feeling conflicted, this goes beyond the

you or i

cutting up the past, standing up to father figures (this means what?), starting our tribe

the animal in you i HATE but LOVE

bursts of physical not always kind

it’s the human in you that muddles my intellect

the revolution looks different than i imagined and without nectar/ambrosia the humor

gets lost

maybe sticking it to the man is better suited to the young

it is what we DO that defines us

and i don’t want to be trailer trash manifestations of nail polish names

“I could have been Somebody!”

as glass shatters and the air becomes putrid with hops

i want to cut through the cosmic bullshit and understand the connections but dharma is

often sidetracked by human drama

if i am not creating, what am i as


what must be unblocked to give a shit about something other than boys, booze, cigarettes

YOU have been MY mirror

at times i have not liked what i see

sit with it detach observe

sounding like a dirty hippie

why should one be ashamed of one’s roots?

the birds are silent after my breathing; the wind stills

sounds from my childhood gone save the freeway

she returns with a whisper but the answers have not come

the old poems were about running away

searching for home

20 years it still doesn’t exist

but i love you and that is as close as we are going to get



for Allen Ginsberg

breathe in joy and inspiration, breathe out wisdom and peace

breathe in joy and inspiration, breathe out wisdom and peace


breathe in joy and inspiration, breathe out wisdom and peace

sit with it

observe pain posture breath

pain posture breath

teeth on edge as air replaces words

breathe in joy, breathe out peace

breathe in joy, breathe out peace


breathe in joy, breathe out peace

thoughts amble by linger pass

father mother lover

dark places observed cataloged paused

for further reflection introspection

breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe

eyes open

tree rocks in the wind

she is always there sister wind

breathe breathe breathe

joy, peace

joy, peace

physical fading

joy, peace

drifting drifting

joy, peace

questions questions

joy, peace

answers coming

joy, peace

third eye opening

a path

a man in red and gold appears

kind eye gentle hand stop

you are going your own way

turns walks away

breathe breathe breathe

ego wants to continue

sharp pain in head

eyes open

heart racing

33 minutes and cockblocked from enlightenment

by the Dalai Lama

the wasp

diatribes like friendships can go on too long

anger spewed forth from the lips of a failed rock star

the one getting more rotund around the belt

white and balding, unshaven in ill-fitted clothes

i am yoko, nancy in a fantasy that i am the succubus

feeding off the talent of the cock endowed

that green eyed monster is seething again

the youth you so despise is peppered with wisdom

the kind washed up old men never find

we all need our literary feuds

so thus we have ours

this tongue creates everything you want and cannot have

my rising star is a funeral for a friend

whose empathy was feigned and whose ego

sabotaged his own success


ode to that whore, amsterdam

amsterdam, you are a cruel cunt of a mistress with your red lights and promises of sin
perusing my paris papers i see that i was lamenting my good fortune
and wishing to be down and out
now it’s projection manifestation
400 kilometers north as i sound like henry
happy-go-lucky and hungry
sex-crazed soliloquies on a stage meant for sermons
amsterdam, you conniving kankerwhore
your disease is doling out fair-weather friendships and
counterfeit culture
fetishizing artistic starvation as you order me to get down on my knees
for the wasted, window-shopping tourists
your heart is as cold as your winters but
you cannot bullshit a bullshitter and
i never go down without a fight
amsterdam, you salacious slut
we are coming on another christmas
another hobo biertje
another sleepless night wrapped like a gift in my lover’s arms
i’m not asking
i’m demanding
that this year you stop lifting up your skirts to piss on the poor and pitiful
who are working with the scraps from your table and
turning them into feasts
be a bitch in the bedroom but
a lady on the street
and let your sons and daughters thrive instead of survive
let us have a future instead of just tonight