Pistol grip

This cloak scene, this arrow hole, this fear of death, this rally speech, this plea for help, this French ennui, this boy here, this cloak scene.

This boy here.

His call for justice, his innocence, his stupidity.
This arrow hole. This boy here.

This cloak scene.
This Pistol grip.
This arrow hole.

COME ON BEARS!

in this wilderness of bears, this wilderness of sea,
the      headlights        
diffuse                 through
nylon  wall,                        the fire
crackles               to
low                                        
voices                            singing secret sadnesses.

I am
tight in red stuffing,   my feet fighting the flannel
lining for air.

The bears are
grunting now, coming closer with            breath,
scratching the nylon,

and

we are asleep with murders in malevolent winds
white-capping the wide waters,               waking
sleeping seas to come crashing        over the tent
the bears are just there on the other               side
smelling the flesh  within roaring      now     and
licking their lips                    indifferently

they laugh before they enter

and Yet

I saw myself in 30 years on a road to winters. Spandex shorts, cankered beard, neon sleeves against the cold, heading in the same direction, a headwind, cadence slightly slower.

"Keep your head down," I said and looked at me with stern eyes.

"Keep moving. Forward." I replied and looked back at the road.

YOU WON"T BELIVE WHAT THIS COMMENTER SAID ON INSTRAGAM!

let's take pictures of nothings
until death. of shadows and vhs
tapes. of tree tops and chrry
pits. let deaths
forget the nothings
of this. the tubes and and beds and babies. the mom and dad. let's take until there's nothing left.

A bike ride.

we're a
living for
a
moments  between
the
counting minutes motioned motions walking through
when
moments come we're a
living when movements come we're alive in

the
olive     grove the
almond grove an
almond        tree the
olive            trees on
|||:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::------------------------|
the
sticky road the
sun bricky road on
the windy winding winters road.

Every door is a graveyard

Soft lips.
20 seconds.
The mountain in relief.


The evolving shape
\\\
of the/\\\
/\/\\
power tower's/\/\/\
two //\/\ dimensions
///\
in motion
///
-//
--//
---

The Internet is a

The Internet is a global system of interconnected computer networks that use the standard Internet protocol suite (TCP/IP) to serve several billion users.

The Internet is a Series of Tubes!

The Internet Is a Safer Place for Your Teen Than You Think

The Internet is a Playground.

The Internet is a massive public spiderweb of computer connections.

Pope Francis says the internet is a 'gift from God.'

The Internet is a global network connecting millions of computers.

The Internet is a global public resource that must remain open and accessible.

The Internet is a James Joyce Novel

 The internet is a copy machine

The Internet is a surveillance state.

 

    

The Jimi Hendrix Of

Carlos Nuñez is far more than “the Jimi Hendrix of the bagpipes,”

He's been called the “Jimi Hendrix of the ukulele” for taking the traditional Hawaiian instrument into a new, likely unmatchable dimension.

The Jimi Hendrix of Niger.

Neil Young, who once described Jansch as the Jimi Hendrix of acoustic guitar, was not present in body but appeared on a large screen in a ...

Wong Kar-Wai is a really great inspiration. He's always referred to asthe Jimi Hendrix of filmmaking.

Where are the the JImi hendrix's of this generations?

The Jimi Hendrix of rap, I got an afro and / Bandana

“Jimi Hendrix of the violin”

You don't have to go out and be the Jimi Hendrix of photography.

Bombino: The Jimi Hendrix of the Sahara.

Remembering Larry Levan, 'The Jimi Hendrix Of Dance Music

The idea is that this is the [Jimi] Hendrix of now.

Joe Deninzon: The Jimi Hendrix of the Electric Violin

The "Jimi Hendrix of Spoons" is a young ambassador in the art of spoons playing! 

collapse

on every highway, an accident
on every plane, a crash
on every boat, a capsize
on every bridge, collapse

in every promise, reneging
in every mood, a swing
in every chat, a silence
in every love, a fling

in every class, an asshole
in every meeting, the same
in every parent, their child
in every child, the same

on every street, a killer
in every ocean, a shark
on every beach, tsunami
in every night, the dark

Daily Routines

I am a person who owns aluminum foil, plastic wrap, Tupperware. I have a blender, a whisk, napkins, plate sets. I butter toast in the morning.

I am someone with a newspaper subscription. I own a TV. I have a number of desks.

