.
.
.
.

it was going to be 5 in the morning
and your fade-black stockinged legs were going to swivel
as your feet became family with the floorboards again

when the pickled penguin said Hold Out
against the knives of time
and the metal gloves that squeeze-crush
and the pale evasive snake sniggering on a bar-stool
and the envelopes melting in sour butter, Hold Out
against every possibility of plastic success
it was going to be 5 in the morning
and the fruit-flies would not move from the rim of the cup

Hold Out in sea- foam meadow green,
against the better side of you being smashed into a brick wall
against tranquilised radiators and sausage-soup and binoculars made of greed
all moralistic diets slipping into the riot-cop ocean
and bedfellows to the tsars
pink vices and purple aftermaths their own timeless rewards
it was going to be 5 in the morning
and there was one other car in the parking-lot

pickled penguin stroking the planetary airwaves with solemnity
muddled wine, imploding farmland, white woolen bears
and vinegar'd moustaches the cardboard cities excavate the roman pillars of vixen-tears, cougar-breath, canine cavities like flashlights beckoning the eternal dead
a calm curtain drifts the camera's boot-laces
and I was about to light your cigarette
when we were children, one of my legs and one of your legs went swimming together
it was going to be 5 in the morning
and your hair was going to be a complete mess

and all the traitors were pouring yesterday into their own ears
the butterflies of despair were organising a protest march
and the anger of older men was considered excessive
and some-one said, what are closed captions?
& disturbing the equinox with it's dubious eyes and rascally top-coat
poverty is something we have to work towards
to splatter joy, like cum, into the face of tomorrow's world
& our hearts had played trampoline together for 2,000 years.

.
.
.
.
.



............................................Goodmorningforeverandthemanymorningswewillwaketogether
g
o
o
m
o
r
n

p
i
c
t
u
r
e I always crawl back to kiss your feet. You are my Goddess, of femininity and fertility.
There is more celtic p0etry in the way you push out your cunt greedily to someone else, than in any poem I have ever written.






.
.
,
,

countries-letter



Guatamalan time we had last week. I Canada wait to meet you tonight. It seems Scotland since we last met, there's been a Holland my heart, and it's sometimes just too Dutch. I love Turkeying with you, you're just the Swedish. I know this is Sudan, but because of you, I'm Afghan again. I know we Congo somewhere.

I also know things in the past were a bit of a Mesapotamia. But Norman is an Ireland, Eritrean to themselves. I do find your arguament Venezualan, because I know you have your Korea to think about, from both sides, plus you don't like Russian things, but I'm not saying "Yugoslav in the office every day" -- I don't know all the Hawaiis of it, but if you want a Haiti, that's fine. I Uzbeck you're right, though you may live to Rumania mentioning it!

I always Kurd about you, and I'm glad you Pict me. I've not Celt this way before. You are so Yemen! Somehow you make everything seem Nubian again. There's Somalia where that came from. I need Angolan I think this Israel thing.

Your point is quite German, Iran. Norway would I do it again. And if I Icelandered you, Iraq'n I regret it. But it's Spain you're not here, I can't Espana it more than that. I think that from a hired plane, we have a real France. Are you worried about your ropean union? That you'll be Thai down?

You may believe it's Dover, you may think it's Finnish, but I don't Bolivia. I'm never bordered when I'm with you. I want to port u gal.

...............
....A Poland a smile, The Whirled.


p.s. I also miss your Tahitis.

You're a wonderful Cuban being. Not to mention your Libya.

Welcome to Lapland.




s

s


lots of guys in my neighborhood, walking round don't look so good
they say hey baby, take a walk on the wild side

thought he was James Dean for a day
then i guess he had to crash, he fucked his girl but loved his stash
he said, hey baby...

i've got a friend, he disappears, so far out he's never here
he says, hey sugar...

wind or rain, pills or snow
you should've seen him go go go...


and all the dealers go --

and all jailers go --

and all the mothers go --

and all the children go --

and all the lovers go --

and all the friends go --


x
z

s



to feed the rich and starve the poor
well, what else is money for?
they feed the rich and starve the poor
what else are you fighting for?

as the factory turns to rust
and every promise turns to dust
driven by a shaky lust
still it says in god we trust

to feed the rich and starve the poor
well, what else is money for
to feed the rich and starve the poor
well, what else is money for

are you really so insane
to still believe in private gain
as the world goes up in flames
hang your head in bloody shame

they feed the rich and starve the poor
well what else are you fighting for?
to feed the rich and starve the poor
you don't need books to find the cause

to overturn the bosses' table
do it now, while we're still able
to overturn the bosses' table
do it now because we're able

to overturn the bosses' table
do it now for we are able
to recall an ancient fable
to overturn the bosses' table

to overturn the bosses' table
do it now for we are able
the challenge of this generation
the challenge of our generation

they feed the rich and starve the poor
well, what else is money for?
they feed the rich and starve the poor
what else are you fighting for?

to overturn the bosses' table
to overturn the bosses' table
the challenge of our generation
the challenge of our generation

they feed the rich and starve the poor
they feed the rich and starve the poor...


d
xd

X



When I was very young, I was depressed. And I was young for a very long time.

I'd stare at the shelves in my room. Some of them had hardly anything on them, and some of them had nothing on at all. I would stare at those shelves until I could hardly walk.

One day my mom came in from her 3am paper-round, and I knew the game was up, and that it was played with 2 balls. As she was walking out of the house with her hard-hat, she suddenly shouted, "When are you going to get a dog!?"

"Dogs aren't for people like me," I calmly replied, and returned to my nun's habit of not reading the newspaper.

I was much jungian front and back then, and the girl seemed a much simpler place.



x

c

p



pack your bags and find the door
it's a sad bad case of I.D. Fraud
you're not you any more
and I'm not me any more
a suprising case of ID fraud

inside the plastic the same old name
the same old picture, but something's changed
you're not you any more
and we're not we any more
sad lonely case of I.D. fraud

they're laminated, they don't tell lies
unless you're really smart or a foreign spy
plus proves your legal, so step right up
drink a little water from this poisoned cup

they're good for clubs, and they work in shops
might get you outta trouble if you meet the cops
what's does the future have in store
what on earth were we born for
alarming figures, for I.D. fraud

now I don't want to shout about it
but there's no point leaving home without it
if you're on a plane or in a car
they want to know just who you are

I.D., therefore I am, said a man called Sartre
but he got exist-mental, when later he was carded
essential lamination, to locate our liberty
exhibit A, tragic case, in just how free is free

so put on your clothes and find the door
then aliens arrive on a distant shore
give us your masses, your huddled poor
but you're not you any more
the case of ID fraud

i wonder if like me you ever find yourself
blinking and thinking like someone else
you're not you any more
i'm not me any more
a warm collective case of ID fraud

show it to the doorman and lower your eyes
cos everyone's wearing the same disguise
What on this earth are we born for?
a name and a number and not much more
a most regular lower case of ID fraud

use an initial, to stick out from the rest
take pic after pic until you look your best
that's not me,-- I look a mess!
smile at the camera, until you pass the test
willing victim blushing at ID theft

find a little place in a big old crowd
rebel just as much as they'll allow
but you're not you any more
you're not true any more
a slightly tragic case of ID fraud

you tried to talk to you, but you'd already left
i put my arms around me I was so bereft
how the hell did we get into this mess
someone not me knows but we must confess
it's the world's worse case of I.D. theft

i'll tell you what I think, I'll get it off my chest
I think that there's a man sitting at a desk
he's taken lots of us and he wants some more
runs a big business called I.D. fraud

inside the plastic, the same old name
the same old picture, but something's changed
so pack your bags and find the door
aliens arrive on a distant shore
take a big step towards being free
show 'em your card and say, That's not me!

