hyde park cafe

all is elevated
this floor over the earth
this table the grain flush
above the floor the arms
of the couch free
falling bodies at half a perpendicular
snaking lethargically like
my thoughts

eight sided glasses
opening rims up to the sky
fan blades cutting through a plane
brass reliefs flowering
rooted to the ceiling

thursday night
all is elevated
twenty three
high on coffee high on

metal flower morning

she was a barista. my friend

gettin people high on stiff colombian shots!

she remarked

a cafe bar in a hotel

little round marble

tables. guys (and girls) feigned to read

watching her change money

serve drinks

looking around

thinking everyday thoughts i

waited for her to get off shift

listened to the steam

scream through silver


metal flowers

how could anyone ever

kill themselves? i overheard

a woman say to her husband

behind a newspaper

what with the wonder

of the world i don’t know

they can and

they do lady they can

and they do

shuffling cards laughing

looking and being looked upon

exchanging cash and feelings

young Americans

we had it good

we did

metal flowers

screamed across the tissue

smoking would kill us all

if we wanted to

so bad



remix 1998


black as desire

my coffee exposure exceeded its recommended daily allowance, and i showed all the telltale signs of caffeine exhaustion, from impending sense of doom to useless fights with the others, wishing i could snap myself into the center of a forest. my devices and pets were all vying for my attention but she was nowhere to be found. i reluctantly tossed a foamed paper cup with a sleeve into a blue bin at a café, and went sideways into a night, steamwhistle of a pot on a stove, contracting a spirit into a five minute steep of an old reliable, constant comment. what to my dismay, her producers had changed her floral notes, and a memorable song of an early childhood was hummed through the teeth ona variable. i don’t care. tomorrow i’m strikin’ out for the old bean, scarred from the heat and black as desire.


waitin for my fix


chick passes me
like im a telephone pole

unlocks the glass door
i say HEY

all i need is a filter
and some water under
boil SEE

i got this fukkin maxwell

OFF the street
while waitin


she snarls but
comes back with the
smokin teapot and

my shaking hands
take the paper
lean my head back
on my nekk

empty tin into
paper put paper
over mouth

lift teapot over
head and POUR

now im really


do not be confused

Today is your day to kick ass. Even if someone’s got you imprisoned, even yourself in your own mind, but even then you can ask for a book cause that is your right. If whoever has you locked down won’t let you read,  try and exploit the weakness in their rigidity, all the way to your freedom. Today is Friday and your chance to shed the skin of the past and come out all bright and shiny and new. People will notice you if you simply show up. I like to walk somewhere, under the sun, walk a mile or two and find a cafe and sit and watch and think and write. Maybe let a friend know I will be there, so they can come see me if they want. Today is your day to kick ass. Don’t let social media hold you back. Get back to your sacred expression. In whatever form. Respect yourself and they will respect you, too.

If you get tired, by all means meander, online or off, but come back to yourself and your connection with what only you know and let it speak. Make that fashionable statement only you can make, whether its how you dress how you walk how you talk how you write how you sketch how you  skate how you run how you gesture how you preach how you teach how you fight how you give how you help how you see how you feel how you deal. Be you. Be free. Be real.
– K

pervasive sustainable organic sweetness

I was at a local cafe watching how friendly the barista was with everyone and me. She makes you feel like you have a personal connection, you feel loved. For women and kids (and a few men), she comes around the counter to give you a hug. I almost felt cheated to see that I was not the only one. How dare you love them like you love me. She put extra caramel in my macchiato, though, so I decided not to slap her face. She was tall and black and thin, and possibly transgender. Sweetness pervaded everything she touched. I trolled the bottoms of my cup with a straw to suck it up. I tried to listen to my friend who was monopolizing the conversation today. But I liked to listen to her, she was smart and funny, and I was tired of listening to the voices in my head. They weren’t very nice. Not today. They wanted me to know what a loser I am. They haunted me with the trainwreck of my past. More people came in and got more love. If it wasn’t for the caffeine and extra caramel, I would have made a scene. I could see they all thought they were special, too. Oh boy was I gonna put Sweetness on front street! My friend was talking about her husband and how he left his car unlocked and someone rifled through it and stole from him. She couldn’t understand how he could complain about it, when he was the one who left it unlocked. Apparently if you don’t secure yourself and your property in this world, you deserve to get jacked. I was not myself. I was more like a little bit of everyone around me. A little bit jaded. A little bit agitated. Even a little sweet. I needed to go out in the rain and get wet. Maybe I could imagine it was purifying me. I drove home enjoying the perfection of my new windshield wipers. Imagine life without windshield wipers. How exciting! You would have to roll down your window and poke your head out the side so you could see through your leather and glass goggles. When I got home, I stayed in and read the latest Stephen King book. Head candy. For breakfast I fried the eggs too long. All I could taste was the bacon and hot sauce. Someone blew someone up somewhere today. I heard a screeching scream and went out to see what was the matter. A gargantuan black cat was tormenting my kitten. Of course he took off when he saw me. Bully. I picked up my kitten and brought him inside. It’s okay, honey, you’re safe. That big mean old cat! If I could get my hands on him. I put my arms around him and kissed him on his spine and face. I smoothed out his fur and talked to him. Sweetness. If only we could all stay there for awhile. In our own pervasive sustainable organic sweetness.