10.31.12

a few weeks ago
my grandfather approached me
in a dream

he was nearly twelve feet tall
slowly walking into the grassy periphery
& leaning his head down & into the greenhouse i was in

seeing his face,
startled, & mentally grasping,
i woke up

later that morning
i learned that day would have been 
his one hundredth birthday

09.15.12

the tar on this highway
looks like arabic
dripped for someone
high above
to read

cocktail dresses
hang in muddy fields
holding up power lines

son house hollers
slides a bottle
picks the notes
like a grandaddy spider

the ride feels still
for a second
like the road
is moving underneath

09.06.12

new batch of nannies
again alien
student on a bench
staring into the sky
writing in a notebook

lawnmower purr
the asshole w/ the poodle
the ranger's Ford Ranger
f feeding treats to lap dogs
clumps of dying grass

airblower
rocks
wait for me

asian woman w/ hotty legs
ruined by a butterfly tattoo
a white butterfly flits past
lighting on a tree
putting rocks in the trash can
cable grinds
then almost silence
cept for a beeping truck
& the robot voice from a bus
announcing the stop

bless you
same lady
as yesterday
casing the trash can
rock tossed into wah wah
fifteen yard dash
guy doin pushups
a femmy trainer nearby
training a bleached blonde butch

back to swings
a yellow, plastic castle
my mind mowing
my mind an airblower
my body a park
sand in the swing
warm, wooden bench
son on the stairs saying
bye bye

 

08.27.12

i walked in to buy some tea
& as the man behind the counter
commented on my t-shirt
i told him we'd met before
@ the old location
years ago
& the talk turned...

i accidentally walked out w/ 8 ounces
of monkey-picked tieguanyin
sticker shocked
but after many cups @ home
gettin water right &
steep time:
honey, flower garden, lemon,
readin a history book,
the clock turned...

this stuff isnt really "monkey picked"
but a tale the east sold the west
in its ironic naivety
it was either sending monkeys
up tall tea trees
& throwing rocks @ them
so they'd tear off branches of leaves
& throw them down
or that the monkeys
were trained w/ feasts
to climb up
& pick only the choicest leaves
from the tops of the trees
the world turned...

my head was racing
like daytime
the thoughts i looked forward to
wouldnt leave me alone
locked in a wrestle w/
i couldnt best until finally
maybe for a few hours
but focused on portsmouth square
in an undreamy way
analyzing
awake but asleep
until 4:30 AM
gettin up
puttin some water on
& having more tea
the tides turned...

08.10.12

inspiration is like a gear
hit w/ oil
for a while
gravity doesnt exist

time doesnt exist
until the squeaking

08.01.12

the ghost of an old city
seen thru sanborn insurance maps
haunts alleys of my mind

walking out
meet lawyer samuel wilson
preacher william taylor
navy man david dixon porter
plutocrat james ben ali haggin 
poet ina coolbrith

the kentucky derby runs at 3 PM

07.29.12

honey dew half
w/ spoons

pool forms
in the soft greens

if i could shrink myself
& climb down there

i'd take a dip
do a can opener

 
 

07.27.12

framed in the window
of an ice cream shop
a girl crying
& laughing

another girl across table
shaking her head

the sun is felt
but hidden
til one'o'clock
melting dust off a jukebox

07.19.12

where are we going
where are we headed
on back of this train

clouds slow
like smoke that got
caught up there in the old days

 

MISTY MORNING, BROCKLEBANK BRIDGE

vampire fog
trio of gaslights whispering
sleepless shoemaker
sitting on bench
reading broadside
pondering question
of whether
what we do or do not know
will or will not
kill us

an army of amphibious fishmen
rise from the river
and drag the man in
while offering them shoes
in his hysteria

his hunchback wife
figures another woman
& is forever waiting
at the door
with a shoe
to pound him
on his return

bats twist through the mist
dark in the maple moonlight
a lonely wolf howls

 
 
 

07.13.12

bell rings eleven times

i am the count
of the clover patch
i visit the lily pad
and do the smoking leprechaun

i am the sheik
of the swinging sands
i blend my thoughts
and push them
as camels through
the eye of a needle

i am the doctor
of destroyed mansions
rubble on the brain
scribbling scripts for neighbors,
friends and fam
i bleed from one ear randomly
through my hands i hear

i am the maid
of suspended morning
working the broom of princess hair
into a scoop of gold dust
broker of bed bugs
swindler of silver fish
i scrub the hallowed floors
where angels walk

i am the chef
of the cajun eggshell
i forage in my skiff
upon a bourbon branch
easing into the pacific
an infinity of ingredients
for one final days dish

bell rings twelve times

07.12.12

strollin thru chinatown, slowly
down the street of the gamblers
past the golden gate fortune cookie factory
the old chinese telephone exchange
into portsmouth square

where the first american flag was raised
when it was still sandy
people living
in tents made of sails
destination complete

it was called yerba buena,
b/c the hills were covered w/ a good herb
something like mint

robert louis stevenson used to come here
to sit
while he was waiting for fanny's divorce
we have the same birthday
i only just remembered this
the other day

today i was reminded that a refrigerated trailer
is called a "reefer"
it is interesting how drug slang
came from railway slang
which graduated into trucker slang
a children's book from the library
titled "big rigs" 
reminded me of this,
and how the marijuana joint became called
a reefer 
b/c it makes you so cool & detached

which reminded me of
henry miller
who always hated the word
cool
he didnt want to be cool
or detached
he wanted to feel everything

it is one of the first words
parents say to their children
trying to fit into pop culture
and public situations
without knowing what
it truly means
(not judging, i say it too)

ironically, i had to kick
two junior high kids
out of a playhouse train this afternoon
in st. mary's square playground
smoking yerba buena
"the conductor's here," i said

earlier i'd been in jackson square
when two old men passed me,
one saying to the other,
"the idea is,
is when you die
you're reincarnated"

this evening i talked to gary snyder
at the library
and reminded him
of a letter he wrote in 1962
from india
"he invited us
to have an astral lunch with him
which turned out
to be nothing"

