Beatchick 

There’s a poet on acid in the garden battling demigods, Ferlinghetti unfurled at her feet 

In the distance glows the guiding light of a television as a christed candyman stands on a table littered with remnants of a relapse and shouts, 

Look at all this fucking bliss!

A man with a handlebar mustache asks if we met in the past and suddenly 

I’m Coco Chanel’s assistant searching for signs of a Dutch Resistance Hero in the midst of a midnight raid

Trading secrets to swamis for deliverance of a forgotten word

The tiny Mao in her mother’s military hat smiles across the table as a fascist gets punched in the face by the facsimile of a friend who took my load off while Nero fiddles on a stairway to nowhere 

The prodigal daughter caught in a loop of psychedelic 

return to sender:address unknown 

Hermetically poetic in a free fall through the cosmos and giving the middle finger 

As I dance with Dr. Thompson’s ghost

Casa Poetica

For Hans

The patron saint of Lost Poets laughs

Smoke surreal in the sacred sun

Unmasking kindred madness 

Recognizable from a subversive plane of my existence 

(The soldiers are there for me, too)

Mystic grandfather of the underground prophets 

I lay bouquets of phrases at your feet in gratitude and veneration 

As we weave destinies and laugh into the void 

METAPHORM 

i am lovingly fascinated with this storm as we try to tear Babylon down with battlefield remedies

The night belongs to poets, madmen, and my revolutionary pornstar Jesus who is crucifying himself on electronic versions of yesterday’s news

It’s been so long since i’ve been home that i’ve forgotten Mother’s laugh but

there lies a truck stop philosopher who once pointed to the psychedelic stars saying you can never go home again and

i can’t recall his laugh, either

The red dress i wore that day turned black becoming a Midwestern Classic loaded with

pomp & circumstance, stars & stripes, death & taxes

i’m on my eighty-seventh transformation cutting atonal chords and severing velvet ribbon ties

The gods return with different names; ancestral Valkyries reminding me of a warrior’s birth and a bargain struck for a drop of mead

Soldiers of Debauchery, we rebel on

As icons fall from grace in another nocha oscura

Lightning  Prayers

The Wise Men

from Lao Tzu to Kerouac

Seek Solitude on the Mountain

But those who laugh into the abyss

discover in the Dark Night

that the Collective is the key

to Enlightened Expression

Lightning Prayers can do no harm

as dragonflies and butterflies

prepare for METAPHORM

surpassing the SuperEgo

as three bleeding women

giggle at a nigger on a unicorn

Review:

We eclipsed in the name of Art

In my naïveté i lost Faith 

While proving Love

i bow to the Father i tried to release 

The Universe doesn’t agree to the Trinity

And i weep

 

Fractal

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

WOMAN

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