a german automobile assembly line - skin

not just that incredibly smooth, but so much of it, huge arms and shoulders contoured

of such curved aesthetic lines you could forget to ever look him in the eyes, wide,

childlike wondrous brown iris ovals, eye lashes and brows the only hair on his head,

a smile that implies outsize servings of full time fun, perfect white teeth, six foot six,

with an adorable lisp that doted over every s with th's like felt over polished mahogany -

this was an attractive man in black spandex tights and a red guinea T from room 306

where a light-bulb had broken in the receptacle over the bathroom sink, and that is

where I, Coops Lowe, Maintenance Man, come in, called out by Miss Rose to the

Front Desk where this request for service was taking place.

I was looking for trouble, 5 hours and 37 minutes into a shift only a Maytag

man could love, and it had been like that all week - I was so bored I wouldn't

have minded a feces filled toilet to unclog - now that is hyperbole for the purpose

of hard boiling me - I actually kept track on a slate chalkboard in my office of the

number of consecutive days without encountering guest B.M., and this morning

after clocking in counted these blessings at 57, which was close to a record I

hoped to extend.

- Names Coops

I stuck out my hand

- and I can take care of that for you - are room 306?

It was the first time I saw the smile at full wattage. Wow.

- I'm MarKey

MarKey said and engulfed this not inconsiderable mitt of mine into that giant

gentle paw of his that could, if it chose, close and in an instant break every bone

in my hand like they were Doritos in a bag. But instead he just kind of caressed it

by flexing his palm in a little rippling symphony of minute contractions and expansions -

never felt anything like it and I stood there a little too long, I thought, not that there

was any choice but to wait for his release.

- Happy Mardi Grath

MarKey said, and let me go.

- Yes, I said, feeling a lightheaded from the odd handshake massage.

- Now, would you have a Potato?

I did not have a Potato, and I told MarKey so.

- Well, Coopth, how-ever are we going to get that broken bulb out of the thocket?

- MarKey, I've got a trusty pair of insulated Needle-nose I've been pulling those

out with since I got my High School G.E.D. back in 76.

Don't you worry about a thing.

- You won't get a thhock like that?

- Oh we'll turn the off the thwitch

I said playfully

- and I'll go get a bulb and the pliers and be right up.

Markey beamed again and I took a deep breath as I turned and went to chapter two

Workshop Dairy

WATCH YOUR ALL-CAP INTRO length, the Creative Writing Prof purred over my

shoulder, then gave that shoulder a nuzzle. Ah! I'd been all-capping my intros a little

too long so I might receive just such attention. Sure she was a hack but she was a hack

who not only knew Mosley - nice not only, she added.

We attend the workshop barefoot, sit at olde tyme wooden writing benches, and begin

by massaging our feet into the soft mounds of fine, fragrant pine sawdust, reflexology

charts tacked over the plywood tool racks instruct us to roll the foot from heel to ball to

get the juices flowing, and

SOMETIMES, ITS COLD OUTSIDE, and that is actually a freezing

rain that finds you in a spotless clean white t-shirt because you expected

this was a brief gratuitous journey you'd take in a car with a heater that

works, but the cannabis smoked a half hour prior has persuaded, there's

plenty of gas, and now you are walking down a dark road so lonely it is not

named but numbered, so you remind yourself even a boy-scout can walk a

mile every 12 minutes and by all-rights you should only have to experience

34 more of these yourself; the Neil Young Lyrics

Bruce Berry was a workin man

he used to load that Econ-o-line Van

you've been revolving to speed motor the lower limbs are played out and

its important, somehow, to get the last filterless nail in your back-pocket

lit and, whatever its called, Providence, or some pip-squeak angel too lazy

to find a worthy cause, or just that random windfall we call a Jackpot -

allows the match struck in frozen hands to stay long enough to take a single

sustaining lung-full for the chemical POW to RJ Reynolds that you are -

yeah, sometimes it happens.

I was having a night like that. however improbable it sounds, just lying in my

own warm well made bed, night table set with a Sharper Image clock-shower

radio tuned to the worlds finest radio station, WWOZ in New Orleans, which

was playing the Blues, and I was feeling it.

It was four minutes after 10 when the ring-tone rumbled and fed me a voice

I can expect to hear about every Democratic Administration or so, for I am

a collector of treasured if no longer close friendships with beautiful women I

am helpless not to adore; a voice that causes the dinnertime phone solicitor to

ask if Mommy is home, that sometimes gets rough and scratchy but as dense as

440 grain sandpaper that liked to, evenly and light, rasp over my entire being in

deliveries of promise to eventually exfoliate every injury I'd ever known,

and I missed it.