If you're a public servant or a private slave
or if you're just like me and you need a wage
show it to your boss and you might get paid
get a fake one if you're underage
keep it by your genitals unto your grave

I told you what happened and you just looked bored
As if I was sick and you'd been cured
Put on your clothes and find the door
you're not welcome here no more
You've a terminal case of ID fraud

I put a 'missing-person' sign outside my house
attached early pictures of my brains and mouth
(i would have used my dick but it had headed south)
no-one called, then called again, you guess the rest
I was just another victim of ID theft.

Now I don't want to shout about it
But there's no point leaving home without it
Most everyone tries to find themselves
by walking around as someone else
show it to the doorman and lower your eyes
cos everyone's wearing the same disguise
yet for every check on plane or car
they still don't know just who we are
they can't even guess at who we are
cameras pointing at a different star
cameras pointing at a distant star

now I don't want to shout about it
but there's no point leaving home without it
take a big step towards being free
show 'em your card and say "That's not me!"

And if you think I'm full of shit
It just means you've got used to it.



z







z


a

I just wanna pull off your sheet
Oh my monster you're so sweet

I wanna play a hair-guitar
I wanna play YOUR hair guitar
Do you HAVE a hair-guitar?
Do you LIKE your hair-guitar?

I wanna live in a cardboard box
I wanna smell your foxy fox
I want 7-11 socks, you get five pairs they slowly rot
I buy 7-11 socks, you get five pairs they slowly rot

I've got a plan for your vacation
I wanna be the capitol of your nation
I've got ideas above my station
I wanna rise to this occassion
surrender now to my invasion
you play nurse and I'll play patient
you'll enjoy my occupation
take off your clothes, I'm so impatient
I just got a text from Paris Hilton
I'm a greater poet than Keats or Milton

I just wanna pull off your sheet
Oh my monster you're so sweet
I wanna play your hair-guitar
I wanna play your hair-guitar

I'm a stand-up comic that isn't funny
I'm Donald Trump, without the money
Osama Bin Laden without the cave
I'm a Brad Pitt that can't get laid
I'm Stephen Hawkins at a downtown rave

And I buy 7-11 socks
you get 5 pairs they slowly rot
I am innocent, a passer-by
You stun me with your taser eyes
I don't care if our love dies

she left her eyes





she had a best friend, who then left town

drinks on Thursday, I'll see you around



she left her eyes, to stay with me

but her body's on the run in the land of the free


she lives precarious, sixteenth floor

ripped-out cartoons stuck to the door

she lived vicarious, she wants much more


than public housing, and locked-door death

junk-food, magazines, tobacco breath


she wrote poetry, more or less

big and beautiful, I must confess

a Hallmark card, in a flowing dress


she had a best friend, her friend left town

drinks on Thursday, then I'll see you around


remotely controlled by the silver screen

soft eyes smiling on the thin-girl scene


He came at 10, turned out the light

I met a nice guy, but he wasn't nice

and busy men don't come twice

now she writes loves-lines, every night


she fell in love with the idea of feeling

she's madly in love with a popcorn ceiling



z

s





...................bring us your floor, your muddled messes

s

as
s

.....................................................................The economy is secure

s

z

how would william blake vote?






.............................................................................How would William Blake vote?



z

s

..............................................................................ObamaforAmerica.con

s

s

......................................................................You had to be there

x

s





................................................................................If we stay calm, none of us will get thru this



s

s





............................................................................Giddyup (I am here)





s

s

....................................................................Thee

s

y



.......................................................................................................this isn't finished ...
What

What did you burn a stool today


Teachers, leeches, death-wish preachers

carved their lies into my features

taught me my place, and the ABC

killed my eyes with useless schemes

they never supported any one of my dreams

they took a heart that loved

and gave a mind that screams


no real family, and no true friends

but I know you like me, because I follow trends

what would you like, fives or tens?


You can't return softness to a grown man's face

I can't go back to my state of grace


I follow the colors on traffic-lights

I'm fully agreeable, I'm this polite


because they taught me my place, and my ABC

and the numbers to add up

what they stole from me

I can't see, can't feel, can hardly hear

but I've got my diploma in greed and fear

I'll chew on you, in this damn rat-race

but I'll never return to my state of grace


teachers, leeches, death-wish preachers

carved their lies into my features.










s

f






..................................................Free Will



s

a






....................................................................it's It's all a matter of tryst


z

poem

If cars don't like sugar they can

lick the freeways that gorillas

wearing strapless accordions

fire bullets at

or eat 7 bowls of spaghetti

using someone else's hands

to pry open the closet

the closet which has sat patiently

underground for a thousand years

like a girl's smile

or a store so full of pinatas

that they've spilled out and blocked the street

until the townspeople develop enuf knees

to use tree-trunks as broom handles

then an orange-shaped sound is sure to vibrate

which will cause

brand-new babies to pop out of toasters

the length and breadth of this one-

dimensional continent

& I personally, on that occasion

will not be opposed to taking a late breakfast.

z

april's pic







s

pics begin


....................................................The Dealer








Robot killers, robot wars
robot pimps, robot whores
robot lovers are all the rage
and robot homeless need robot change

robots smile and walk on by
robots talk, and robots try
sleek new ones, and rusty cans
robots feel, they understand
i've seen robots on TV
robots look like you and me

sometimes scruffy, sometimes neat
i've seen robots on the street
i've seen robots in the store
i've seen robots at my door
i've seen robots on TV
robots look like you and me


robots kneel in robot church
robots fear the robot worst
robot hope in robot mind
robots waste their robot time
robots vote for robot change
robots dream of private gain
robots stay their robot same


robot work, robot bed
robotic thought inside my head
am I programmed to see me?

robot pimps and robot whores
robot killers, robot wars
robot lovers are all the rage
and robot homeless need robot change
robot homeless need robot change
robot rabbits, robot snails
robots swop their robot tales

robots kneel in robot church
robots fear the robot worst
happy robots come in first
cheerful robots come in first
cheerful robots come in first

i've seen robots on TV
i've seen robots
robots.


I must avoid an angry android.


z

pics

a

pics







z

pic

c

Okay.


The roof top's shoulderblade defines a morning star
which has belched coal-dust into its' mother's face
slate and whistle bend the
haymarket tussle of an octopus
the least-known of men
a heavy cul-de-sac tears off its' head
& bright wild flowers of every color
stream up and out
levitational pull decreases
the toppling of a pillar
a tired nose blames poor weather
in a month of July's we built a cake
with a plane riveted to its' skull
that plane was a ribbon of frozen salmon
salmon which is red and circular
the Strongman, chief exhibit at the
zoo which is overgrown and gorgeously deserted
except on days when the tea-pot is laughing hysterically
at the sight of a pair of white stilettos
found lying in dry grass
they are closer than the owner realises
to a medieval coal-mine


c

you

yyyyyyyyyyyyy

oooooooooooooo

uuuuuuuuuuuu

y

a

abandon control

a

y


It had a cool sound-track when I watched it on TV

I did it with a knife, a gun, I used only my bare hands

and I only did to them what they've always done to me

it won lots of enemies and also several fans

I never gave the orders to flatten hiroshima

firebomb dresden, or napalm vietnam

and I got my letters yesterday, some women want to marry me

they understand, you see, plus now I'm a celebrity

I just can't make the chat shows cos i'm about to die

while those who kill many millions wear armani suit and tie

my killings are disgusting, there's are civilised

they get promotion. I am caught and tried

but I only did to others what you're going to do to me

and at least for half an hour I felt well and truly free

so I don't need any last rites, cos I'm not on my knees

I'm the only man alive with a sense of dignity

Isn't that why those women want to marry me?




d

i


I remember all the parties
no parents in the way
walking in with Si and Loz
factory-town seemed far away

And we'd walk up the driveway
of houses with their lights on
and every song was perfect
and every girl was so much fun

and we didn't stand around, we danced
and the lucky ones would fall in pairs
and you'd always see some certain ones
glide slowly up the stairs

I remember all the parties
with nothing set in stone
holding a bottle of cheapo wine
and trading roll-your-owns
and when you asked what their plans were
it was always, "I don't know"

I remember all the parties
no parents in the way
walking in with Si and Loz
factory-town seemed far away
ask someone what their plans are
it's always, I don't know

but the world is a peach, that we'll devour


z

bobland and beach photos

d

s


Surrealism is punk in spirit

Without punk there is no surrealism

Andre Breton formed a punk rock band

Van Gogh was a punk

Jonathon Swift was a punk

Antonin Artaud was a punk

Che Guevara was a punk

I am a punk

You are a punk (maybe!)

