lift off space ship to the never really completely understood tomorrow

17 Sep

i had a bad day and then it got good and then it got bad and then it got good again, swinging tango adventure. You can do it Brie! Hector, you can too! Me too, what the fuck. I can do it. Bernadette, you can do it! Larissa, you can do it! Frankie, you  can do it! The birds can do it!! The spiders can do it!! Everybody can do it and when we all do it, ya wanna dance?

flamenco hobokin dancing on cars

14 Sep

i’ve never been atop a car.
i’ve never danced on top of a car.
it must be fun waking up in a new culture,

rerouted rivers

10 Sep

when they tell us
to not take 2,
to not mix it with alcohol,
to stay away from that Damen Millins bad kid,
to not take the bus downtown,
to not climb the flag pole and change the flag,
to not stay awake past midnight,
to not walk barefoot on cement or grass,
well, shit god damn,
maybe it’s time we did.  

house still on fire

4 Sep

i was walking along,
in no particular direction,
in no particular neighborhood.
i was just walking and i saw this house.
it had caught on fire.
the shutters were hanging down like suicides,
but the house hadn’t turned totally charbroiled,
there were some red and orange streaks
and it got me thinking about symbols.
i walked inside
and something pushed me down to the basement,
to under the steps.
that’s where I spotted a blood-colored heart and inside was written
i looked at it a while and then climbed back upstairs, all that sizzling around me and all those wood boards falling. I was never scared. I knew that the heart and those names would survive. i walked away thinking I should definitely talk to a stranger.

butterflies at Auschwitz

23 Aug

there musta been chimney looking Giralda death bell knell…human ash cigarette call to prayer bar room smoke swirling butterfly wings into x-shaped ceiling fan flowers growing from tombs stepping onto the dance floor wherever we may be.

this must be a procrastination

17 Aug

can you imagine writing an entire novel, listening to the same song over and over and over and over and over……………keys on the typewriter or keyboard never really stopping, fingers dancing wilder than a tango on 78 speed, until the novel was over?

busting the jukebox to repeat “step in” reminders

10 Aug

thought it was a dance, this “step in,” some sort of 50’s bobby sock swingaround tango thingamadgegee, but it turned out to be a turkey on the side of a mountain in some forgotten california town, all the locals waiting in bars and cafes (on the other side) for the astrologer to saunter in and he always did, saunter in, cleft foot impresario, best damn actor they’d ever seen, the limp, they talked about it, about him, in bus cabins, in everywhere, sometimes drunk, other times suit and tie talking chicken produce, and everyone who knew half the universe was sometimes bad smelly socks day, knew that god loves drunks and promoters of poultry, but god dammit, he always sauntered in, confident in his new dream, in all his dreams, his venture capitalistic nightmare vitamins dream or techno gadget dreams or new three headed blades of pearly grass creation dreams, it didn’t matter. he sauntered and they and me waited for his hair, always a different lawn, waited for his prediction about tropas nomadas, naked thunderstorms or some good old fashioned sicarii masada suicide. and it wasn’t just words….he always showed up at some point, cowboy boots kicking dust up…i think it was in gilroy, california, yeh that was it, Gilroy, garlic capital of the world. fitting since he always brought that mess up the scene with him, in his arm movements and shake a booty and after all the drink was done, he had pretty much the same message as PHD or PhD moonlighters roaming the university circuit, to follow our shadow, but he said it with a reckless dance, wooing all the onlooker gawkers to step in, into the fire i assumed and so i did my best johnny cash ring of fire and stepped in and i was saved, for a drunken two minutes and 43 seconds and catching my breath on the step dance down silence, i thought about us all being prisoners and looking forward to that walk around the yard, bar stool or behind a screen sipping whisky or running around the block, always that two minutes and 43 seconds in mind….and then back to the? what the hell are we returning too. shit, i knew this was gonna turn into some dry, flat lines, comatose bright light philosophy because dark is beautiful, all those stars and infinity so maybe next time, yeh, i’ll nail it to the wall, a pamphlet, for all or a few or just one to bite. but if they’re gonna gag us, we might as well dance, in place confidently at home sequester or in the public domain, maybe not in bars, but on the corner, with a mask, surprise the fuckers, remind them that it’s still a miracle, a step in and try.

god obsession

6 Aug

monk hood lean over the telephone,
practically licking it,
waiting for your call.

the crush

1 Aug

all that everything
and it turns out placebo
back again to day one

woops wallah good!

22 Jul

a drinking partner,
suddenly unveiled on the avenue.
is a dream.

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