- Coops Lowe, she said.

This was true, and it sounded a little too much like the old days.

I reminded myself of the moons position, but this would not be her time, far

as I knew, and I cursed myself for the reminder of how far I didn't -

this was the parched Sahara Desert of a bed I'd been lying in.

My endearment, that she once responded to like ring follows bell, flowed

from every cell I own to rise out a soft release of hummed air -

my lips closed to form it, but then I caught them and said her full first name,

wishing I could make those two syllables linger. I added a question mark.

- Nada...?

- How are you doing, Coops?

I have long sought the answer to this question, as well as its true meaning.

It is all a matter of inflection, and what I have come to realize, usually this

is a civilized invitation to play a brief song of encouragement from our lives.

So from the way back at the top of my throat I pushed out in a soft high cadence

- beep... beep... beep

Her laugh made me wonder to what other ears fell this Niagara of hers to

share her first, not meant to be restrained impulse: an amusement made of

a refined and rapid-fire awareness to collect attractivities for the purpose of

forestalling the intolerable as long as possible; left up to her this could

go on forever, but in our time, I had other ideas I was now free to ponder at

will with any wall I chose. This was private language that meant though I

might feel like a poor beast now residing in the belly of an immense grandaddy

of a Gator, my signal still transmit -

Poor dumb hound chased that coon
little closer to the swamp than it oughta
might as well rung that gators dinner bell
one flick of the tail and it was over

beep beep beep

Fat old gator shoulda known better
than to eat the dog entire
might have worked good in the 1970's
now they got electronic collars

Now that training kennel out past the meadow
lost nine dog over the years
opened that gator found nine collars
only one of which you could hear

BECAUSE THIS IS A GENRE form, a recipe is followed, though you should

be astonished, bated, concerned, delighted, entertained - enthralled, even -

flummoxed, geograph-ied, humored, informed and laugh; surprised, suspended,

and ultimately transported by both the content and preparation of the ingredients

that compose it. I was, this evening chapter, lapsing in my library, which is does

not substantially differ from my home, culling through another tome for my

Collected References to Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner in the Fiction of Reynolds Price.

I was going through his stories for clues about how a place is made so you can

hear the creaking of boards under a rocker on a late summer porch you believe

in, with characters you've come to feel positively cousin to, or find irresistibly

admirable, in Price's words "worth watching." There is cadence in the sentences,

and speech that reveals at once geography and complicated cultural legacies brought

to bear on the shape of the person talking. They are plain folks who don't as a

rule do foolish things or eat or own too much, primarily striving how best to

inhabit their own skin, or at least pave a way for younger kin to have this chance

themselves in a world where it doesn't take even one wrong turn to do you in.

So their houses, rooms, and drawers are plain and not so much to describe.

The presence of God is made near in the scruples taken to keep the house free

of dirt and overly wrinkled shirts.

In the minds eye its easy to see the top of the dresser drawer is free of dust and

cluttered by no more than old revered pictures, a comb, a wallet with carefully kept

bills and last nights change, which is not much.

And, these people eat their breakfast, just like they should, sometimes expedient

rations at 6:30 before work, more often including hot delicious scratch biscuits made

by the back of a hand that has furnished the stomachs of dozens of lives over generations

to do their work, sometimes reliably handing over a cup of coffee, steaming and black

and said enough to save the sipper's life.

And by the certainty of this transaction, and the sanitary, sane and not unsaintly keeping of

the stove it comes from, we glimpse - that I am writing at work, a job that bores me to the gills,

making stuff up and missing my books more than I knew.

NEVER HAVE SO MANY BEADS broken my heart. No I was walking the streets

following the drink in my hand. Past nine or eleven of the most delicious kisses

I was this close to tasting myself. So I got two hugs from the free hug guy. And

my picture taken with the greatest chest a shirt has ever been painted on, stepped

in vomit and hot foot it down Esplanade to Claiborne where Zulu ends up, saw

two chiefs insulting the others costume, one made with cardboard, the others

with silk, and then there was a clash of gigantic roosters or just feathers alone,

maybe 50 people involved as they tore at each other's suits.

