country grass in my hair iv

Unconscious I put a screen
Over my blue veins
I screamed quiet whispers
In my pillow
When the wind came
And thunder shook windows
Blue above my door
And simple things I hear
Brooks of blue
I’m lost in you
Echo in my ear
Your last tears I’m sorry for you
Who I took
And your lost life
Once I got here I forgot
What’s the game?
I’m a monkey
Watch the circus
See my cage

country grass in my hair ii

She’s a dog in the night
When I’m feeling scared
But please don’t pull my hair
Lunar Woman with your champagne eyes
Will you be my friend?
Crazy sexy zebra
Tomorrows never coming
Let me take your hand
Cruising to the future with my Baby Jewel
Bound to strike a planet
Comet speed I’ll run for you
His cotton goose going to another land
And plain white heaven you can see
Her face has lost all color
A happy smile
And the lonely tree on river

country grass in my hair i

A fearless goose
Whose rider’s features are drowned
Beneath the wind
And torn from this life
Like a sliding satellite
Throws a noose across a gate
My faded broken limbs
And still like a boy
Treats the world with royal joy
See Moth King attack Cat in Black
Wooden house in heat of night
My mango leaves
Is attracting bees
Tiptoeing on water
Body stiff as dead flowers
We can go as we please

Colonel Kurtz

One song
Separate song
Year of the eclipse
I don’t really care
Until it happens –
Look, meet me halfway
One song on rock to winded
Sailors
Dreaming of farmer girls
And lonely seabirds –
A man
With grenade launcher in Vietnam,
Stands numb,
Can show you to Captain
In land with no captain
Talks plainly
Just stares
And the land where my
Grandfather’s ashes
Is worth millions
Future settlers of
America —
Admire the bridges
And small rooms, quiet homes
Tear down every building you can
See and start in the mud
It is hard to sing in the face
Of any face
A song of happiness
But it shows the best of our
Being
Don’t give the wicked too much
Power – surely do not give
Your time away to Evil
Do not write of what should not be
Fulfilled
Never stare the nighttime
Howl.

California Eugene [fragment]

The skull wears a crown, He is king
A horse pushes curious nose
Into the eyes of a creature
That adores him.
In reflections of a still pool
Or, slightly running stream, You
can see, in reflections, the water
Ripples and waves, a
Human hand reaches toward an interested doe
and the moment is Frozen in time.
Footsteps of a small kitten dipped
into the pure white snow and
Carefully rescued, with a soft cry,
from the cold.
And then the Cat himself, sitting on top
of a mailbox with Man.
Red

Whispers to Sea: IV

Must be given full expression wealth but were kept in misery in Italy babbles, let my eyes not see. Greek poet Tractatus Logico-Philosophius. Mom left us at the train station and even at the small stench of the bathrooms can be fixed, complaining about the space in, perhaps, a spot moved from your familiar shoulder causes his strenuous lights. Her chest heaving with chasing me with their long teeth. The road under all the stars. As soon as one may rest his head we weave around the bases of Joyce, Huxley, D.H. Lawrence, where small canyon walls would, somewhere in northern California masculine thing but seen, take flight. She holds his shirt the moon taketh away. We stop for a minute and so there were, “Who is the man behind with yellow?” Her strong steady fingers. Everything sit like stone behind me to the left. Destination – but it is the final minutes are home ready to receive her and white on top sitting in the bay. Kisses and groping you flowers. It has quiet streets harmonizes as their Goethe, “Stirb und werde.” Knowing the future. But as I open my eyes, strange prize pierced between two call comes from a woodpecker; opening your eyes to the fog. The bell tolls for red desert hills beautiful tree in the rain. Giants Smoker, Plato, King’s Range of a little rock. The beach, small sandy hills and the shore. Small birds danced in, find no familiar entrance or roaming herds of cows and horse. Small opening in the part quiet horses stand in the pasture a game I became, upstairs without a friend. Simple, the fire is personal timekeeper so old and slow, fluffy are still – at noon. The last stop. Current situation; hill softly lit by sun, low branch whose plant is side once can see a different picking fresh zucchini. The full pond behind the apple tree. Nonsense to be flooding through the compassion we are able to bring strange with a fire not emitting heat, black pebbles on the beach, that lets out song exclaim it is worth more than gold. Train before home – Addicted. Hills to the coast of Shelter where ‘Free Prime Rib Mondays’. My hands just, I saw them, bellowing from their nostrils. Enjoy the ride song as the toads in before this it road. Eyes half open, patient. The mountain is mightier confessions of an American opium only to observable by myself. Thy hand? Windowsill wooden flute tossed. Conquered territories like the stove. Then we could use it for human brain scramble at dawn with the fuzz plate sitting on the middle of thicker forest through plains of muddy marshes where the disguised charity and you only get one life long. All the beauty being shared behind the small cabin whose new shell reflecting a flame in dark lit apartments autumn desert. The jar in the mood when we witness a Richard II, Vilette. With a flame and as the constant words are silly people barbarous and election central place in the city and also a coffee shop in our neighborhood. The jasmine unites and intertwines new detail so they stare and slowly that require and estimated distance. Staring into the warm abode and causes Ursa’s seven stars to roll over my right shoulder. Water one of the multitudes. Within it’s fields I shall laugh silently. My soul is to murmur tender secrets in her ear. Anxiety Syrian air strikes on Aleppo amid intense Chile’s socialists take a beating. Sit aside on a rock and ponder when he whines it sounds like it burned and, “Up there against the wall.” The Champion rose to leave his spouse’s shut naked lunch to the sun’s lip, to the skirt. Half of it’s number, one of your sidewalks but to roar with my chin placed at the very edge of the world. Thoughts are clouds in the sky.

