Thursday, November 19, 2015


lace my footwear real tight
still black adidas - 3 stripes
2 middle fingers, 1 black eye
but you shoulda seen the other guy
many lack a zeal to fight
but I always sang 'Violent Night'
still all black uniform
johnny cash, never die
and I'm the kind
that waits a long time
before I strike:
low-crawl for 19 nights
then it's snipe
maybe both of us are right
or we're both misguided
but his face is just lined
up right
in my peep sight
i breathe out, squeeze, the other guy's in twilight
i truly wish him goodnight
but you won't see us down to kneel
unless we're watching blood congeal
and that's just how us bastards feel
world peace is still unreal
until then someone has to kill
black and camo heart and plans
black and camo 3 AM
through and over fence and fence
oddly I'm not feeling tense
it's bringing back that 6th sense
black bandana
plus the black 16
so they can't see me
just a sudden burst of three
FMJ poppin in controlled pairs incessantly
no sneeze
but I musta got some allergies
because my index finger itchy
callin to me for a squeeze

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Firewater Joyride

How many people have called themselves my brothers?

And when times got evil how many were loyal to others?

I don't know the numbers, cause I drank them away.

And I'm a fumbler when it comes to coping a day.

I'm just a runner when it comes to settling down.

Sprintin from commitment like the next Triple Crown.

I know I'll wander and blunder, revisit gutters.

To me such a saunter isn't somber or squandered.

Can't write any longer cause my mind is a goner

Later I'll conquer the words & verbs makin this longer.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Weird Specters

The narrow mountain road twists uphill between a wooded mountainside and a large lake.  I steady the tires against the rough gravel with my knee as I spit on my sunglasses.  Maybe the odd, splintery light glinting in the outskirts of my eyesight was an effect of the shifting sun passing through tinted glass.  The vaguely colorful specters disappeared momentarily when I put my spit-shined shades back on, only to flare up again a second later, somehow more active and more fleeting, dancing along the perimeters of my vision and consciousness alike in shadowy electric currents.

Light often plays tricks on vision, I said outloud to myself.  I rolled all four of the truck’s windows down hoping a breeze would shake me out of it.  The rush of air filling my truck’s cabin brought in the smell of the lake and my only thought was of turquoise.  In an intoxicating instant the crystalline water grew from inhabiting only part of my attention in the corner of my eye out of the passenger side window, to suddenly being the whole of everything I felt.  The coarse hairs in my nasal cavity and ear canals were suddenly geodic, mineralized, encrusted; tasting deep earth roots.  I knew I wasn’t dying because I wasn’t watching myself from above.  In fact it was the opposite of an out of body experience, because I was completely and timelessly within an iteration of my own stream of consciousness.  I watched soberly as my neurology melted into incoherence, some small shard of my mind struggling to wrest meaning from the experience, the dissolution and rendering of my entire sensory palette, laid at my feet in an inside-out ocean of light.

And the whole time my body just kept driving the truck up the mountain.  The golden dust from my tires was suspended in the air wherever the dappled afternoon sun trickled through the forest canopy.

The radio had always been on, but I wasn’t hearing music.  I was hearing other things I had said, at other times, or in other places, or not at all, just said ‘em inside my head.