Punk follows no orders

If something is not punk, it does not exist

Punk is always popular, and always ignored



z

magazine collages

a

x

*

......................................She's bi-polar, bisexual, and buys shoes

.....................................

....................................She used to be a girlfriend, now she's just a muse.

*

i snagged my sweater on a corner of your star

my rampant heart in the broken tongues of the day

your body unlocks a long river

body exploding under the weight of what is.

z

f

s

smmoonmoth fleshlight


moonmoth fleshlight







a

s







z

e


English civil War.....................................................((song by Joe Strummer, last 4 verses by me)


When Johnny comes marching home again, -- hurrah!, hurrah!
he's coming by bus or underground, -- hurrah! hurrah!
a woman's eye will shed a tear
to see his face so beaten in fear
and it's just around the corner, in the English civil war

It was still in the age of clubs and fists, -- hurrah! hurrah!
when that well-known face got beaten to bits, --- hurrah! hurrah!
your face was blue in the light of the screen
as we watched the speech of an animal scream
the New Party Army was marching right over our heads!

They said it couldn't happen here -- hurrah! hurrah!
was it anybody that we know? -- hurrah! hurrah!
but what was that parcel under the stairs
and who got caught out on the unawares
when the new party army came marching over the stairs?

They say it couldn't get much worse, --hurrah! hurrah!
and then she looks inside her purse, -- hurrah! hurrah!
she's got no food to feed the kids
she's lifting up the dumpster lids
the new party army is marching right over her head!

When Johnny comes marching home again, -- hurrah! hurrah!
home from work or from the bar, -- hurrah! hurrah!
did we sell our brains to get some calm
tell me, bro, did we get far?
the new party army is marching over our heads!

They must think we're as thick as shit, -- hurrah! hurrah!
live on our nerves but not our wits, -- hurrah! hurrah!
they must think we're as thick as shit
the way that we put up with it
the new party army is marching right over our heads!

When Johnny comes marching home again, -- hurrah! hurrah!
will be burn this town down to the ground? -- hurrah! hurrah!
will he let out a dreadful sound
like a voice that's newly-found
the new party army, so Johnny comes marching home...


z

k



Uncle Henry got so fat
Uncle Henry got so fat
What do you think
about that?
how Uncle Henry got so fat?

first he boiled the little ones
he made them jelly in his scones

then he chewed his brand-new wife
kept her tongue as a shiny knife

used the knife to kill his mother
used her head to kill his brother

used his dick as pencil-cover
then he took an older lover

but the story finished sad
when he married his own dad

how did Henry get so fatty?
he turned out just like his daddy
he swelled out just out like his daddy
that's how Henry got so fatty


g

I a pull off your sheet2 pictures


I just wanna pull off your sheet
Oh my monster you're so sweet
I just wanna pull off your sheet
oh my monster you're so sweet

I wanna play a hair-guitar
I wanna play a hair-guitar
I wanna play your hair-guitar
I wanna play your hair-guitar
do you have a hair-guitar?
do you have a hair-guitar?
do you like your hair-guitar?
do you like your hair-guitar?

sometimes my bed stinks
because of the cat
and it's not even mine

I wanna live in a cardboard box
I wanna smell your foxy fox
I want 7-11 socks
you get five pairs they slowly rot
I buy 7-11 socks
you buy five pairs they slowly rot

I just wanna pull off your sheet
Oh my monster you're so sweet

I wanna play your hair-guitar
I wanna play your hair-guitar
I wanna play your hair-guitar so badly



s














c

i


I was born neath a frosted moon
by a sugared hill that gently sloped
where men and mice were bride and groom
a pair of lovers busy grasped

inside a cage of darkened glass
so no-one saw the dangled rope
and no one spied the poisoned vat
and tearful leaves that drifted past
the windows of our rented room
no call to arm or words of hope
no idle chat or bosses' cash
will part us from our private tomb

for we were born neath a frosted moon
and the holy grail gonna be here soon



s

g

Kitten Smitten


get out of the garbage and walk the dog
she's so cute like a little fairy
take the toy, it's a blistered frog
oh my goodness, look at you
she's paranoid won't leave the bed

calm her down, the cat's insane
private eye for the bloody fax
I'm not Che and she's so vain
the shaky shelf, the music blast
intuition, if you've got the knack
pyscho cat

she can listen, she understands
she's a ball of fluff, some rampant drug
nothing like what the others have
gets in my jeans, destroys my money
and i can't seem to get enough

i go to the shows, then back to the groom
where are you, big cat, she wants you bad
then last night it was gloomy
sad cat! mad cat! are you being bad?
i mention the vets, it's just a bluff
that shit's expensive, don't tear it up
where the fuck is that cat at?
I've got a lover but it's her I love
if she's outside I'm gonna be pissed

if i shake the treats she'll come running
coming upstairs or waiting there
flops on down, exposes her tummy
where does she live? inside my hair!

used to be obsessive about cleaning it
never minded her little shits
she's got great teeth, she's on a mission
you can smell her coming, an egyptian vision
she who knows but doesn't share
inside my hair is a living nightmare

she's so cute, she made these scratches
is she on your bed? is she lost downstairs?
what's up girl? not much these days
but it's terrible to know that someone cares

I poked this poem beneath my hat
and threw my clothes in a plastic bag
wanna connect, and ignore the facts?
don't tell me how to treat my cat!
don't you ever stroke my cat!

nobody except her understands me
i wonder what she'd say if she could talk
i got that bowl from value village
take out the garbage and go for a walk

why me, why me, I won't hurt you
i've loved you since the day I cursed you
psycho kitten, if you'll allow
I'm not fat, I'm just furry
are you coming up the stairs or waiting there
where are they hiding? inside my hair
when I hear that soft miaow

nobody except me understand me
i wonder what i'd say if i could talk
i got that bowl from value village
take out the garbage and go for a walk

recycled cat, c'est que say?
pyscho kitten, all the way


zz




x

Pullid

Pulling The Shirt Off
h
h
Have you heard about a man called Michael Chertoff?
he's the kind of man that makes me nervous
he's a true defender of the nation's purity
titular head of Homeland Security

Michael Chertoff, the family man
married to Meryll, two lovely daughters
and daddy to us all, it's such a burden
Harvard College and magnum cum laude
he's probably got a mistress, he sure can afford her
and a Mexican house-maid who crossed the border

look at his photo -- you'll see the fangs
the fish-cold eyes and nervous hands
holding the strings for the business gang

he's the boss of bosses at the FDA
the man of ICE, border security
thought-police, and customs procurement
he's even in charge of the Postal Service --
Michael Chertoff makes me nervous!

you can follow his website every day
even send him an email, but watch what you say
he's found a way to stop the slaughter
thru the modern use of ancient torture

well it's a free country, yeah, every day
I said, I'll take YOUR ass to Guantanamo Bay

then I'll hire me a crew of lumberjacks
to construct a system of medieval racks
and I'll stretch your bones until I hear them crack
with a gag on your mouth so you can't talk back

as electric shocks light up your wrists
be nice to see YOU SIR, wet with piss
cying to your god, with a baton up your ass
your eyes still burning from candle-wax

then I'll brain you, train you, bruise and degrade you
treat you like a dog, waterboard you
cover your head in a plastic bag
pure white-noise you
chained to the floor for the rats to gnaw you
then leave you to rot, I'll stop the attacks

I'm not Muslim, not even Black
but I can see your KK hat

with the Geneva Convention off our backs
I'll ask the questions, and I'll get the facts
and then I'll cut off your balls, cos you're a fucking twat

how do you like that, Mac?