Walked under the freeway from Rampart to Robertson, kept noticing how so

only the white person I was, gee this appears to be a really separate society,

what do you think of that, tho I felt plenty comfortable black myself.

A heavenly congregation that only people who live in hell can attend.

Beads lashing every step, 1000 chinese girls ages 9-13 working 11 hours

a day for a dollar, stringing these along. Does not make me feel better, it is

a very nice holiday and everyone is entitled to how they feel.


About the Author before and after shaving Posed w/ Mirror -

that this vantage, of looking up at the convex parking lot mirror, is a kind one

to the old visage, how it thins, smooths and straights - this mirror is not made

for preening or close inspection

but for human beings to look out for one another!

and that is what makes for the kindly view and who among us could not use

a few of these? And posing questions is said to be the job of a good artist -

I suppose that will be mine and carry on

with the kindly plastic convex parking lot

mirrorupward looking portrait

you discover you've lived for years on a twice folded square

of paper, (//////// ) in a wallet, there

at every reckoning, gratuity, mile &

wait -

I 'd have this feeling of a nearly transparent question mark

of well-being and warmth, blood volume radiating out at the thought

an every now and then outside the moons rotation

a glance at the sky - for your how, why and good luck

Quote was always reciting something and now here he was at it again.

I wanted to hide but since this was not yet part of the equation I took

a deep breath and not a muscle to conceal it, turned exhaling into an

act that seemed to roll up my eyes, and here is when I first realized

proof I must really do believe in God, the parochial variety that resides

not in around down under or through, but up, somewhere above the

top of my heads vent of consciousness and whither, I looked, spirit:

ebbing and audacious for my put upon was directed at his absence,

no small of his back but right next to the legendary in his mind only

congratulatory blowharding sophist-a-path-ic and droning self ; one eye

on you-alls and one eye guessing what his vast Erudition hadn't noticed -

here is what is most scary about Quote:

Frenchmen Deli Santa

Fat, Red and Bearded, at the counter buying three tall cans of Olde English 800; 2nd guy in line is being verbally abused, re his mother, by an elder fellow leaning (being drunk) on the ice cream case; as Santa jollies out, the 2nd steps up to pay (for beer) and reminds his taunter he's finished Parole, which means a knockin on his ass is possible if mouth is not shut; concerning me for a moment, till I gathered this was all friendly.

Didn't I ask you the best
Has anyone ever told you
questions baby you ever heard

I lift the mailbox
and its like I'm paroled
how your letter jostles and cuts
straight to the mantle
suddenly this pile of pictures I took
wonders if they're the pages of another book
of my beautiful maladies for you

It was the best of purgatories, it was the worst of purgatories.

Not as usual, but typical and getting worse

It was a Hell on the United States

and it was as fun and lucky and lingering a prelude to a conviction

as one could ever know

A sever the dead were there

hovering just a little over shoulder height, just about stride for stride

your each soft strike of heel tamping the ground a little lower

just a whisper out of peripheral sight, their advices of no earthly help,

all of it the residue a 7 letter plural noun shortened every life it identified

as both inferior and despicable - the word wasn't born here

but here it grew up to levy taxes on the paltry wages of negroes

to build schools for the children of their oppressors alone

and this was to be taken lightly

or it could be taken worse, one never knew.

109 years later)

Are You Straight Enough to Play the Game with Me?

in the Catastrophe Basketball Free-Throw League of New Orleans

To stand straight on the line and caress a beautiful

Sphere you will softly let fly the finest Rainbow

You can find

For the Hoop where the Net rests so Still

Just to congratulate your skill


So are you straight enough to play the game with me

Animated by 92 natural elements of the story around here

Many times washed and scrubbed by the good young hands of Kyle Molere

A boy who lost all his own in New Orleans East

John Cage inspired, compounded with Armour All for Tires

All we aim for around here is to stay behind the Charity Stripe

and Revere these uniquely satisfying aesthetic objects

of an Immense Tragedy

To form and fashion these arcs we may call our own

A call to quiet and sober the mind

Pardon me sir, but do you work or reside at the Respite Center?

Muy Poco Vida

Could you change a light bulb in the kitchen for me tomorrow?

Please put the hose on Marika's side of the house out of sight so that bums don't see it and decide to use it.

Tonight is the next episode of Damages with Glenn Close at 9 p.m.

If you want to see it, come on by.

Don't forget to get the hose out for Dr. Hawley.

Also, tonight the garbage cans go out.

