Dear Bigfoot
I’m sending you this message
to deny that I am deceased.
However, as the general consensus
would have it, I may be, like you,
extinct. What I was as an active, younger man
no longer exists. That life is gone.
Read more
Your Custom Text Here
Dear Bigfoot
I’m sending you this message
to deny that I am deceased.
However, as the general consensus
would have it, I may be, like you,
extinct. What I was as an active, younger man
no longer exists. That life is gone.
Read more
I Saw the Crows of Summer Charge the Powder Blue Sky
I saw the crows of Summer charge the powder blue sky
Roadwork on the freeway could not stop their mission
Technology w/ all its posture could not halt their flight
Like midnight ink splattered on sunny white sheets
Read moreSphinx
Awareness comes slowly:
The soft darkness,
the quilt on the bed, the stalking
shapes of furniture. My eyes
tunnel down to a pinprick of light.
Read moreIn Pelican, they say the dump, a mile outside of town, is the only place with cell service.
And so he clomps off the boat
and off the float, up the ramp,
away from town, hot showers,
a fresh bag of flour, and stamps
Read moreI am a dog with no master
Alone
Proud and hungry
Go where I want
Envied by shampooed, collared pedigrees
Read moreFu Manchu, a caricature,
the Chinese, sinister,
popularized in Hollywood,
spread to all neighborhoods.
Read more
there are only moments now
when illness is forgotten,
when the woman you once were
returns to your skin
and a trick of imagination
sees you sprint to the corner
Read more
I walked up the pavement and there, much to my delight, was a tienda, a store selling beer and wine and hard liquor, jammed full of people. I bought a big 40 oz. can of Tecate’. There was a quaint little park almost directly across the street from the store. I sat down at a bench, intending to pull out my weed and pipe and have a little toke to go along with my beer.
Read moreThe trees can be read.
Do you not think that birds
Are the most literate creatures
On earth? Time encircles some,
Ensnares others.
In Salem, the winter fog settles at sundown
like gauze, blinding and oppressive,
a cold, wet blanket of
Fuck You For Being Here.
On such an evening, I imagine
John Fahey in some shithole welfare hotel,
perhaps the Holiday Lodge on Hawthorne.
… awake now
a little disoriented
and hungry.
Something crunchy perhaps –
a Nevada snow shadow
it melts in your warmth to provide water in the sun
Read more