Michael Chertoff, the family man
married to Meryll, two lovely daughters
Harvard College and magnum cum laude
he's crying to them now, about the New World Order.


s

d
BBegrudging strays on judgement day

.
Barfly


drunk as a skunk with the bores at the bar
ganja farmers and near-nirvanas
closet kings of a future drama
glance at the pants of jeffrey dahmer
closest thing to the dalaii lama
slow dance trance with what might harm ya
take two of these, it might just calm ya
a surgeon's journal to the end of the dark

you want to hit the hole but you're under par
liquor-bottles glisten like a million stars
the train-tracks weave, you disembark
the picturesque friction of hickey-art
can we use your body for a game of darts?
juke-box hustles reflect your scars
menthol, mental, oh gentle heart!
this world's dead, is there life on Mars?

No we talk, Yes we can't
evicted for your diction, from the school of charm
don't enter her, you'll come to harm
and that stools busy til the guy departs
let's kill each other, it'll be a start
addicted to the fiction of a future calm

so hasty vacation to a vacant place
yearning fur and friendly lace
drowning in a notion of manly spars
queasy on your knees in a bathroom farce
the seats been greased by lonely-farts
sexist balms & mis-spelt psalms
neat graffitti, and shaking palms
don't walk like that, you've gone too far
full-moon swoon at Siren park
from the pungent spray of Hudson bay
bring us your homeless, we'll make them slaves
to some body found in the Puget Sound
robots stoic flock every town
see them from a condo if you just look down
the begrudging pay by credit card
glued together til life do us part
the dungeon-grey of, Life's so hard

parks you for the blues
in a shopping cart
snoozy news and shoes-alarm
each new child is a brain-dead start
a fable of vampires tears you apart
sitting on the shitter, on maggie's farm

incomplete calm and centered rage
blue-collar shakespeares have their day
swinging through the bars of a toxic haze
they don't know much but they've lots to say
especially about cemetaries and bills to pay
Kurt so hurt and Mia slain
and how this city has really changed
when I was a kid I saw cows graze!
and you should have heard the bands that used to play
I gave it my all but it doesn't pay
do you see how the sky is always grey?
my closest friends have moved away
i'm the only one who chose to stay
hey now honey, don't spill that tray
it's juice of the gods, and anyway
there's one more guy that we need to blame
comet twilight and mecca'd fame
one more ache that needs to fade
but treat them fair on judgement day
for you'll be sweeping up the shadows
of a future age



Z f

a

every shadow pulls to love us
all has ears, legs, and voice, yes
past and future in the ball of now
and trees that stretch their royal fingers
and buried wars are grandpa-slow
and deep lush leaves of future lovers
we gather round the old camp-fire
in flames that teasing tongue and weave





x

the y

The Strange Case of the Missing Tequila.


your 2 bars of soap made of pizza
your 12 camels
your hair made of salt
your windows made of salt
every princess in Mexico
every moon
every flower
your floorboards made of burnt toast

the cologne cathedral inside your chest
gothic blues jazz-strobe
the fall-down-hole in the desert with its' desolate light-bulbs
from which I will one day escape and now i certainly have
your head rolled out is the horizon
red-carpet toe-nails and mournful buttons precede you
your feet walk along next to you
a black frying-pan so heavy it takes five men to lift it

then they carry it around the fairground in a tribal stomp
on the pan rests the haunches of a motionless donkey


x




x

t

taken today.

The 7.

Today is the first day of the seventh month.

Seventh heaven.

but there's something else... I will have to roll the ball!

l

p






...............................................................Psst, slip into this! ...It'll fit you like a glove!



a

f

..............................................................................................Full moon

d

e

Everybody wants it

and nobody is ready for it,

Yoko

x

d


The Democratic party, fluted suits of blue
they run things for the banks, they run things for the few
they stand up for the flag, but not for me and you
look at all their sponsors and you'll see it's true
we need a new party with the worker's view
we're tired of the old and we're bringing in the new
the lines are getting longer down at harborview
look at new orleons, that's what they think of you
we need a new party, with the worker's view



c

d



You can work 10 jobs with no pension plan
get fired for stopping if you need the can
get shot full of holes in a parking-lot
when d'you think these pigs are ever gonna stop?

Elections are erections, such a proud display!
puffing out their feathers but it's just date-rape
a bunch of billionaires laughing in our face
a 2-party state is fucking us today
The only thing sleazier than John McCain
Obamas and Clintons that can feel our pain

We can't pretend we're lost, we can't be led astray
a party of the workers is what we need today
keep your shit together, and choose another way
we gotta stay alert, cos it's judgement day

no seats for me and you on the gravy train
poor old grandpa spinning in hs grave
saw you kiss the devil's as for a dollar raise
the capitalist system is so insane
look at old russia going down the drain
look at new china, the people enraged
they're running out of oil so they're using the grain
too many hungry in the world today
too many pictures that are shades of grey
too many pens with nothing to say
too many people have been led astray
but we better get it right, cos it's judgement day


x

If

We were born 'neath a frosted moon
you have lived with no silver spoon
I can't sing, can barely croon
but I'm coming baby, and I'll be there soon
I'll be there soon
be there soon
I tell you love, that we'll be there soon

All the debts we forget to pay
backs bent low beneath the rain
driving busy on the money-train
no time to dig for the holy grail
our holy grail
I'll tell you love, the holy grail
be here soon

Though every shape be private owned
and every color bought and sold
and every body filled with knives
and every spoken word a lie
I'll tell you love, the holy grail
be here soon

Though every shape be private owned
and every color bought and sold
and laws that brutalise the meek
and every heart, so well-policed

I catch a glimpse of what we seek
soft and smiling on my sheets
soft and smiling on my sheets
naked

well, so it goes, to my suprise
a world of love inside your eyes

not every spoken word's a lie
the future whispers in my ear

hi!

........................... hi!




A woman's love is half the sky
I leave the race, to win the prize.


tho every shape be private owned
and every color bought and sold
and every body filled with knives
and every spoken word a lie

and laws that brutalise the meek
and every heart so well-policed
we catch a glimpse of what we seek
soft and smiling on our sheets
soft and smiling on our sheets




s







**






Food-price riots, and who's to blame
dog eat dog and the world in flames
if 10 million dead are one man's gain
speculating futures of hoarding grain
but don't think twice about the price of rice
you've a winning smile and your hair looks nice
a Camelot casino of fear and loathing
when all you want to do is buy some clothing
turn off the TV, you're bored with the news
but you'll look happy in your Gucci shoes
let's face it, it's all you learn in school
dealing the cards, giving you the fool
try to fit in, that's the Golden Rule
well-dresses success suckered fool!
Climbing on a bandwagon that's got no wheels
like Bob Dylan said, how does it feel?
losing your home, and begging for a meal?

