Rocamadour (early '90's)

Headlights kiss the mountain face
Winding, cool tires to the pavement
Spinning, noiseless spheres of motion
Kissing.

Outcrop kissed by spheres of light
Reflecting, speed of light does no damage
Speeding, noiseless streams of light
Kissing.

Fires kiss the leaves afloat
Twirling, oak leaves to the sunset
Twisting, noiseless flights of fancy
Kissing.

Leaves kissed by spheres of speed
Jumping, no does not exist here
Floating, noiseless fall from grace
Kissing.

Winding spinning noiseless kissing
Reflecting speeding noiseless kissing
Twirling twisting noiseless kissing
Jumping floating noiseless kissing spheres

starlight bubble (early '90's)

starlight bubble
dead surroundings
cactus fizzle
warm

chilly vista
life is pounding
misty drizzle
spray

moon

glow of water
rain of light
California California
cover me tonight

Stick To My Fingers (early '90's)

stick to my fingers
you suck you seeds

here I pull you out of your
home and make disgusting
faces at your slimy texture
(how rude) and yet...

you're sick you stick
you suck you seeds

I'm sorry I'm awful
this is my fault you can't
help it that you're

sticky and sick
you're slick you suck
you seeds and stringy
mass spongy morass
like from out of my ass

forgive me I'm awful
it's just that you're
sticky you stick to my
fingers you suck
you seeds

you orange pumpkin pulp
of a think you're vile

I'm sorry I'm awful

Peel It (early '90's)

peel it
don't beat around the bush
slice the tip
crack the whip
point me towards the sky

peel it
don't hem don't haw don't stop
tighten grip
do not skip
dress me down into the ground

peel the peel
feel the feel
drop my yellow slicker quick
and eat the seed

put the tip onto your lip
and do not skip or
loose your grip or
step on me
because you'll slip
and reel away
peel me today

Zuluman (early '90's)

I threw my spear at the sky
it landed in the dust

I carved my name into the shaft
and sank it in an elk

I cleaned the blade and ate my kill
and shit it out into the dust

I threw my spear at the sky
and almost pierced the moon
but it landed in the dust
I trust
because I haven't seen it since
somebody pinch me is this real?

I just know it's gonna
land on me someday
I just know it
Fuck.
I know that's gonna happen.
Just my luck. Fuck.

The Occasion Poem (06/03/93)

Written for the...
To conclude (conclusive, decisive)
Now deviate from -

Can I speak the truth?
Can I
Can I speak the truth?

...and above all, congratulations!
And I might add (might equals will)
Now deviate?

Deviate.
Deviates.

Justin's Old Guitar ('92)

An African plain rolls out of your head this time are you
sane and are you Fred or Jesse James and can you
ventura-guess at that body ol' crow were you scared
as you left or was it right for you to go drums that'll
talk can tell you tales of rivers flowing and of men who
try to find themselves in simple acts of going and they
wrap their lives in boxes and they shame at those
they've killed and smile at times when they were rats
and the bowl blown through was spilled but there's more
to it than just this symbol precious symbol that it be and
you can touch it as it flowers red the seal the wax the
tree and a fish can dart away from the patchwork
quilted hull which bounces gurgles off the shingles breaks
the gorgeous lull and you can tell me of your father's
words you heard that tree grew tall and here and now
I play your old guitar.

Untitled (NY '96)

How could you allow your letters to fall
into such hands as these?
An honor I would not bestow upon myself...
in doing so you have altered my image,
sung me my praises in vulgar descants,
pointed your flatulence out windows to spare me,
kept food in my mouth and blood in my penis,
and regaled me with dreams full of dance.

Untitled (09/03/96)

I know that you've passed
through my electrical fences
you've picked all my locks
and skulked down my halls
you've mounted my stairs in
search of a clue, you've
gone through my closets pen
flashlight in your mouth, pulled
paintings from walls hoping for
safes, thumbed through albums
to feel for my taste, tasted
my food to see how I cook,
rifled through desk drawers
reading my bills to see what
I paid for.
I hid in my attic, and wished that
I could have come along for this
tour, straining for noises, proof
of your presence, which proves
that you care, don't leave me up here,
reveal yourself to me
and I will do likewise
Leave your guard down
I won't be afraid

Wisdom Tooth (09/03/96)

It sneaks through me, the
disintegrating powder pill,
thickening my speech, slowing
my thoughts, deadening my
pain.

So I take a moment for inspection.
I taste my breath, I
linger over blinks
I am an addict of sorts, so
the artificial changes are
startling and frightening.

Having used marijuana as a
creative stimulant, I am
tempted to let this pill
stay gathered around the
hole in my gums, and this
literary excursion feels, well,
dangerous.

If it wears off mid-poem
will my metaphors disintegrate
like the pill in my stomach,
falling from sublimity to
doggerel?

Who am I with this additive?
This traveler in my blood?
Do I change in a fundamental way?