more space guesswork

Andromeda did not mind about the light years gone missing. Saturn or some body in space was happy to harbor them but they sure took their time arriving. Watch out you might get fractal off the rings, or maybe that’s what was supposed to happen. I always cut up my years into months and smaller increments. I bake them in a pan and they come out all seasonal. That way kids know when they go bad, not to eat them. Andromeda takes them back when we send them, and turns them into meteor showers, the galaxy to exfoliate. Deep space is the safest place around, minimal pollution, air and sound. I wanna go there when my world fails me. I cannot stand the anxiety. Earth looks good from the outside, but just try burning through the atmosphere; you will soon discover it wasn’t worth it. Sorry to let you down and all.

to the lighthouse cat by kat

daydream #k

i dreamed of a jump
off a balcony
before
i got a key
to a gate
to a pool

now i can
get wet
the way they want me
to get wet
civilized
like

then if i make it
up quickly and
indoors
i can lie
down
on the couch
by the window

watch the waters turn
my ceiling into a light
show
and daydream
some more
through vertical
blinds

infinite

there’s more beyond

the numbers

the cigarettes

the coupons more

behind the words

thoughts the deeds

more to come of life

itself

 

why would i restrict myself

to a rising setting sun?

 

only a single revolution around

the earth is needed to

prove it is not

so

notarize the thighs (no.7)

Oversaturated with char-broil
ranch sauce and carpet sales
pitches

how would we survive
if we rented out
our heads

come knocking
first of the month

they look at us incredulous
shaking out a hook
the jingle

pay up motherfucker
you live on our land

what
did you think
this was
free

china market

we went to the asian market
and found a fish
to fry

packed in ice behind
a hundred
thousand pounds of
rice we were

careful not
to look
him in

the eye

the legend of captive 8

captive 8

did not hesitate

they made it out

somehow

the words

on dying

breath persist

i am free

now

captive 9

may never know

the old great feel

of earth

   and pine

         and snow

of trees and moon

long shadows

glow

a foot of snow

held their imprint

form

so long

home they went

beloved captive 8

due north

for what

a life was

worth

captive 9

had heard

the shot

disintegrate

all hope

as well

that night

behind the downy

swell

they cried the memory

clean

of one

who shared

the singular dream

locking doors

and prison whores

‘neath the cold

steel

toe

all they ever

knew was all

they ever

know

shadow of a bell

i awoke

 tense with fear

to
remember

 a subway car

 the killer
blue sandals

 i try to hide from
anyone’s eyes

  what had they thought

 i had done?

unspeakable
the crime

i am not
the one!

2003-2013

i moved to california from chicago hoping to renew my life. i was always looking 4 the energy to carry on. depressed and reluctant 2 try antidepressants after all the pills in china failed to help. some good people helped me get through the day by days. i got a job and sold my house in illinois. i bought a truck and read some books. i could not write anymore. not without cocaine and bourbon with milk. believe me, i tried. i carried a deep sense of self-betrayal (though no longer self-medicating and destroying myself). a better life was waiting to receive me. my demons were not done with me. i read more books. i walked around and thought. i enrolled in graduate school to study transpersonal psychology. i read William James and Carl Jung and Bill Wilson. i wanted to make a difference in my community. i had to teach myself to be responsible all over again. i had to be alone. to write without putting anything in me. just a cup of coffee or tea…ten years later i found the courage to really live.

@99

whisky sour in my hand

somewhere near division

the heart got exploited

by the vision

turnin inward

on myself

awaiting the great

fade out

a

double zero

collision

@26

we could taste

the millennium on

our collective

tongues

back in ’99

i was twenty-six

and

preferred the written word

to fists