I've told people that if you're interested in avoiding World War III, it seems like you ought

to be interested in preventing them (Iran) from having the knowledge necessary to make

a nuclear weapon.

When you get a few minutes, I need to get you to put some water bottles on the stands.

Do you think you could by tonight and check my ice maker? It is being perverse again.

A couple of times Curt found that a piece of ice was stuck in the mechanism; if that is the case,

I'd rather not have to deal with the Sears repair men.

The garbage cans need to go out tonight, if you don't mind.

The upstairs commode must be leaking again, for water is coming through the ceiling.

Can you check on it tomorrow?

...a president of the United States who's wanton in his expression of violence, Kucinich said.

There's a lot of people who need care. He might be one of them.

If there isn't something wrong with him, then there's something wrong with us.

This, to me, is a very serious question.

Could you come by tonight after 7 p.m. to do a chore for me?

My ice-maker is jammed up again; could you come by and check on it?

People, I just, I just wanna say, ya know, can we, can we all get along?

Can we, can we get along?

Um, can we stop makin' it, makin' it horrible for, for the, for the older people and the,

and the, and the kids?

I mean, please, we can, we can get along here.

We, we all can get along.

We just gotta, ya know, I mean we're all stuck here for a while.

Let's, ya know, let's, let's, let's try to work it out, ya know.

Let's try and work it out


Courteous Requests Kenneth

Deranged President "43"*

The Candidate Dennis Kucinich

Afterword by Rodney King

* I don't say its name

Non Response Follow Up Vacant Delete Confirmation


a census taker of middle initials

(from California)

discovers here, on Dumaine

near Broad (Housing 60% vacant)

"r" is long and equals "are-ah"

I think of being handed a baby

soft plain feature of geography

and admire, each and such

that aura and longing are bound

Two Favorite Questions in My Life

Do you know why men go to Bangkok

Joyce Wee asked me, this was at the workplace.

I did not know why, and she invited me to dinner.

She was working in the kitchen with her mother.

Her father joined me in the living room and after a quiet time asked,

- Chris, do you like fruits?

Yes-la, Joyce Wee's Father, I like Fruits.

Papaya, Lychee, Asian Pear, Pineapple, Jackfruit.

I do not like the Durian, do you?

It tastes like heaven and hell he laughed, and then he sectioned a pear

that was cool, crisp and delicious.

Do you have these in California he asked.

I thought of the funny little sweaters they arrived in, a white foam netting -

yes but they are 4 dollars a lb so its kind of special to eat them.

Incredulous this 4 dollars a lb in 1988.

I said yeah, but its the Papaya that is sad, not much bigger than this pear...


3 dollars each for little ones from Mexico.

He goes back into the kitchen.

Returns with a bountiful plate of sliced red papaya, sprinkled with a little salt.

It made made me feel so good; and initiated a discussion about the Century Egg,

packed in mud, it will last that long, the white is black and tastes like piss.

Oh delicious.

I think Joyce wanted to marry me.

This is in Singapore, 1988

There are hearts in the concrete chips only I can see

Gal I think you know what that jackhammer done to me

Where spells of the evening I once gathered you

I'm out standing in this field I'm a net for the blues

at the 180 of the cul-de-sac its quiet and I'm all ears

if the river were my friend

Do you think a man without a thing in between his legs

just might have something interesting to say

Evenings Whistler Painting Becomes Me

This is not "making other plans"

if a fine art photograph in New Orleans is not waterproof or buoyant

what good is it?

the answer is lamination to archival foam board

+ successive coats of polyurethane, applied to all the work

I really care about, look it floats!

Songs Are Better than Pictures

Ha Ha Ha

Better than Pictures any day of the week

Decade of the century, era of the epoch, spell of the millennium

Pictures aren't very smart and get stuck looking cute forever -

Songs don't Surveillance People. Pictures?