Now your closest friends are busy on the phone
checking their portfolios all a loan
dreamin' of Tahiti, but they haven't got a bone
drinking to oblivion or just get stoned
I've a picture of Ground Zero, it reminds me of Rome

sign a petition, it's good to have a moan
staring at the cage cos the bird has flown.

hip means knowledge, it frees the mind
hop means movement, against the crime

walking down the street, and guess what I saw?
Woody Guthrie, Eminem, huddled in a door
as MLK and Malcolm X walk by hand in hand
re-loading their rifles after Custer's last stand
Leon Trotsky and Thomas Paine chatting in a bar
homeland insecurity, cameras in a car
they think they're pretty tough but they can't take the heat
10,000 Zapatistas marching down the street
mad machete moonlight, I can still hear their feet
they say, sexy momma, let's go out and play
round up the kids cos it's judgement day
10 love-song for every tearaway

I see Charlie Chaplin tying Paul Allen to a tree
then dancing to the sunset with Miss Alicia Keys
after checking all his e-mails, I'm sure that you'll agree
that you should sound like you
and I should sound like me
show me your bank account, this isn't MTV
so much the better, for sincerity is key
and any way you slice it, we all want to be free!


z

d



take my body if it's what you need

american dreamers, ungodly tease
handcuffs hanging from the money tree
the trunk's been greased and you're on your knees
swaying slightly in a texaco breeze
teardrops on the corner, Excuse me, please

liquor-bottles glisten like a million stars
drunk as a skunk with the bores at the bar
all the fine romance of a credit card
neptunic nostalgia won't get you far

pushing fishing-boats through a sea of lies
knowing that your heart has a pair of eyes
welcome each day as a new suprise
striving blindly through the daily grind
knowing that your soul is your only prize

hip means knowledge, it frees the mind
hop means movement, against the crime
hip-hop soldiers are rank-and-file
strapping on their boots for another mile
your dearest friends don't always smile

any honest love puts the world on trial

to stand in the dark and point to the light
is the only reason a poet ever writes

meet me at the bottom, at the end of the game
to be unknown is to win great fame
ten love-songs for every tearaway

every honest love puts the world on trial

food-price riots, and who's to blame?
millions dead and the world in flames...


a

They're kicking the homeless out of the parks

and too many people scared of the sharks

and too many old people losing heart

and too many people in the trailer-park

can't afford electric so they're in the dark

there's too many banks giving friendly loans

now you're sleeping in your car and you're alone

except for both your kids and your brand-new phone

that's just been disconnected cos your money's gone

You've got two jobs cos the system doesn't work

they've killed more aliens than captain kirk

like rambo on acid they've gone berserk

you're slaving for a system that doesn't work

s



Speed means freedom won't get you far
the class dynamics of a moving car
face in the hood, you've found the bar
singing falsetto in a jail opera
no file in that cake, making license plates
guilty as charged for that look on your face
they'll shoot you in the back if they want a race
plus lots of free labor in every state

They'll erase every trace of grace from your face

Social workers stalking outside the gate
sailing more oceans than Captain Drake
clothes with no-one in them doesn't suit my taste
paperwork peppered with shake and mace
late night tell-you-visions, are we all awake?

You can spend your life saying "Oh Yes Boss"
You can spend your life staring at a wooden cross
you can make your car shinier than new lip-gloss
but a rolling stone doesn't gather moss

the only thing sleazier than John McCain
is Obamas and Clintons that can feel our pain


s

d

I took this today, in Obama-ville, Capitol Hill, Seattle. Ironically, it is the 'garden' of the vets there.
As I was taking the picture, a woman came out and asked with concern "Is there anything wrong?"





a

x
xx
x
you're not here. oh how nice, oh how nice. you're not here. office boardgame, you're not here. coffee-house smile you're not here. a walking art gallery you're not here. stinking of death you're not here. lying to my face you're not here. eating my food you're not here. sitting on my face you're not here. passing the hat round you're not here making war you're not here hating your family you're not here loving me you're not here raping your sisters you're not here riding the high horse, you're not here spilling the street you're not here riding in cars, you're not here, reading books, you're not here, being me I'm not here, me inside you we're not here, squealing like a pig you're not here another piece of cardboard you're not here a smile on a stick, you're not here you want to be loved but you're not here, you're an omelette with hands you're not here your hiding under the floorboards you're not here busy at work you're not here, I don't want you, you're not here, you've lost the game you're not here you're not here. i want you, an old man in a wheelchair, sucking the brains out of a squirrel's head, while a woman outside puts a gun into her mouth, glass case of emotion, birds of a feather, you're not here. oh how nice, oh how nice, you're not here.

stamping on a statue of yourself, the illusion of power.




g

i



If you wanna catch an aeroplane, you gotta get undressed
history's no mystery if you trust the text
Che, Farrel Dobbs, and Malcolm X
I read them at night instead of having sex
cos what can be hotter than when your mind's erect?
I've got enough visions of naked breasts
billboards bulging with plastic pecs
kids die coming, ropes around their necks
down-loaded porn buried in the desk
if you want to be a master, you gotta pass the test --
sicko-fantic, fully-frantic, Wild West!


Too many people have been led astray
blaming each other is the rich man's game
slaving in the factory with bills to pay
but we better get it right, cos it's judgement day

Another coal-miner can't take a breath

another roofer falling to his death

another poor kid fucked-up on meth

more proof greed is the mother of death



b

A shelby


A kiss for a kitten, a roll in the hay
crawling back to momma with your dick in flames
cracks in the sidewalk can dance all day
rolling the dice in the plague-daze of Aids
some say, Oh dear, it's such a shame
as if they're watching a flower that slowly fades
but that's Sean Bell dropped in his grave
a suicide-victim, a heart-attack slave
another coal-mine that can't take a breath
another roofer falling to his death
another poor kid fucked up on meth
more proof greed is the mother of death

..................................................................................................................................by Shelby, Seattle





g

You can choose to fight or you can choose to pray
but you better get it right, cos it's judgement day.
too many hungry in the world today
too many pictures that are shades of grey
too many pens with nothing to say
too many people have been led astray
and we better get it right, cos it's judgement day

Van Gogh goes ga-ga with his palette-knife
greens and golds, against the night
layers it thick to express his life
throw ink at the wall, it'll come out right
use both hands cos you're in a fight

Hey Bill Gates, waddya say? I challenge you now to a public debate
one poor man against one rich fake, call me anytime I'm always awake
to inherent possibilities for me and mine, expose the machinations of your global crimes
I'm friendly to children most of the time
but I'd pulverise your ass with some busted rhymes

you might have Jay-Z in your sales campaign, investin in Vista, he's playing the game
Brooklyn song-bird, now throatless slave, all we've go for dinner is what the food-bank gave
but you can't buy me, because I'm not for sale

you can work ten jobs with no pension plan
get fired for stopping when you need the can
get shot full of holes in a parking lot
when d'you think these pigs are ever gonna stop?

well there's peasant blood running through my veins
and peasant pride, devoid of shame
my grandad couldn't read, but it starts to fade
I'm cheering the Titanic as it sails away
cos my family NEVER earned a decent wage
live free rebels, or die as slaves
where I'm from a muddy ditch is a boss's grave
tribal warriors, on center stage.

truckers cause a ruckus on the old freeway
why dumb down when you've things to say?
we're writing the book, and we're turning the page
blue-collar shakespeares strutting the stage
and we better get it right, because it's judgement day


s

k


and it don't stop, and it don't stop, and it don't stop...



g

Brother Joe

...............................for Joe Strummer

you take my heart and bounce it on the floor

you take my legs and push them out the door

you wrote just what you thought, and more

you didn't buy your soul inside a store

Joe Strummer, where the ocean meets the shore

beery boys, and the war on war

a virgin in a whorehouse

the working class, on tour

red banner of every color now unfurled

a citizen of time, and of the world

a virgin in a whorehouse

the working class, on tour

you stand firm, where others choose to fall

modesty incarnate, full of balls

you're busy kicking bricks from the wall

brain and heart striding in one place

the future unwritten, written on your face

redemption song of the human race

so undefeated, and once again, for sure

the bosses and the cops are hitting the poor

Tom Joad, Joe, Johnny Appleseed

they might pass by you, in your hour of need

k



Friends Are Asteroid Bracelets.

