My current trend in writing is to treat it like bits of code. Debugging as time goes on (fixing spelling/grammarish issues).

Most of these poems will rest the way they are written, but given time and interest many will see a patches or 2 before it is over.

10.19.2006

morning wood

the street scene is busy
  trucks
  cars
  pants
  wires
  tires
  cranes
  skirts
the 9th avenue is blocked
with a creosote soaked trunk
  fresh as frozen peas
  as pie a la mode in tinfoil
  as the soda can tab clicks open

the street team pooled
around the truck
cigarette advert perfect
their machine was angling
erecting the former tree
right next to our current
  overgrown bean pole
  cable carrier cross
  squirrel highway, crows rest

in the broadest of days
he arrived clad in the Scottish garb
twisted around the eddy of the current of today
designed to hold a six pack in one pocket
made for when the hammer slams
rather than when the bags pipe
or the club swings over the green,
4
woman in pants
on our front porch
greeted this man
in a classically cult skirt
greeted him with nary a thought
for his cloth

but the mash of working bees
peeked upon this
  as if it was absurd
  as if it was a puzzle with pieces that didn't fit
  as if those legs where shaved
the team just stopped dread
unable to parse
unable to erect
their pole propping
day was
swangled by a dude in a kilt

9.14.2006

she prescribed

rattle and shake
that hallow sound
white caps on waves
push and twist
below the crest they rest
round and perfect

asked her if
husband ever
swallowed
any pills
like asking to try on someone's
glasses
shoes
nope

once dispersed
into the stream
main street
is a drag race
to the next one
patients
addicts

8.15.2006

equation of three

render
or
boil
all of it
breaks
down
what still has any
presence
is
flowing
is
forming
is
different

scratching at the
envelope
leaves the blanks
the
in-between cravings
things get
heard
all wrong
smothered without
context
gone
up up and around
up to
the tip
the top
sucking air down like
style was fandago
gin

mumble a shape of
her outlined in red
lips
shes is the one
for me tonight
a girl of fire
a girl alive
upon this note
we wait

7.29.2006

no shade on the beach

stretched out like
  arms before a hug
  mouth at the dentist
  wrap around glasses
the sandy surface panorama
where
too many tube tops
mingle with
too much sun lotion
on lawn furniture
and fashion being
what it is
crab the skin becomes
flaking flesh

her
toe tips
castle causing
brothers' brow
to tremble
on oceans crest

she
a las a lone
unknown
unfamiliar
with wavers
sinusoidal surfaces
the rhythms
but she like those before
is suckered
deeper deeper

nothing so vague
could be of comfort
except an impression
of a shadow
on the sand
noon's slim profile
pen umbras clash
on the sea floor

down low where
the crustacean creatures
dwell
she desires
a glimpse
of that very wet sand
couldn't she just be
a drift on the surface
inner-tube
nope, instead
she skips like a thrown
stone
gently passing
under the sun rise
under the bubbles
gulp blurp gulp buu..
lead sifts through
the fluid
half floating half falling
into the pummeled
remains
of the historic
beginnings
water
washing the shore line
a ring a round the tub
foaming over
grasping at seaweed
shuffled
fluffed

her
one last breath
of fluid
before liquid
closes
in

there are two types of waves
one for hello
one for goodbye
wishes
and
waves
sunk

6.29.2006

Cannibalism in B minor

The sun was on it's way into the hills
Followed by blushing roses
And hanging vines
Across the carved rocks fluttered
The mothes and beetles of the day
Dropped a plump body
Into the mouths open hole
It had been there all day
Just waiting,
  In mid air
  In mid breeze
But it got plucked
It's clustering catacombs of flesh
Hidden in each of those pockets
  A smaller image of itself
Made my fingers turn bloodish with stains

To pluck the life of one so young
And to come back again and again
Every summer to see
What fruit may come to bear
Over the grave of others
In the evening
Of your
Wake
Is no sin
Is no crime
Is the way it should be
Eat
Drink
From the dirt
To hole
On and on

6.16.2006

riptide

the honeymooners
got away with it
made off with the safe
broke open the laugh track
even if it wasn't ever funny

cycles can't rinse us clean
karma can't track us all down
santa's list can't play catch up fast enough
to list all of the sinners
to list all of gods children

in those moments
when all else around seemed
silent
when the tide was away
the chimes would crash
tooth to flesh
gnash

it
was in their home
  the surfacing tension
  the bad decisions
  the egging on
for moons passing on by
sloshing
back and forth
across
the carpet
the oceans
now
  a cigarette
  a fag
  a loose canon
  a single phone call
out in the open
like beach glass
polished
by grit
by gravel

got caught
back turned
unaware
cause it only happens
  in the movies
  in tv episodes
  to others

not anymore

we all grow up
towards ideals
  winds
  parents
  towels
  fists
out side the vacuum
our experience
  twists inside
  knocks down
  crumples spirit

there is no excuse
there is no predication
there is nothing but
shame
slurs
regrets
fear