07.09.12

today 
was
a mexican handjob
on the down low

jubilant mustard face
girl w/ earrings like wind chimes
speaking espanol
chuckling
blue pompom purse placed
over hand & etc.

fordie stopped to stare
perhaps wondering why
old asian ladies werent there

07.06.12

fire engine up clay
we pass an old man on sidewalk
& stop cross street from engine
preparing to motor
the firemen & woman wave
while ringing a bell

the old man sage
carrying cane & newspaper
wearing golf cap, argyle scarf,
light blue sweater & navy cords
says, "you got two bells!"
while beaming behind shoulder,
passing us

 
 

07.05.12

the plastic domes

atop these metal poles

are of blue plastic

made by a company called

mexico forge

they were,

along with the poles,

last painted green...

erosion happened

and the green began to

reveal the blue

now the domes

are stages

of the earth's topographical history

or

various other possible

half earth-like planet scenarios

07.03.12

girl sitting behind me
on bus,
talking in phone

"so he doesnt wanna meet any of your friends
but you have to hang out with all of his...
all his massachusetts friends...
you need to step back...
chill...
yeah...
i totally see your side, you know"

06.30.12

what is it about hotel rooms at night

i've been watching television,

like i've never owned one...

fishing in these bays,

south, humboldt, arcata,

strait into the pacific,

tis a risky roll

the wives of dead fishermen

dedicate grey monuments

to husbands now fishy flesh

never recovered

lost coast of

redwood lanes

& victorian eels

lightning rods or bowling pins

role-playing games or marijuana

lumber barons

seeding into a working mass

of ratty hitchhikers

lugging cots into kushy alcoves

with eucalyptus fireplace,

highway dreams,

clouds off to the zoo

mesmeric shirt of afterthought

so telling in its way

take advantage of a sale one last time

load up, gas, ice,

shit, caffeine...

there arent many things better

than swimming

THE STALKER

guy on bench

talkin into white phone

"i followed her into the parking lot

wondering if maybe there was

some secret place she was goin

but

she sits over on the side

and starts drinkin a soda & eatin a snickers

just sittin there smilin

eatin that snickers

i mean

if that's all it takes to make her happy

then..."

06.28.12

asian preschool girl

with highlights in hair

surprising amount of jewelry

and the color spectrum in peace signs on tights

hops upon wooden structure

and starts talking to me

as ford

is pouring sand

from a plastic, blue teapot

i cut my hair, she said

and my mom didnt hit me

i dont know why she didnt hit me

i thought she was gonna hit me...

she said for me to go to bed

but i said i didnt wanna go to bed

she said did i wanna get hit

i said no, i dont wanna get hit

she left and went into the room with dad

and he screamed at her

not yet versed

in child psychology

i said really?

teacher hollered
time to clean up

the girl hopped down & away

06.27.12

last night
everyone was named mark

it started with baptism
and ended with missing persons

it started in a basement
and ended on a roof

the city light
eternal
beckoning its angels
back home
for christmas

06.25.12

early morn

on tube

watching cement mixer & gang

spread sidewalk

late morn

at clay & jones

watching mixer & gang

lay street foundation

afternoon

toy mixer comes
barreling by bathroom

down hallway

evening...

the mixer

is the never fading womb

that births

the ability

to go anywhere

06.24.12

cotton clouds over cole

a jolly roger kite dives

over monkeys climbing

and sliding

ball of old news & duct tape

i blow across the handle of the yellow bat
to make a lonely sound

floating over the rise of drums

they're shipping wildcat to indonesia

to build shangri-la on a beach

some say it can be done

with these golden gate phillips head acorns

06.23.12

pink roses welcome you
a fire engine screaming
a private airplane humming
playing my headache like a harmonica

there is ancient treasure buried
below this sandbox
the pre-earthquake motherload

old, plastic faced treasure hunter
sunbathing on bench
with his partner
plastic surgery buddha
white face of stone lotion

fountain of turtles
like hand claps
the oracle of cliches circles
"there is nothing new under the sun,
that is true," he says

groups gathered in grass,
bright saturday population
a new crowd of kids descending like locusts
a motorcycle spits up


the treasure is almost found
but it's time to go


there's always next time

 

FRESH FRUIT FOR ROTTING VEGETABLES

listening to dead kennedys

ford removes pillows

from sofa

placed in pile

center of room

he tries climb, but falls

life lesson

what would tipper gore do?

he moves pillows to a chair

stands in chair to protect

starts dancing

it's happiness & movement of shoulders

left & right

feet planted

it's 4:30 PM & we just had strawberries

i've never sipped rubbing alcohol

but the shin bone

of my left leg

has been itching

every five days

i am hoping

that one of these records

will

heal it

06.22.12

making egg sandwiches for lunch
we watched a digger do its thing by the park
my son is on the floor
having a tantrum
i take the butter from the fridge
this is your brain on drugs
ketchup, worcestershire, a bit of tobasco on mine
he comes in holding an Xbox controller
Netflix, you demon
You have been exorcised from the iPad
a bit of salt, pepper
he's into it, peace in the valley
flip the wah wah top
ice in my glass
murky, iced tea oasis

06.14.12

everyone on haight street

looks so guilty this morning

my son says hi

to a group of giggling bums smoking a bowl

good morning, i say, strolling by

the sun is beaming down like knives

we meet jason near hippy hill

and throw a baseball

talk of projects

jason sets his bike to spin like a loom

ford thinks the trash can is a bus

a cop on a horse waves