Lover's antlers, ambiguous doctor, wheatfield of frogs, ink-splattered roses, terrified rabbits, test-tube weeping of
.
syrupy assassins
x
hiccuping into the barn. Molten reunions.
s
lavender straws and treacheous pages
s
the jester's boombox of stars and lilies

agnostic pick me ups, honey's conundrum, the cure for what fails you
f
Arthur's ring.
f
Ink-stained heartling, terrified sugar-cubes in the lake
d
random neighbors, a tower in the desert, Havana harness melting into the future
d
parsnips aflame.
d
asisine prussian pillow-fights of tranquilised sturgeons
d
dangerous liasons, sword-pike-gold mine, holding tightly to the harvest. Venal butter, dog-collar of pages
s
turbulent blue shadow, violent neighbors, strong ankles, pick-ups in the yard
w
dragooned debt, highwaymen fleeing the circus of particulars, of lingeried sand-castles and pasteurised dumplings

a soap-box for apes. prancing Sodom's highway

the underwater school of shadowy furnaces, coal-mineerwter scool of shadowy furnaces, coal-xsvfddmdine x
mine, when I awake



xg

w



We Don't Know!


Some turn water into wine
we could turn pigs into real swine
we could barbeque the SPD
every Mayday, burgers free!

we could turn the desert brightest green
we could use the air and leave it clean
we could even say just what we mean
we could turn our lives into our dreams
we don't know what we could do!

we could turn the prisons into schools
we could all fess up as crazy fools
we could all refuse to just be mules
we could all say no to the bosses' rules
we don't know what we could do!

we could forgive our dads for being dads
we could love their faults and still be glad
that we're alive, hey Dad, thanks
for having sex instead of wanks!
we don't know what we could do!

we could go knock down the Texas wall
say Hi to the family, one and all
we could stop these goddam deportations
reach out with love, without hesitation
we don't know what we could do!

we could turn our lovers into wild beasts
rampaging now beneath our sheets
inside a home that's ours rent-free
when we abolish private property
we don't know what we could do!

we don't know what we could do

some turn water into wine
we could turn pigs into real swine
barbeque the SPD
every MayDay, burgers free

we could turn the deserts brightest green
we could use the air and leave it clean
we could even say just what we mean
we could turn our lives into our dreams
we don't know what we could do!

we don't know what we could do.
but we are many, and the rich are few

we don't know what we could do!




v

.........
m
m
I am salt in your vagina, island -- I am your gasworks, crawling with love...I have invented my own language, I have killed myself off... I am your hope ireland, I am several years ahead of you... There ought to be a law! Yeah, there ought to be a law ... against pickled tulips, & the radiator's padlock, against cloakrooms, against a man walking past with a dozen keys poking out of his eyes, against old-fashioned NEED, against golden ampitheaters, you ARE my grove!
Vomit sky! Lavender toes, on a quail...

But oh how our bodies were wings

l

Flying in and out of each other

birds of a feather flock together,

inside, below, inclement weather

...........................................................................................................................

There he goes, Johnny Appleseed

f

He might pass by you, in your hour of need

Alone like Alice

l

Inventing life

d

Spying

d

Eyes like cameras....,,,,lonnng fingers.

x

k



..................................................................Luncheon-meet




.............................................................................the expansive ambition of cactus

..................................................................baby-pollen

When the only anchor is soap

queen's soldier falls

z

My glove she weeps like pirates, without ice-cream or pilates

sudden spray she's hateful, but she's blue like ice-filled choirs

flatulence made of cobwebs,

graveyards enjoy one another,

my garden-rake won't shudder, my pinto or my

steel-soft brother

in the dance of lance-edification, people undulate in certain parts of Birmingham

my shove prates, she's not a spoon-slide phoney

(or a celly, when I can't

smell her)

.

stair nose

un-glue orchid-aim

.

fingers in peanut sauce stutter

tinted deciduous arrow flutters

my smothered angle dangles, from your yes...... like a spring or a grail

d

plastic glove

..................................................................................Fishing the river in back star

..................................................................................Arms pulled up by a passing cloud

,

the world is not very big

Oh my sweet, say no more of the

journey we must take

you are my journey

sponge sky, between rouged and buddhist lips

These are by Arnie Pihl, Seattle

water on heads!

The Mouth Of a Lion


MayDay 2008, Seattle

All these are pictures are from Seattle.

But on April 20th, 1,000s of catering workers from India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Turkey, and elsewhere rallied in Trafalgar square, London, to protest cop raids and deportations. One banner on that march said 'Curry is our Bread and Butter.'

The Longshoreman's Union closed down the Port of Seattle, and the same all down the West Coast.

Thousands marched through downtown for immigrant rights, for everyone's rights, hundreds of marches across the country, and in many areas truckers staged protests against rising fuel prices.

Catching the bus out of towntown, I found this written on the bus-stop.

The man on the right, a Vietnam vet, told me he'd just seen the "Mexican-Americans" marching, and joined in. He said he hadn't been on a march for over 30 years. "It was a blast", he told me. "I haven't had that much fun in YEARS!"

n






d

CAR-PIECE OUTSIDE ihOP

On the evening of MayDay, I went to Seattle's Center on Contemporary Arts.

The above paintings are from 3 different schools

White paint and fingers.

Age: 4 years old and upwards.

......................................................*************

yy

y

y

y

y

The children's expression makes me see how far I still have to go with my own work.

But it can be done -- SI SE PUEDE!

...t

and the boot goes on...

........

...................................Tied to the past of the fisher-schools
...................................................................


................................Greta Garbo in fortified whine,
,,,,,,,plastic bone-spoon, cage-bone mutter, rebellious bone dogflat, ribs, bit of pot, bone pitter-pat, falling out the window can wake you up

............Sigmund Feud's banana-skin
...............................
.....climbing the lavender staircase
................................

....................................................................ESKIMO eyelashes..........SKY-LASHES die-lashes

primly butchered doves...........maypole barbeque, hitherto-too-hidden-heretics! unk! unk! heretic = sword, soared, sawed. pawed, poored, satiated, then sainted.

heretic is also her-erotic

.......dance dogerrel liquifies autumnal chops ........deserted cause-ways, clawsplay, mirthway, northday
scowling clouds of crowding brown clowns cloud clapping samuraid pelican cross-eyed, now, core-played, sweet, wait
limousined limbo-dancers dilate lucidly, ( unk, unk), as lucy-lou's lavender lassoo larder hardens

..........and do-doom do-littles littering the delta............... ( children: paint using only your doctor.)

so snow delights the welter-wait, back-nut, whore-brooks, skateaway straightaway hate late,

get your farmy alms, Ma, another brother-cousin, calm, Moor-day, harm, gate, morning claw
stuttering lice (nice as rice) and they flip-flop-dip, flop-flip-dip, in the most of all now we say gummy rainday

Just saw the old man's bristly beard, ball-bouncing down the wide-way

whispering climb hat of exclamation-marx

the state stole 400 children today,

but Lucy is limbo-ing the delta in her beautiful feet, Keats, wheat, eat, heat,

and all the boys look sharp as toys, so I guess it must be spoonday

such antique antics, ultimately arctic, attics of unarticulated out-takes! so oral, so oddly oval!

A day for me and antilope eggs to get more than meltly, maybe peltly, maybe sveltly, aquainted.

the






........................................................................................Kingtime

c

f






............................................................................................Fame

.........................................................................................THE KING IS NOT DEAD

.........................................................................................Tomorrow

d

t









c

d


Suicide Note.

*

I'm so tired of being poor
I'm so tired of being a money-whore
I'm so sick of your fucking war
You're so easy to ignore
Please, Mr Gates, can I have some more?

I had four walls, I had intent
I had three wives, all Heaven-sent
I had two jobs, to pay the rent
I had one heart, and then it went.

Are you in touch with your own feelings?
Do you like us quietly kneeling?
While our balls you're busy stealing?
I'm doing a class next week on holistic healing.

Colon-cancer, blood-stained shit
Neighbors busy trading kicks
Lovers slice themselves to bits
Mother's TV, late-night flicks

Seize the moment, always stoned
Shared amnesia, sensual tone
Working hard to be alone
Making love by telephone

He's a hero, she's a doll
Pop songs in a discount mall.