Songs don't hang out at the DMV

DMV does not work without Camera


Songs use lungs to make, don't bleed heavy metals

Songs are kept in the head and the heart and are not better

for being kept desiccate in the freezer -

a Picture like to stay there forever

Mp3's are not Songs

Songs don't cost .99

I hope you know

Excerpts from 50,000 Things I Can Do Save the Earth


I seem to lack the means to possess Guile

with her and Aplomb you cut the line, a grin

people like people with our wattage hanging around

we've got juice and just get offered stuff

seats, plates, rooms, places, tickets, rides

for this we extrude an almost bottle-able charisma

you wish you had with us around you can

man, what can I say

what can I say


There Is That

a nod to say "there is that" comes across well

as a unassailablly decent thing to say in conversation

nor does it harm to remind there is indeed, that;

if considerations could only unduly precede reckonings,

for Frolic to deny Ultimata, eternally

what a wonderful world That would be -


consider THAT next time this raise your hands

show your palms and public announcement of

"I Give Up"

thing wants to come over you - no one wants to hear this

is your problem and there, like l say I like to say, yeah,

is that


It is a serious, serial-lyrical refrigerator photo collage

a puzzle closing on U north of the golden mean, click

a sane person delights, and his freezer door anoints

vivid as the yellow jersey I wore to Disneyland '67

picture by Dorothy to furlough my fathers hands

from camera to camp shepherd like on my shoulder

same hue of the wall grounding you in Algiers

olive & black, always a light, a veil, a line, a laugh

just past launching a string of golden beads

by a blue bottomed blood orange and yellow float-boat

if I did not keep them from falling my shutter surely did

catch and bottle your ready hey lets! effervesce-ing self


Tell you what I did early that Wednesday morning November 5 2008;

hit every New York Times paper rack, and even here, there's a few

I had 240 of these by dawn, less about two rolls of quarters:


Racial Barrier Falls in Heavy Turnout

never been unfolded, slipped each into its own mylar envelope,

an original irresistible object for generations to come.

I'm getting 50 bucks for them on ebay, but you know thats going up,

I'm sitting pretty. What a country.


Notes on It Being All Good

PULL the throttle it goes

turn the key it opens

hot water at the turn of a valve

push a lever and shit vanishes

flick a switch the fan comes on

adjustable flames and refrigeration in the kitchen

soft warm covers on my bed next to a radio reciever

furnishing music and voices and as I tap a w here

you will see a w there - wow

what's not to like


I Believe in Mortality

One afternoon, errand running, Corolla at a stoplight on Elysian Fields x Claiborne,

the echo chamber stills, a continuous vibration seems to quiver and go taut - really?

All serial autopsy cop show watching is about exdoctrination; if Emily (squirm)

ballistics queen wears jiggly blue thing (w/lace), banters w/saintly sponge bathing

sad "baby" sayin all while Y-incising or sewing African Coroner-Gal, over me?

Who will jiggle (bring) my Smear to Trace for bit part betty page dna lab chick

to run my e coli for Eric to vu on the light table - and say

Kali, it looks like our Vic was more chatty to entreaty

less than actual belief in Deity... what, ah

steam-rolled a pancaked prostrate of beggar he'd make -

colors of stained glass a kid can almost taste.

Let me guess, Emily says, pregnant to say next, a thing she's said before to Eric

whose mouth is a voluptuous Fort Knox of Collagen, makes him look so please be on

our team enormously like-able, & to know deep down he's still a catholic alter boy

lighting candles, he can't help but grin - and Kali feels a wave of light rise in her

tummy when, looking straight at her, he does -

but it was his discovery of my e coli on everything that

- If Only


a napkin photograph is written on, marred and local

its hopeful, incipient Universal destroyed


Requested first legislation from the Obama Administration:

Would Americans Please Stop Saying "Cool" ("koo-ul") Please Act of 2009


To: Legendary Special Channel

From: Permanently Clicked Off

One day Deb-or-ah said


you are the most indirect human being I have ever met

I said

I am?

having had no idea

I thought quickly

how the things direct people do

will take aback and disassemble me

of my fondness for the affix, and suffix

a fluency in retrospect, and not only

and thought, there may be something to this

so I asked, as Deb is a credible observer

of the human being in general

specifically, what do you mean?

a listening for which I thanked her

Three years later

I take great pleasure in looking

out my kitchen door, to the yard

and compliment of a cat whose mug

belongs on a wanted poster, a lifers

1000 yard stare that dares you

do not enter

a kitten when Katrina happened

part of an under the house bunch

who lived here before fed them

three months till I moved in

he was scrawny, skittish and weird

never sure of anything, even his next step

contact with me was not welcome

though I should keep two bowls on my steps

filled, regular, which I do, refilling

water that he drinks so much lately

I worry that he has diabetes

the little paunch he grew

that I am personally so proud of

that and his occasional napping

on my steps, appears to be shrinking

So I don't know if that cat is happy

he sure makes being lazy look sad

the first words I taught my Mommy

I thought I saw a puttee-kat

This poor little feral lives a life half startled

can't hear a thing

Hospital made my Mother stone deaf

Staph injected in the spine was kept

22 years, same age as mine

It was hard for her to read my words

but she had heard from Tweetey Bird

it was our revelation and the foundation

I'd learn to set my sentences by

like the dinner table

long after it had been cleared

was the time to talk, the more you made

the later up you stayed. She would speak

and I would not say a word in response

I portrayed it's pronunciation

all of the face to frame the mouth

an assembly line of morpheme making

that, as they came off, I softly tossed

(she played baseball with Warren Spahn)

