homerun stunner

I

homerun stunner
makes the houses light
up when
a guitar dog to the
left licks the ground.

Chorus cliche
with spice and phoenix,
with
ampersands and cashews
in a tin for the man
to my left.

Useless news for sour goes,


Dad, pleased to meet you.
I know you know, but
wipe your face.

II

The sky pops in my head,
what was I?

Hello again, Popadoobop.

III


Yellow lines swirl the long mural.
His
illegal phoenix at the foot of his feet and we’re

drunk on high
about an hour I think.

A wrong misplaced sliver under the mouse’s
beard, long hair for
something like that.

Practicing black light shadows
he says slowly
"I love her and it scares me."


IV


Faith
is what you make.
It's yours.

Lamb’s lungs swing
notes in iambic meteors.

I knocked his pipe on the rot iron and he hacked something
big and meaty in his throat
but he shows me
axioms on her body, across her arms.

A year or two
of temporary and (but mild) recurring depression of
what is me?

A good time to move on, I think.


V

Yelling through lines and clicks

conscientious, self conscious
stream of consciousness.


I got three dogs fuck.
No such thing as a double hallucination,
just throwing that out there,
he thought,
recording his voice through
his mind.

VI

Peace's echo
finds its way in
the blank valley
in your beating head.

You feel that?
That
that everything at the moving


Have a good night,
he forced a smile.

Form open to flow,


open awareness!
but awareness to what?
Pause for nirvana and
sleep some more.
Repeat
everything.

Graffiti spells love
on walls,
and
tired evolution
erased natural selection.


Think of something major:

You cant show me sound, he thought.
Yes I can.

Feel your head on the acid
shock of iron
and your
feet say

“hello!”

VII


Admitting truth to a strange friend
while closing your eyes
and thinking of your chipped tooth
and chapped lower lip.


"You too ?"


VIII

Don’t listen to depression
and breathe.

Drink from the earth
what the water can't give,
but refuse willingly.

Let's go to the atmosphere
knowingly going
into danger
but let's smirk with hidden tears
and step into infinity.

Good bye, maybe I'll tell
you the story.

Bonnie Brae

Three grand
children on the avenue
with conelicking lips

a baby's finger dirties
a line and the blonde's
pink feet bounce
till she
falls asleep

He wanted to be a surgeon

He wanted to be a surgeon...

Flesh frightens
human bits on
pale eyes

open to go
screaming but
what happened to the gun?
Metal for
Americans
at hotel room
two37

blood irony
and pointlessly nude
foreshadows
with a silhouette purse.
Have you seen her
noble, burning eye?

cat dreams

cat dreams
out on a
red ball.

vibrate smile

Noble sex,
frizzy glasses too,
read blood on papers
and the yellow high.
Pursed eyes
strike
alien legs.
A child points his
too-big glasses
and she gig
gles shame.

Vibrate smile
in a coffee house.

summer walk

about geese and baby geese
and
(no green gay wind)
all walk
summer.
Cute blonde
with a cute
but
to
day never looks
back
with a perfect bounce.
Beautiful sweaty
beauty sways her hips.

Mustache stained lips
coffee burns for
years!
Resist the dog
on a summer walk.

The Iceberg Theory

"If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. A good writer does not need to reveal every detail of a character or action."

—Ernest Hemingway