All your filth won't raise my dick
All your drugs just make me sick
Both your parties, bags of tricks
Both your faces packaged slick

Bus or feet, car or train
Get to work, it's all the same
Cola dreams or pepsi pain
Watch your life go down the drain
Don't look at me, I'm not to blame
Follow orders, take the strain.

I'm so tired of being poor
I'm so tired of being a money-whore
I'm so sick of your fucking war
You're so easy to ignore
Please, Mr Gates, can I have some more?

Don't look at me, I'm not to blame
We're just pawns in a rich man's game
Follow orders. Take the strain.


fx
cx

i

....................................................................................I'm all years

b

w

.............................................................................Where are you, when I knead you, like dough?

g

this MuleI write you an e-mail



This Mule...........................................by Charlie Mingus


This mule is not from Moscow, this mule is not even from the South

This mule has had some learning, mainly mouth-to-mouth

This mule could be called clever, and lazy

but maybe this mule is busy, waiting and learning, hoping and planning, for a sacred kind of day

For a day when the burning of sticks and crosses is not mere child's play, but a madman in his most incandescent bloom!
Whose loveless soul is imperfection! In it's most lustrous groom!

So, stand fast, old-young mule, soon then contemplation THY BURNING HOLE AND ACHING FIRE!
thy STUBBORNESS is of the LIVING!

and cruel anxiety has begun to fade

I write you an e-mail, a rainfall of nails. The moon in seamed stockings, a lizard in the rough.

We have been laid-off from our own movie.

The tiny apologetic puddles at the back of people's eyes, the long inch of this night.

We sit in dark rows, watching intently as people go through certain pre-determined motions on a raised stage

We devote our lives to this!

How many acres and a mule? A pefect egg. A bat for the fruitfly, a million tiny shipwrecks.

How the flowers talk at railroad stations, and bus-terminals

How flowers lean in to each other, over the tarmac road

They put their bendy arms around each other

Kinetic star-children.

Nostalgic button-holes.

This world is not very big, and there is barely room in it for our love.

Boiling the asteroid in asparagus whispers

.

A red velvet throat, as inept as the rain

The hand-grenade, the lipstick.

I suppose money-cops will frost the spring, and tranquilised windows, but Christ, the grass!

Humanity, stretching out its' arms. The solemn cathedral of our bodies

And the purity of lips, when they are not wasted on speech.

Limp lice get rabies on bowling greens

Dazed helmets shudder in the sun

.

In the park, the wind pushed the branches of two trees together

I watched them, and when I close my eyes, I still see them

bonded together, all night long, in the same kiss.

g

In the center of the bull-fight, water.

b

i

.................."I think ultimately there will be a clash between those who are oppressed and those who do the oppressing."
.hv.......................................hk..............................................k

......................................................................................... .Malcolm X



x

j

..............................................................................Just the three of us.

g

...............................................................................................No Child Left Behind

x

......................................................................................Bill Hicks....(1961 -.........)


He once said,
......................... "After a show, a guy came up to me and said, "I don't come to a club to think, I come for entertainment." I said, "My mistake. Where do you go to think? We could go there."


d

We kissed beneath an amber moon, and softly whispered, "someday soon"

The morning found me miles away, with still a million things to say.

Brazzillll....

x

cfruquote



t
.................................................................................by Robert Crumb

All the Soldiers, with their faces blown off.

s

Because it midnight is, I left her, in a car made of milk

she was drunkenly pushing ferns into the ears of small boys

(and the faces at the dirty window, of all the people I've hurt)

I entered the convent. It was made of rats' skins.

I crushed 12 bishops there with my left hand,

for I had fallen in love with a horse. I stole a dozen eggs for him. His coat was of meadowgrass.

Then I turned and saw my father rolling down a hill, into darkness. Night is a boney ear.

How thin the lake's door is, my parking-lot, my sweet savage. He said, Milk being dust, is an orange, is an all-night radio. I said, Captain, I will squeeze through, always.

local street, spring has sprung

...................................................................................At ease, Soldier!

..................................................................................................................Yes, madam, we'll make it look beautiful

m

rocks

d

z

c





,

"The petit-bourgeois intellectuals are introspective by nature. They mistake their own emotions, their uncertainties, their fears, and their own egoistic concern about their personal fate, for the sentiments and movements of the great masses. They measure the world's agony by their own inconsequential aches and pains."

...........................................................................................James P. Cannon

x

Twatt

z

k









v

electric cables






v

x

The picture doesn't show it, but the strip of red writing above the door includes the words

'Black American Gated Community'

























This house, three blocks from where I live in North Seattle, is not really recordable with a camera. The picture of the 'Plantation' is the only angle visible from the street. The rest of the front is blocked by dense layers. You have to be there to nose into the layers. For example, the blue oil-drum shown below has painted on its' outside, in red, the words 'Tar And Feather Niggers', and sticking out of the drum are shoes that have been roped to sticks of wood to represent legs.

A sign reads NO TRUST..PASS. The house is one block from Interstate 5, the 1,375 mile vertical straight line that runs from the Mexican border to the Canadian border. From the house, while I was there, complete silence. But an imposing silence, full of power.

aaa

a

z

bird and head, corner house

c

e


Some-one said to me recently, you sure do swear a lot. I said, that's because I'm from a very poor background. When we were growing up, our parents were so poor, they couldn't afford to give us real words.

One day my sister, who's two years older than me, said, Dad, why can't we use adjectives, and pronouns, like the other kids at school?
My dad said, Listen, you'll use swear words, and you'll like it.

And we did.

*

I used to lie in bed at night and listen to the sound through the wall, of my dad beating hell out of my mother. And then there'd always be that silence, y'know, and I'd just be praying that he would beat her for ten more minutes. Just for ten more minutes. Because I was always hoping that he'd be tired, when he got to my room.



*

When I was 13, my mother took what some people call a 5-year 'Buddhist vow of silence.'

Others call it 'staying together for the sake of the kids.'



x

At last we're alone

b

child left behind

m

I will just decide to be happy

c

for freedom








..............................................................they may be slags, but they're our slags, and they're fighting 4 freedom

paper tissues

b

Nina Simone

..................................................................................Nina Simone. Lady raises The Fist.

k

x

x

hard at work

.......................................................................................................................Hard at work



d

l

s

t






..................................................................................The problem is how to get into it



v

Narcissus, the Director's cut

.......................................................................Narcissus, the Director's cut

b

d
d

.......................................................................A self-portrait of you

c

h

............................................................................You made your head, now you have to lie in it

h

g

to rabbitify the hole of a galaxy composed solely of guitars, to rub her fingers against the black dress of noon. The two planes

will touch, as they glide past. The dance of molecules, only human...



f

Thor and Pink Blossom converge



Canopies of envelopes flutter

against the aluminum circus of starlight

& aprony velvet rubber-soled effigies of tranquilised salamander float dead in oil-slicked conundrum.

The pallette is ready and grips elbows...

Thor and Pink Blossom converge on the road to Havana.



c

india


Don't people in India know that rich people are starving inside?


b

s is in the eye of the beholder








c

c







......................................................The Front of the Bank of England




m

m

cuba


VIVA!!



There's Cuban doctors fanning out across the Americas

Bringing their love of medicine, their medicine of love

Tens of thousands, spreading out, across the Americas

You won't read it in the Times, or see it on TV

The rich don't like that kind of news, but if it was up to me

I'd make a million fliers, and give them out for free

There's Cuban doctors flying in, and they're making history


From Haiti to the Southern Cone, and many posts between

They organise their lives around the people most in need

The countryside and barrios, where no-one has a dime

And of course the bourgouis doctors say they just don't have the time

To live in workers' districts, and work for years for free

They say health-care's for profit, but the Cubans don't agree.