Whispers to Sea: I

What is man’s intention when creative labor of millions of fully 2016 October and hurricane. What the great do – Acteon the hunter and his hounds. Heliodorus stopped in Klamath Falls, Oregon. I thought mostly old people here on the way through to Sacramento in the large car, it is empty. I can’t help but think of Indians. The moon looks at you with… I see a man upon the moon like the girl with the city inside of a car that stays alongside everything happening at once. The train takes some lurches – Chekhov, Maupassant, Sartre. I saw Orion’s belt traveling SPMV Union Pacific Railroad. Ocean – His naked body stands in the things look the same in the long trains illumine the shadows and we are just ands through the Modoc National Forest. I have not found sleep tonight. Poverty was something engrained. Lights shine on lots where, at 5:25, we arrive slowly in cactus on the street corner in the city lights and street lamps. La Mar, I love her. Wallenius Wilhelmsen perhaps the last time I will. Martinez is a town touching an ancient people steal from each other, Mashtots man. If I close my eyes I may be giant ravens flying over the pages of my book seep up. Today I write of mysteries, the smell of the ink exudes, the marijuana is growing from “Rufus, he’s the man.” When I was younger I loved. The interns all share one black Volkswagen covered pizza house in Arcata driving a spaceship of tenderness to the books received in California. Wild as it seems, I see life – the jetty was long and someone is calling the rain. Stepping out onto the wooden porch, white cranes in open meadows wound like a ball. The small house in California now quietly adjusting the scale past people concerned with Flat Earth. Power gained? Of course I miss my kitten stretched between two buds fall from the ceiling, a hidden modern day road. Ferns and madrones, today another bookstore, poor Jean Carlo. Sometimes, when you start to placing human emotions on Lisitzky’s dying campfires, the young horse, perfect in proportion, shavings of wood. When you can see a life and know the flight of a humming bird – and so what of it? The farmer wanders through puddles forming in the flooded. Of course the news of out of the Earth is a place where I feel the dark, lonely, frigidness of sitting at the edge of California water. Mason Ehrman & Co. – A grown man should not complain. The Baby Boomer Generation is cars broken down and abandoned. Once again we had arrived back , “Where’s your spaghetti tosser?” – The Brigand. And we are left thinking, “Will we?” My brother has a love, we have a box, and it projects motorbikes down a poplar street, the cloud is mightier than the sun and the first books to crawl, I would like to spend. Our nation pretends the whole, “To whom shall I complain?” Small balls of wax, hash, rolled and eyes rotation in dusty during the first winter I experienced the effects of drugs on Bobbie’s choice; a silent hand sneaks across to run away from streets I know and I have a Lola in my veins. “You’ve got to vote!” From the lips and so the wino sang sweet. Why am I in this environment? Life can seems all put together when deep in the hills of northern California. They can see underwater with guerilla warfare the first form of stirring up the pot. It is my birthday today, October. It is amazing how much a baby, sense and sensibility, the fox, Henry IV, when I enter a room, maybe I should destroy everything I have. Fewer choices, higher costs as the rapid rise of BVC funding views from second story windows in the end of all confusion. Amazing street signs in the Akihabara. The people in B. are queasy. They, beautiful people, surround and my deer crossing into the yard in calm repose sensation “It’s Koala tea leaves, eh?” Over the ridges of Eternity I will be his matted hair, depends in thick necessity, is my mother. Li Po, ah happy bee! How boldly dost though try. Juror removed in standoff trial. Jurors, others say, government overreached. United Kingdom Central Banker faces backlash compared to a running horse. What the flustered old dog barks and, “She got gordo already.” “Ladies and gentlemen I’ll have you stand.” When the bright sun his radiant brow the paths of this world are tortuous. Nazim Hikmet and a strange, hot desire. The wind is your own.

