my music is
the melancholy circus anthem
the psychedelic carousel tune
(house of mirrors house of mirrors
100 reflected images of
displaced child on mood stabilizers)

neon has long repelled me
is this innocence lost?

the painted ponies
with their saddles ornate
go up and down but
never run free

(of course)

jaded carny stole my bow!
i was but five!

the scrambler spun
i chipped a tooth

I imagine a man
with crackhead talons
a few teeth and no joy
though who am i to judge:

"we are all outlaws
in the eyes of america"

my music is the last and lonely waltz
(i just want to be in big sur)

my music the quiet convergence
of a few little notes

the sort of person
who sits alone a lot
with just their mind
recalling thoughts of
california

and
my music
the crackling record's buzz

the falling duck feather
the sound of a house
settling into warmth after
a long stretch of
having been uninhabited

the creak and groan
of protesting pipes - - -

the wicked and brilliant
carnival's song
the old pond at the mission

my music is a
sentimental little arrangement

(but who could expect

otherwise)

aztec calendar

stumbling through our days
we approach the end of the aztec calendar
and we're all going down


a brilliant light of
tangerine and pink
the end of the world looks just like a cocktail from the poolside bar

if i could be assured
that what happens here
would stay here

i might stray beyond the lines

it's not as if i believe in a
judgment day
and anyway my crimes are not so great:

piled up across from me
they cannot weigh more than
an orange-beaked finch or a small hand grenade

comparable i assume
to the weight of the deeds
done by every girl in my bracket

ruled more be desire than duty,

these are after all the heady days of my youth meeting their technicolor demise

(high on a monument
all lined up to meet
some vibrantly plumed deity)

i only hope he does not physically pull out my beating heart,

mercy, mercy, from the age old tradition!

i prefer the quick blow, the scalding cacophonous explosion,

i'll go out singing,
disappear into the dissolving panorama...

life in lompoc?

life in lompoc refuses to thrill
these days


yet colorful characters linger

spoiled sons some, living alone in little houses downtown
payed for by their parents,
key bumps and cannabis plants,
white lines abundant, they try to get me
to vacuum the floor

but i cannot stand to vacuum
especially when high
the drone so loud it could strip paint with its volume,
always seems an angry monster
feared by cats and dogs alike

and so the carpet stays a dusty sea of blue synthetic
and paw prints

life in lompoc is boring as hell

most of the real thinkers have been sifted from the pot and now only the dregs remain
the smart kids either too lazy
fucked up indifferent addicted or disoriented to leave

and i do not count myself among them
but i am

until i go, until i go, until i go!
then i'll be gone then i'l be gone then i'll be gone
and you shant see and you shant see and you shant see
me around these parts no more

life in lompoc continues as if under a microscope's slide
sometimes we drive to the beach and then turn the car around and drive right back
it is a journey without a real destination, drive there turn around drive home
but the sense of direction comforts us

on the gray days with high wind
driving past union sugar avenue
toward the sea

life in lompoc is brutally slow but never fully stops
i wake early and wish i were still asleep
when the room is dark and everything very quiet
and my head pounds a pulsating beat

i make barely a sound