Ode to a Flip-Flop

Where did you go?

Seasop

Hung from your suicide shoulder
call the drowned day mothers’
Forgets are full on spilt
as they have you kissing the gunner's daughter -

On ocean scandal crimp
make a hard take
through the corral
Dirty angels comb blessed hair for the thousandth year

Wave from shoreline
braves the salt October
when pennywise lovers
would dare armada’s to crumble

Barren on the listless metropolitan floor
The petty drones air-raid
megaphones to the siege that
never really was nor will be

Seasoned belly cursed jawbone
for shiners teased a dead-man’s soul
while the girls hustle you for change
and your last American hope.

Cleansed in Waters
Birth the last Bull of Barney
The heaven is on its first holiday
Plagued regret no more….

Funny

Off to Montreal to be a plumber it hit me like a shiny diamond: I have no fur coats to wrap my stability around. So, we shove hot coals into our pockets and pretend to be hired hands. So much trouble, so much trouble. They whistled contemporaneous at an incredibly low bray as to bring my crap to a frigid drawl. It was very dated and pathetic. I use to sweep at amazingly high chores with a love that only a serpent could know. Now the devils and deary me-me’s plant a brutal unknown that will curse you for years. You complain as the old nurses emaciate frumpy dreams while the aeroplanes scream new religions over skyward allow'd to capture the stillroom with actors and lovers in drag praying by the bedside. It is on the wince when the late day dangles you a midnight that you discover; You should have been a miracle worker. The plant has closed but the smell of old news still lingers round this tedious town and all that’s left are porches and trash-cans. Some day you will remember these small little moments like the time you forgot my birthday and scrambled small tiny trinkets from the local bodega. Useless things yes, but they hold such memories to me. You may laugh or cuss but soon these will be the only things you’ll cherish. It is the hard scowl when realized that you are dancing with the dead dog night as many things grab you at the four in the morning spin…. Trusted and chemical fitted to be something you wish to hold on to. To stagger home in the afternoon on the trail of tears is a fate worse than death. Pompous to the slammed world and awkward streets this is your last great call. It is as loud and thunderous as teddy-bears given to girls at late night pizza shops. Now you are really on the shuffling binge.

Fisted

To the clown:
Fisted by society
by fathers
by mothers
to burn dreadfully bright for ungrateful children
They eat alone in very dark rooms

I think we should live in the mountains at high altitudes

Poor fat fatty fat fat Hemingway
as he lay in the shit broth tub
Moan the hill-billie blues like the captain of a sludge tanker
Poor old fat Hemingway fat fatty fat
Use to be the goo-goo in a bright
humping Paris
Now the arm wrestling king
of Sloppy Joe Island
No more boys to molest
No more booze to throw-up
No bulls to fuck
Just watching the rain in hell.

Lab

Why have the qualms of my lost barber, whose stolen skin made eager prancing on the mince of hopheads. This is not the choking of gaunt horses that flail onto the skull of my sweetest bizarre. Lovely damnation pecking on the faded tattoos of your late night adolescence purge, the petty a most intrepid affair. It commands dramatic somatic intention dementia dailies serpentine notion with diseased pirates groping the last punk-rock-girl right out of town. Plagued guardian shakes the loose tooth beggarly on common tattered trauma. Pounding through the achy market square on a devil’s promenade boogie in the dreamers that lay soiled under the antique nook. These are not your dwellings. These will not be your homes from homes. These are not your salad days. Stalked on stagnant waters put down the fires malignant grooves and to release out from the mushroom’d stratums copious corruption spawn newest memory. They have killed the sweet Ohio with curses and a leaf blower.

4 Track @ Northside Mar 31

On Saturday the 31st the 4 Track All-Stars ( www.myspace.com/4trackallstars ) will be playing the Northside Tavern (www.myspace.com/northsidetavern ) I will be doing a track with them titled
America which has been featured on this blog. I hope a few folks can attend and enjoy the fantastic show.

Sing'ing

Was a wave in the stoop that made a jilt then to a jangle, when the olds' came and pleaded roller-coaster hills. Smiles, my smiles hopped a crawl on the hairs on eager neck to tumble down my crown to brow through furry face. Dancing like a 40’s musical with tight slacks and awkward shoes but my breeze to this a sorbet, clean puddle on a busy street with props and all. A six figure shootout with a backyard ending, please-ing symphony prestige. What was it Piccadilly, a word or sound? Perhaps a curve or the shade'ed disguised as erotic silhouette. These from sound or vision that hounds out the Bop; an American boy on the fills from proud to the pleasant. The universe screaming that landfills aren’t for lover but we seem to crawl our night’s from end to end with remnants and odor wondering why our days become the gaze of curious’er and curious’er-Unfulfilled. But now, on the pavement, bumble’d and swerving like bees in the ghetto a waltz has on to the most of comfort and thrilled. No longer peasants grabbing for broken radios and almost used up pied pans but a gorgeous Frankenstein built and spilt onto the novel night air; an apparition that only a lover or mother could love...
And I am Sing’ing.

The Parade is the Thing

St. Patty's Day Parade in Cincinnati.

Kilts, pipes, drums, beers and....

Shriners!!!!

Ran into old friends and had pints.

Not a bad day at all!!!

America

In through the howls from Americano
we crave a dreamful mellow -
as peace will cleanse abject treasons
it slides tight her gale to the sinister side -
codes slang a pristine militant state
the machine makes assault on piteous pasts -
dilemma make the airs our permanent enemy
as midnight vertigo blues paint havened style -
it begs the last suburb for sweet baffled ignorance
ember’d on eternal epoch binge -
Swell my diatribe on the brow
hold loose coined illusions
by hustlers that game on renegade -
the childhood truth covet fades into that long good night
it is a simpleton means now
like dullards that come home to roost
purge for the last pure vurtue’d harbor

***
Flunked logic explored
Abu Ghraib flair bizarred
habeas corpus ignored
with no stringent damnation,
true corruption was spawned
wire-tapped for their lord
lies smuggled a pawn
C.I.A pour le monde
pimped you in on the static
now you lost like an addict
burning from the inside numbing in on the zeros
vultures plague from the sky
philistine so sublime
it’s defacto control while we beg for a hero
Now they shot up their sheriff’s
and killed all of the bailiff’s
then they rolling it out like jackals with merit
better hope for the lotto
for you down on the blotto
for speaking your peace
and asking what, when, where and why
champion stoned it alive
daring you to survive
when will we ever find our new America