too much teeth

blow indiana blow.

queer is your new

nigger. blow indiana

blow. policeman

shoots holes in the

black man’s face.

you castrated jesus.

blow indiana blow.

leave children in

the freezing cold.

bury your head in

mama’s pants. blow

indiana blow. blame

the poor man for

being poor. you’re

a god fearing mongrel.

blow indiana blow.

religous freedom

pacifies your steel

heart. sick man is

dying at the front

door. blow indiana

blow. i will sit on

your grave till i’m

sure you’re dead.

blow me indiana blow.


my organic


is planted,

hens are

laying eggs.

a cock is

crowing at

a sun

that pays it

no never mind.

old dogs

are wet from

morning dew,

romping free

in a forest

of sounds

and smells.

my civil war

has ended.

my feet

are dry.


has mellowed

my spirit.

my blood

has never

been so red.

my teeth

do not rattle

with empty

chatter. memories

have painted

my future

without pride.

anything empty

is bound

to be filled,

set free,

or left empty.

the sparrow’s

laugh will

eventually fade

from my ears.

tonight i will

sleep to

the song

of the little





i am back in the rain,

the desert air was dry.

dust storms made my

eyes bleed. thunder is

rumbling in my chest,

lightning is piercing my

heart. grass is sprouting

beneath my feet, crocus

are beginning to smile.

my dogs assure me winter

has passed. my cracked

finger tips have healed.

a rooster is singing to the

sun. critters are being born.

trees are dripping maple.

i am rich and famous. no

one knows. my judean

christian values are melting

away. i float on top of spring

time breezes. lavender clings

to my tongue. i have slain my

enemies. left them rotting in

deep dark graves. i fear

myself feeling nothing. i fear

not fire nor flesh. weariness

cannot find me. the weatherman

says three more days of this.

buddha died for my sins

god blesses the strangest souls.

makes the far away near and the

near completely disappear.

sometimes i’m sad i’m not there.

either the door’s locked, or there’s

no door at all. the old comes and

goes like loose change in my pocket.

it’s baptizing the dead.

the best part of my day hangs between

my thighs. bees always leave their

honey. it flows between my teeth.

he stirs my pudding.

sunflowers stare at me. trees

see everything. where i sleep

my forest satisfies me. animals

become stars chanting the heart

sutra. jesus died from friendly fire.

it seems so long ago, or yesterday.

my formative years

i’ve had so many lives i

sometimes get them

confused. i did the

born again thing until

told i was using the

wrong bible. i’ve

always had shaky

hands, my fourth

grade teacher, miss

meyers, pointed it out

to the whole class.

they called me shaky. i

hated that bitch. i’m

guessing she’s dead by

now and not a day

too soon. in high school

bird head was my

nickname. that’s

when i started having

columbine dreams.

best friends joked

about my cancer.

when dr. baily stopped

scripting valium i

switched to quaaludes

chased with wild

turkey 101. i smoked

mexican until a buddy

turned me on to

vietnamese brought

back from vietnam. i

functioned on orange

sunshine and mickey

mouse microdot.

yellowjackets from a drug

store robbery helped me

sleep at night. at twelve i

smoked my first marlboro

in the back of a dingy

pool hall. forty-eight years

later i’m still being told

those things are going

to “put ya in an early

grave.” i pay my

respects to them with

flowers at their graves. i

say “fuck it” a lot.

at an early age i knew

nothing was worth more

than a lot of something. in

denver i joined the

socialist workers party but

got bored. everything i

know about dying i

learned from walter

cronkite on the late

news crying over president

kennedy in black and

white. john prine says

blood in a black and

white video looks like

shadows. i fell in love

with my first hardon.

others have since and

i of theirs. they’d rub

my belly like i was

buddha granting good

luck. i’ve always had a

good job till another

one came along. when

did i marry bob dylan?

fuck it, that’s another

whole poem in itself.


love me to death

i die a little each time

he fucks me. i wait for

the time he enters me

for the last time, taking

my last breath away. i

will be in a place of silent

harmony. some hide from

it while others purport it

doesn’t exist. an obliteration

with no relevance. i will look

out my window, no longer be

attached to the trees, or birds

or the sky. angry bitches will not

be heeded. i will not scrutinize

how the sun brings a frozen river

to life, or darkness often my

brightest light. his seed is wild

horses galloping through my veins

to zion. i am a son of lot, enjoying

the rain of sodom. queer from

the day i was born. i am the queen

for the knight of swords the tarot

delivers. his ejaculation is my gift

of expression, resolution of all my

conflicts. as happy as i am, i could

be dead by this time tomorrow.


ash wednesday

dead air fills my lungs. white

noise rattles between my ears.

my eyes are calloused. unimaginable

suffering has entered my bones. i

am a shadow of the man i used

to be. i wait on the pandion hawk

to carry me to delos, in the heart

of the cyclades where apollo was

born. i will sleep in the sanctuary

of these ancient remains. i will bow

to buddha as i scrape dog shit from

the grass. feel warm through the grey

of february. share water with followers

of saint florian. my last act of revenge

a smile with a crippled tongue. an artist

may paint my portrait, a poet of erotic

hate. i am dust and from dust i return.



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