just below and behind the widows' peak

made well enough, they would land

in lush bountiful moss

I thought

There is always stress on this kind of word

still do I shudder at the youngster

who would give up in frustration

and say

oh never mind

not a day goes by I don't wonder

how would my life differ

if just once he jumped into my lap

what if it was regular

nothing resembling this will ever happen

but he sure is good to see

Loren named him Fester

Mom call me Thyl-vester

This I think is why I so very love to lisp

Cargo Space Is Limited Thoughts
on Ceding an Acquiantence
my Staff of Asclepius

veneration is to protection as
fuel to engine
crock to
works for me
cant to hurt
love that thing
nice impression
sure it could
thats my dad
painted those eyes
pink and red
rent a trailer

Says the medicine takes the top off of all his thoughts

so he stopped taking it and going to his job

and breakfast, rest, rent, permanent residence

started malt liquor, reefer and walks all day

the city teems with improbably pretty things

an agate noticed by he alone on Esplanade

shattered crystal in the park

waiting for a women to signal his fate

so Andy's working Saw Palmetto to make Megan a mask

says it turns upside down for a cowboy wearing chaps

and you know what a hat is all it lacks

wings can't be sung off an angel

but of any need to fly

if a Melody was heard to wander

and from trigger was pulled nigh

now if time was what he needed -


a sung the nails out of Jesus

but nothing parts hard from concrete

the night it is yours to keep

a furniture pad to cover

a cardboard bed to sleep

headlong swaths on flattened boxes

your tall hills of dry grasses sled

so brief a ride

so hop and climb

back up

what I'd tell the boy

Pen: You've been holding some-thing Else

Hand: It is a lucky day you don't bleed

Pen: Agreed

Pen: Forsook for what?

Hand: Six in one screwdriver, brushes, spreaders, poles, ladders

Pen: Phillips, Slotted, Hex - what's more Dominant Paradigm than that

Hand: Nays the Pills, nor encumbers my thought

Pen; Hear about the house-painter who could not paint

Hand: Yes

Pen: What Station

Hand: Painting the leafy courtyard to a compleat reading of Real Stupid Magazine

on WRBH Radio for the Blind

Pen: What about writing articles for Real Stupid Yourself?

Hand: I am not in love

Pen: In the old days you'd have 2500 words already about the band-aid

Maria should have liked to cover your thumb-wound with this morning

Hand: A unsubtle transaction, missed translation, the primal stalking of

the union to capture two lost charges - lets don't

Pen: How is Head

Hand: On a good day, sad...

Pen: I liked it when Head told Hand to Hold Pen so Tightly

Hand: Delusional and the body suffered

Pen: What's for Suffer?

Hand: Head thinks that's funny

Pen: Discovery

Hand: What does a Pen know

Pen: Courage is Mumble-ier than the Scorn

Hand: Head does not get out enough and the easy flowing cahoots with you -

Pen: Contrast and Contrast

Hand: was an affliction, and Head purposely slowed metabolism to the point

nary a Pen could be lifted, that's what's for Suffer

Pen: Don't hate me because I am beautiful

Hand: Penurious

Pen: Just, like, Go with the Flow, man

Hand: Goes nowhere

Pen: Look where it started

Hand: Scratch

Pen: Tell you something?


Pen: You wield a Pen's Pen

Hand: A Pen's Pen...

Pen: Any-page any-pen any-place -

Hand: Who are you trying to Kid?

Pen: You Just Never Got It Out There

Hand: There are tenable reasons for this -

Pen: How I love a List! Start your Enumerations -

Hand: That's a trick

Pen: Back to @ the 180 of the Cul de Sac

Hand: A Backyard estate unrelated to fire or grill

Pen: The Out There

Hand: Pen, rest

Pen: For Hand is kind of Wiggily lately

Hand: What is it with you and betrayal?