I am a man with a mirror in every room, and a sliding glass door to the patio area where the barbeque sits, where the lawn furniture resides next to the potted plants on plant stands, next to the orange wire temporary fence that keeps my dog off my lawn.

I go grocery shopping.

I pick up the mail.

I have two telephones.

I drink water from a metal bottle. I wear shorts to bed. I take showers an wipe the mist from the mirror before I comb my hair.

I am a guy with Internet access.

I chew on pens.

I take out the garbage.

I commute to work, and I pass, each morning, the white cross with hung flowers, next to the traffic light, the exact spot where the man died one morning, in the fog, next to his utility truck, in the field that waits for tract housing, across from the parking lot in front of the strip mall.

And I am a person who owns aluminum foil.

The Weight of Water

The story of the basement flooding: When
the rain came down for days and days,
the sewer grates were overflowing, and
the carpets were indelibly stained.
The bottoms of the boxes couldn't take
the weight of water, so, when we lifted, all our stuff fell into
the pool below. And so floating in
the shit and piss with
the leaves and sticks
the rain brought in were

all our childhood memories,
all our A's on our papers,
all our baby books and clothes.

Rhinoceri: A Study

A 

rhinoceros's eyes are on the side of its head, and a 

rhinoceros's skin is made of scales. But they don't categorize by a 

rhinoceros's eyes, so its a mammal instead of a lizard.

My babies make 

me who 

I am. And on a bike ride 

the clouds doubled 

the size of 

the hills like 

the sides of rhinoceri and we rode through olive grove's sticky roads to 

the valley where berryessa lay.

Eye: To

I I too too sing America too
To the land of the free too too I sing
too to the Mall of America
I too too
too too
Sing America: The horse with no name
The the in the in the desert in the
I too
to
I tu tu
And the home of the brave I
I
I to
The home
of
The Mall
of Themerica
I too too
"I, too" 2
Am ashamed.

Dick Army

We
are a spilled drink,
seeping towards the edge
of the table,
waiting to be
sopped up,
or to tumble, free,
over the side.

We--
on the other hand--
are
a spilled drink
seeping
towards
 the edge
of the
table waiting
to be sopped
up to tumble
free
over
the side.

If I think I'm going crazy, then it means I'm really not, right?

I keep
hearing voices
in the trees: telephone
"hello"s "keep to the
right!"s
and
"Would
you
want to
raise a
child in
a world
where
Chipotle
exists?"

It Will Take Place in the Past

Today at summer camp, our instructor gave us about 1.5 hours to work on two poems, which would have been great if we were not supposed to be learning how to prepare students for AP English. Here's what I wrote:

Curriculum Vitae

1)Born into the wind--the Daley City, the city of Sandburgs.
2)Young days like (________________). The breezy trees. The all night hide and seek. The ka-chunk of car locks when we leave the bliss of our neighborhood.
3)A High school looped in tall buildings--black steel for businessmen, red brick for the poor we locked car doors for.
4) Awkward conversations, Hog-butchered attempts at dates.
5) Leavinghome|moreschool. Independence is a fake ID.
6) Disconnect. Death of friends. I go away to Europe.
7) 75 resumes become a job at a newspaper in the middle of nowhere. More alcohol than ever.
8) Back to school, which is much better when you care, and better still when what you care about is caring about the impetus of locked car doors.
9) I start teaching. I meet you. I end teaching.
10) For two weeks, I am a rock star in New Zealand. (This is not metaphor. It should be read literally.)
11) The move. The drive. The new home.
12) Teaching again and you are still here. Happiness follows.




It will take place in the past.

It starts with the sun and an onion
Oil and garlic
Fire and metal.
She's up early (She is always up early but
she makes sure everyone knows
when she's up early for the sauce).

Sizzles and pops

Meat is next--strange, grizzled pieces saved
From the trash.
(The animals are unknown and never the same but with a little red wine they become mythical.)

Sizzles and pops
And then the tomatoes, a boil
And then the lid. The reduction of fire.

(Meanwhile we are at the table preparing pasta like unionless autoworkers assembling a vehicle.)

That night, at the last moment, we eat
together.

I am an osprey with arms!

Seabound and Seafoam from.
Wings of flight, flightless
fingers wiggling at the
ends.

I am teeth and balding,
the injustices of hard
labor, of fishing and
souless godless wind and wave,

of Square Feet and tail feather,
of how to shake the aforementioned.
It is cold where I sleep,
Nested and nestled, Fingered and reaching.
Aflight. Alight. Alive.