They used to say that Cuba swam in a sea of Russian money

But that was many years ago, and to the rich it isn't funny

For it seems sometimes where'er they go, and workers resist attacks

It's like staring in the mirror -- there's a Cuban staring back!


Way back in '61 they helped Algeria defeat the French

And ever since that time they've been in the global trench

When the Apartheid's racist army occupied Angola

300,000 Cubans went to meet them there as soldiers

And when the Jo'burg racists turned on their heels and ran

It was referred to in the media as 'South Africa's Vietnam.'

And Cuba was the first country that Nelson Mandela praised

For supporting the people's struggle since the earliest of days

It was on a platform with Mandela, that Fidel Castro said

"Many took gold from Africa, all we brought home was our dead."


And since I mentioned Vietnam, It would be remiss of me to fail

To point out that it was Cubans who built the Ho Chi Minh Trail.


As Che Guevara stated, and it fits the Cuban doctors like a glove

"A true revolutionary is guided by a great sense of love."


There's a billboard in Havana, and I've seen it with my eyes

You can't really miss it, it's perhaps a hundred foot high

And this bright and breezy billboard, what it says is true

It says, "Mister Imperialist, we are not afraid of you."


Mister Imperialist, we are not afraid of you.

We are not afraid of you.

Mister Imperialist, we are not afraid of you.




n

magician pic

.....................................................................................

................................................................Angola, Night Sky

...............................*

Some-one said to me recently, "Hey, you're a writer, what do you think of Shakespeare?"

I said, "I don't."


*

If



If there was a man who couldn't fall asleep, and so he slips out of bed

and walks quietly into the living-room

and then in some sudden fit of 4am chivalry gathers her clothes into a half-tidy pile

then he might notice how her clothes have changed from imposing, webby barriers

into things user-friendly as a thrift-store, as obliging as old deflated cushions

the panties might actually be completely transformed, into a cheerful grin

and this soft, intimate heap in his hands might seem to give a message that they were, in fact, the man's

co-conspirators.

Only the bra might seem to be still a little distant and aloof.


The man would really be the pervert

If he then carried the heap back into the bedroom, and laid them out next to her sleeping body

Laid them out properly, with the shoes next to her feet, and working upwards.

And if he then stepped back, to look at the two forms

his eyes continually moving, dancing on every detail

including the woman's relaxed, contented face.

This woman, who works, and farts, and swears, and reads books.

If such a man ever really existed

This nameless, generic man

Then he would probably spend the rest of his life in wonderment

at how interesting, and strong, women are.

c

b

n

plastic-bag photo

.........................................................................................."Why don't you write poems about flowers?"

.........................................................................................."I do."

............Lisa, who works at Starbucks in West Seattle.

Me and my ex-wife wanted to save our marriage, so we went to see a shrink. It only took one session. Of course, she had a technical term for it.

She said we were "co-despondant."

Lamp is heart.


Soul is ocean.


The laminated heart-beat rivets the soldier to his mother.


Sequential, torrential...


Another kind of fur.

A brief history of 2007.



It was funny, but you had to be there.



c

What's the opposite of empathy?......Love.

Many times you have gathered,

all around my cabin door...

To work for Them is such a bore

I'd rather starve than be a whore


I'd rather lie in bed and snore

Than eat their shit upon the floor

I'd rather hike to Timbucktoo

Than be a monkey in their zoo


People say 'to pay the rent'

But as you know that makes no sense

For if we all refused to pay

They couldn't drive us all away


Others say, it's for 'Old Age'

But no friends of mine have ever saved

Enough to buy a pauper's grave

So what gain, in thus enslaved?

With furrowed brow, and broken back

Those friends of mine are really whacked!


So gather your rose-lips while ye may!

I'd hate to go and I'd love to stay

Don't bother with coffee or sandwich today

Just stroke something naughty, and lead me astray

For if sky be blue, or the sky be grey

The road be clear, and the radio says

Death is thirty-two minutes away.


Hieronymus Bosch, and Robert Crumb

Monday mornings are never fun.


Five more minutes to laugh and to play

Five more minutes, to be human today.

s

x

.

But the storm intensified, and we became somnolent fish, blue, with yellow diagonal stripes, each equidistant.
Then they covered us up.
One by one, the penguins arrived, from the East. Each bore a gift. Heart, guts, liver. We formed an assembly.
Fire, come walk with me.


if any casual reader should, all of, wish to a human being to become one. Or, rather, wish to stop not being a human being, then a vein of glory and map quest, time may yet, barbie-queued, small triangular ham sandwiches, maybe some baby sausages, and afterwards upstairs for bodies to be inside bodies. For thus it was, and then we wander away.

Why did I cut my genitals off and bury them in your garden?

Aluminum foil is beautiful, and mistakes are maids.

Servants occupy our lower quarters.

What a waste of slime. Squat away, we've time.

"small-talk sounds like a firing-squad now."

"I want to spray love all over the place, like a porcupine in fear."

lonnnnnnng fingers....

My boots need cleaning, Miss Tongue... thank you.

A bird, our purple mountain, the glorious stench of garbage


my little nun........silver, sliver, silver

*

EXPLODING IS PAINFUL


*

I mean, not being POST-EXPLOSION is certainly painful


*

The most useful-yes
of time-now-body
breathes in hotsome a new string, The Revolutionary Catechism, in La Belle Tenebreuse.

This is easy enough. One googles 'La Belle Tenebreuse'. then, as mister Lynch would say "Bob's your uncle."

A different mathematics. It ends the alibi. Oh yes it does.
It looks like Louis Bunuel's come.

It is a different view of the South.

Saved by the belle.


*


Using a utility knife, to remove the panties from a molecule. You don't learn that in schoool.






b

The flipside turnpike rabbitifies the frost
in oldier, dusk, razor-wire conundrums...

beckoning and single torches. We drew a village, we Men of England. Everything is possible. Sir Archibald, frigid in the September room. Gravy on the skeleton. She has dragged him to the swollen surgeon. The king had women dye their feet, hands, and hair. Some day, she mused. Hercule Poirot dribbled across the table, onto Lavinia's lattice-work.

arr

................................................................................
Everyone........... i ..........................................arrangements are made.

e



f

I can't hold down a job any more
you have swallowed me with your lips of sawdust

I can't go to work
because you stole the moon

I didn't know a pair of jeans could hold galaxies so well
so wet, the moon now.

I'm going to cut you up into little pieces, because I love you.
It's going to take a long time, but it will definitely be worth it
Because then I can go to work.

I want to rest the ball of my foot on the moon. Balance.

Don't look at me like that.
The last thing I will eat are your chandelier eyes.

.................................................................................................................................You

How to broaden your road without leaning out is an armadillo whispering I'm late

When words speak of hello dried mice, in ecuadorian sugar-pots esplanade of darkness-come-hither, or my split-level fidget browns the bowl again. Three weeks in Texas shouldered an unburdened torrential gun to my mother's breast of fig-leaves, and lies in meadows, garden hoses of polite frost navigates the airwaves. my geese have bent their necks into the cloud of gasoline, you plundered a tranquil eye with no brain worth walking in, my blue bow-tie is inside your vagina, and your dick is in a parrot's cage, when 17 swallows sat on my shoulders I ran into a Brazilian smoke store, but the storekeeper was wearing your eyes and the floor became a boat.

Morning is porridge kisses

A bicycle on the stove

The real West

Toasted mailbox

Star-estate

Mutual thrift

Repairing the wind

With shells of water




v

d

fd

d

when i

When I read your letter

and heard, the song

I placed you in the palm of my hand

not to crush you, but to hold you

immobile, cocooned

so you could feel my fingers on every inch of your body

and then I squeezed a little tighter

until I could feel your heart pounding, against me

like the wings of a bird.

v

ballerinas

f

The ribbon that shivers in longing's tree

blood-sport

b

a man i know

v