Pen: Its the Transparency, Equipoise

Hand: What color the Kettle?

Pen: Tell Head I want to Play

Hand: I'll tell Head switch to Slate

Pen: Chalk? That hideous squeak

Hand: And Lead

Pen: That is a Drag

Hand: My point

Pen: I do not like where this is going

Hand: Transcription into bits


Call me ASAP. Some moments ago - never mind how many - having scant cellphone

anytime minutes, and nothing decent on the satellite network, I thought I would flail

around and find a street-corner drugs for sale neighborhood. It is a thing I do to fight

existential torpors and mitigate arterial calcifications, for two. Whenever I find myself

balled of the fist and resenting the foam content my double latte; or the expiration of

license stickers fuel my paranoia and wish that I could cause sudden unstoppable

nosebleeds to every other constable I encounter - then it is time for some goof-balls,

a skin-pop, a hit of crack cocaine on a balcony where simultaneously the sun-downs

and I am orally gratified by the best affections a wad of 20's can buy.

This is my miserable excuse for life and adventure.

Where Poppa would brag about the Caddy he'd drive to the Po-House; I meekly take to

cocktails with the skull and bones disclaimer. What is the use.

It gives me a different sort of hole to dig out of, and what fellow does not, to some extent

and time or another, cherish that very sort of work.

But now I have Phucked Up, big-time, and before a triumvirate of triangulating security

cameras, and grieving for the inconsequential If Only-ness of the pre-bucket-washing

citizen I was not an hour ago

Let me back up a little here. Let you take the trunk section pull down seat in the

blue '79 Caprice Station-Wagon that faces the "rear" window; but since you have let

me back-up a little here now you see bumperstickers where it was meant you'd see

windshields and I am stepping on it. You find it funny and worrisome at once, for this

is not rear-wheel drive, and my acceleration in reverse gear is galloping - over the raised

and bumpy railroad tracks and the Caprice goes airborne like some nissan major motion

heckuva hunkova ram tough truck commercial and your pants are pissed, you have stopped

breathing and your adrenals could work no better if a flaming volkswagen beetle had to be lifted

to save your own little bundle of joy, for I have not even turned my head to see the road

in front of you; I am using the rearview mirror - this is what I meant by let me back up a

little - don't worry it is a lightly travelled straight and mostly flat road lined with

a lot of nothing but the occasional telephone pole to crash into should I lose

control, I won't, I keep promising, reassuring it is almost impossible to roll one of these

Caprice Station-Wagons without a steep embankment -

I did not want to scare you though and I feel bad about the excitement upon your

bladder, how pale you've gone, so now we are coasting. You take a deep breath, and I

appreciate this as most of all it is audience that I want for this little backing up of mine.

Why don't we visit the drive-thru just like this you go first I'll let the electric window

down and would you order me a small chocolate shake along with whatever you'd like.

Do not try to escape or I will close the electric window on you, its one of the few things

General Motors was doing right in 79 and you would be wise to take my word for the

python like grip the window-crank-motor is capable of stopping you with, just like

this, go ahead get yourself some fries if you like and we'll get back to letting me back up

a little bit oh thank you it is the greatest gift a person can give you know to an unforward

looking person such as I, letting me back up a little, thank you, go ahead, buckle up and

He'll take the DMT, walk into the DMV and address an application requiring a DOB -

"I had a relationship with a black woman" he'll write and literally flow the roof off the

Walking into the Department of Motor Vehicles, I knew huge slabs of language

encompassing if not the contemporary human condition here in San Francisco,

at least a demography of its motor vehicle operators, awaited me - wheelchairs cellphones

flakcatchers "I hate this place" "I'm stuck at the DMV" crowding, lines, instructions,

plastic seats, patience, fingerprints, written tests, the greatest photographer in the

state of California (Monique) and of course, the numbers of, visa, cash, check, violations,

delinquency, SR-22's, all of my fellows. I have no complaint, my perspective here may

be unique this is the occasion I use, historically, to read Moby Dick; in addition I have

brought my DMV Composition Notebook: a two hour wait means this narrative can accrete -

but the voice, a voices, soft, recorded: Now Serving destroys mine - this is new, not an

improvement. I need to clear a citation and renew my drivers license.

Time was you came to this room of dispiriting foot pummeling linoleum, and stepped

into a line you could not deviate from; but now, to enter the DMV, there's only one line,

called Start Here, that will ask you what for and issue a number. Then find a seat.

