you can't epitomize him

as the 80's wore on
it all became rather absurd don't you think?
the macintosh
the cats
the peacefulness?
truth is, he killed time.
he did it the best way
he took time
wrinkled it
tore it
and spit on it
handed it to a man
who boxed it and sold it to you.
he became what he deserved
and i am the dead people in his poems
but that nasty old fuck did 15 years in a job
you don't hate a job and do it for 15 years
or maybe you do
if it keeps your soul in a vice
squeezing out the juice
that is of course, for sale
------
crazy drunken fuck
these people don't understand
that for 3 dollars and ninety one cents
they are RENTING
a glimpse
into themselves.
wake up you shitbags
and send you car careening over the edge
full of kerosene and manuscripts
and all the little pieces of shit
you think are you
----
he typed because he was too drunk to write.
he used a computer because it was easier
than typing
now
its instant
soon
no interface
direct from person to person.
----
these dark insights
these visions of the wretchedness of man
the holdings of mirrors up to the world's face
these happen
when you stop
and think
and hate for a moment
and see futility for what it is
and see
that death is the only truth to any of this
that everything is love
and that all any of us have to do
is make it
---
you said it.
you can't epitomize him
and i thought
"this monster?"
but now i see
life is not laid down permament
in words
but time is.
"where the spirit wanes, the form begins."
he'd have died ealrier were it not for the bluebird
were it not for letters
were it not for a true buying of the myth of capitalism
and laying a shit-stained $10 on the nine horse and winning
and a fine piece of ass.
"she put ten years on his life"
well.
thats new math, man.
they didn't teach that in the 30's
----------
but i won't - you know i won't.
i can't.
i'm too pretty.
too palsied
didn't get my beatings
have no heart
can't know strife
never had to hurt
never tried
never cared
and I'M the freak
and I am.
-----
i see the bodies of people
and wonder how those
that work in the field
can not see skeletons
hanging with temporary humanity
see mud and dirt manipulated
into an animal
and then i'm struck
by the persistence of life
that moves this earth
and knows
and drags the knowing around like a club foot
and that just short of dying
there is some requirment
some mission
do not spread the darkneess
that dwells in the hearts of men
for this shall be your undoing.
--------------

upon walking into a tornado

i think i need to lay off this
i feel like a jackass
because i am a jackass
and im laying off today

i awoke - a dream of an old department store standing virtually derilect in the middle of a great city. a grand old building with big dark spires, arching windows frames in darkened yellow brick and other long glass fronts where all the wares can be seen. two businesses could not resist it and still had stores on two of the floors - grand and bright blaring out into the street through the old black framed glass, showing the city what real commerce was when people actually cared about where they bought things. we were working inside on the renovation - carrying the old salvaged windows down the long, wide steel stairs into storage in one of the abandoned rooms. dust and dirt and dripping water...like the building the last scenes of Bladerunner were shot in.


the fable of the snake does not apply.

thou shalt not anthropomorphize.

gratitude is a human construct.


i feel i've been before.
you've seen me once
in worse form
and i eventually left town
disgraced
after bloodying my face against the glass
of cliques
and fear
and protectionism

i've seen me a million times too
shuffling raggedly down the street
stinking of filth and brokenness

---------
a little is enough to pacify
to keep me from trying.
because when i get close to the real thing i start pissing on myself
and running around the party with my fly open.