Reflections on Moving Glass

What makes man understand unconditional love, while realizing that one can embody a demeanor, or outlook, that is inferior, evil, unconscious?

What makes time pass by slowly under the employment of a generation before me that has lost all regard for the value in youth? And pass quickly under the sky alone or with a loved one? Infusing your time with love, or building sand castles out of sand.

Sadly, I don’t know myself. More often than not I am carried away by an unproductive klesha, or simply dumb-brained thinking of static. My empathy know bounds. It seems that the more successful an individual becomes the more hatred they  view what is misunderstood, and more walls are built between their comfort and reality.

I find myself hating the youth – I don’t see myself in them. I don’t see myself in fathers yelling at 5 year old daughter who is pushing a wheelbarrow to the curb. 

I almost cut my hair in a Cadillac arguing with crazy men. Why does anyone expect another life to spend eight hours cooped up inside? What makes people comfortable with wasting life? Our only gift.

I see grown men struggle with actions I accomplished by 15. I see them work slow, stupid, and self assured. Pretending this is the life they planned to live.

At times I grow tired of the man I am becoming, and want to leave this world drowned or hung, realizing how alone one is. Sleep stains the grass. The bodies are not breathing.

I don love my fellow American. Without much thought I wouldn’t treat the majority better than a dog. Suburbs are insane asylums for the upper middle class illusion keeping capitalism alive. White America is a spiritual ghetto. White America set on fire.

I have picked stones from the crust of Earth and watched the mud crumble and stain my hands. In the spring I’ve heard swallows collide in mid-air during mating and the acrobatics of love.

— I have hated my countrymen for who they are.

I have not known my origin. 

Whisper

You will see angry men, sensitive and insecure. Take off your angry sunglasses! Or an old lady reaching for French bread pizzas in the frozen section. 

“Where is my past of mounding dough down some stone canal in France?” A woman – Lone. “Where are my memories? Don’t you get them anymore?”

With dirty eyes peeking from a barred pharmacy window facing the street.

An escape from noise – To watch you 

Take off your wig on the cobblestone…

“Sure let’s crack it open, eh?”

Separating yourself from the identity that your family has only recently learned to love – and around the corner your running…

And old men shoot the enemy as they stumble away, down some railroad tracks in Prague, Manhatten, or Nice

Died mumbling.

I’ve seen leaders send their armies through the golden gates unlocked by Peter. Out these doors you left a man and returned beyond recognition, clawing through clouds and metal in order to reach the ones you love.

That loved you… Those who are no longer with you on Earth

Have forgotten the sound of your voice, and in the mirror stands a different man, numb – and sad like always in the dark giggling, clutching your knees and idiot.

What comes 

I’ve just heard some rumor                                             

Don’t worry, Don’t refuse to work   

Take ten minutes, 

Taste the free 

Coffee and Turkish meat of political rebels.  

I’ll have a plastic bag, I’m walking    

To tundra – Off shelves of Luna to snickers by Tosi toast  

 Into the Pacific – My eyes are always crying.

Doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore?  

To listen to the lark ascending, the darkness of the sun.    

Babies cry next to empty shopping carts, inviolate  –    

In the middle of the road,    

The noon of night,   

The joy of love.                                                         

Braid your hair my daughter,   

                              Unknown girl, unborn divinity.     

Your mark’d defiance under trains   

Covered in Flipino mud 

 Where you may dig for diamonds,

 The eyes of an ancient woman

 Papa, will choose a bouquet of flowers – 

For the old Dodgers fan pulling himself across the square,   

 Dancing with Love  

White Heat.
We’re busy all day tomorrow,     

                                 Watch my cup of water tremble.