So what pummels now is not the floor but an electronic voice: loud, soft, phony Now serving

...At Window. I lost my key to the garage. Two years ago. It was not a problem I could

enter the side door by popping a stiff card into the jam. That would be my drivers license,

and after doing this for awhile the license began to resemble a dog's chewing toy -

I explained to Occifer, here I am.

My Number is 134 from being called. I've given up my seat and am now laying on grass

200 feet away in the Panhandle, a park in the shape of that leads into Golden Gate Park.

It is a good deal, waiting out here. From here the DMV seems like a strange, condescending

way for a state to treat its citizens, but not, perhaps, its Drivers. Walking is something

I've long suspected I'd be good at. You are like me? So felt jealous of Harry Dean Stanton

in the opening scene of the film "Paris, Texas" - a parched wasted striding machine emerging

from the Mexican Desert after a walk of 40 proverbial days and nights?

My throat caught to recognize, I could use one of these. A few scenes later, I just lost it, tears

flowing when the stricken Stanton character discovers in his brothers apartment

- a closet full of shoes to shine. I needed those too, and fine by me if the film had stayed right

there, lingering over the polishing of leather. That is to forget about tomorrow,

but now, 30 minutes sitting on the grass, its time to check the position of my number.

Wouldn't you know or would I just composition notebook make it up, 96 to go,

here I am flattening grass again. Melville, I feel puny.

- Hey brother.

is where all that trouble starts in "Living for the City." I wrote, then looked up. Brother, maybe not:

but a grinning white guy authentically expatriated from wonderbread, skin like leather,

brown hair uncut since reagan, rasta braided, something like a floral pillowcase to hold it all;

green canvas pants with every kind of pocket, and bulging, these.

Sandals - of enormous feet. I looked back up - ratty long sleeve redshirted, a tattoo on his neck,

which I did not consider too closely except to know, quite likely not my tribe.

So I just nodded.

Taken as invitation to cross right leg over left and fold down to sit, in one elegant motion,

arms around knee's, left hand clasping right wrist to lock it all up.

- Composition notebook writing about the DMV, when you'd like to be in Baja watching whales.

So, he'd not just been watching me but accurately adding me up. What's for sale I wondered

in those pockets. My text was not going anywhere. $300 bucks cash in my wallet to patch

things up with the state. I could just ride a bus way down south.

- I am composition notebook writing about the DMV, Brudder-mon.

Light blue eyes twinkled at my d's in lieu of. I pursed my lips. Tattoo-Neck people, I knew

from my time of selling brass coated razor blades and powered manitol from the backroom

at Midnite Records in Oildale, are near synonymous with scumfuckery. Those blue eyes of his though,

were sparkling and likable - not the reptile hooded beady things I'd learned to look out for;

he unclasped his hand and put an index finger to his Jugular; now I saw it was a waterfall

that would cascade down his breast.

- Try some amines of mine?

- I don't do tallow.

- This is Zeitgeist Textual DMT.

- Emmachisit?

- You believe in Angels.

- Feminine ones.

- That elongate their vowels.

- That induces a longing, yes.

- The dose is free, but you must take it now and take a seat inside.

- The DMV on Fell Street. That does not exactly portend well.

- Remember how the shag carpeting looked on Calloway Street?

I put a hand to my mouth. The orange-brown shag carpeting I studied from a distance of two inches

back in 1979. To a ratcheting chorus of crickets and morning tower drilling rig sounds,

bentonite drying in my nostrils, windblown glittering sand I could barely stand.

A tall rockface I foolishly made half the height of to discover I was gripping the visage

of my mother.

I would have to wait for a helicopter to rescue me.

The payphone booth I needed materialized and it rang.

I reached over and touched one of his long ruined toes.

- I am for real.

- Nobody knows the shag carpeting I've seen.

- Glory you never mentioned it, but as you know that was a multi-dimensional experience.

To take on the DMV on DMT will alter your life.

- That series of municipal bus rides

- Can start in about a half hour, 45 minutes.

- El Camino Real

- The Real Road, Chocko

- Taking me too?

- South, of course. Not to just any some funny lagoon

- San Ignacio?

- The life force missing from your composition notebook writing.

Now light blue eyed rastaman started digging into his left knee pocket, and my mouth

began to water, that I am a moth longing to believe in flame.