Get This Crazy Tune Out of My Head

you know there’s shit
and there’s shinolla
and you really gotta know between the two
for the world will not tread lightly
when separating the chosen few

you know there’s shit
and there’s shinolla
and its up to you to choose between the two
watch your step but don’t tread lightly
or you’ll end up with poo on your shoe

you know there’s shit
and there’s shinolla
and when forced to decide between the two
never mind that you tread lightly
there’s really nothing you can do


I Thought I was Devouring The Rosy Crucifixion but it was Really Devouring Me

The back yard maple stands frozen in deep winter
Full of dead branches and woodpecker scars
But you should never count them out
Trees can come roaring back
They are deep into the earth with root
Once in a while the sharp shinned hawk
Will perch in my tree, searching for movement that results in a meal
But I am never there, and to this I must suppose

Deadbeat housewives who want it both ways
Blind baristas paying attention to themselves
Mobile offices, we never close and never recall opening in the first place
The American expression of love for loveless objects, like cars and celebs
Rationalization of crimes, simple and complex
Everything is on sale, yet when everyone saves, no one saves
My immediate social impression has developed into the scary old man
When I was quite comfortable presenting myself as a scary young man
People waddling instead of taking bold steps
Put me in jail now and save everyone the trouble
The weather remains cold and inhospitable
Teaching through example is very overrated
Insert a line break anywhere you wish
Line after line in a non linear existence
Concrete abstractions that lead everywhere
Caverns are strangely inviting, so very familiar, I’d like to touch them
Signs of affection that produce the flame of desire
Watch where you put those hands
Sign language in the corner, Hey, keep the damn noise down
You distract me, fur lined boots that match the gray matter on top
Waiting in line for the revolution to begin
The revolution will never occur, it’s a lip service thing
Dog eared double chins

Always in a rush, the steady stream of coffee lovers in love with themselves
Vanity is the only subject available
I am still distracted by the sign language from the corner
Give me time to think and breathe
I must have air and little else
Public displays of conformity, embarrassment is the goal, everyone fears public opinion
Listen, according to the signs, the underside of life is never far away
Take your perky attitude and enjoy it, but you’ll be the first
Children are doomed, overwhelmed by over caring
It was a shame that his bad habits did not kill him right away but kept him on edge for fifty years
My mind has a Joe Cocker rasp
The blues are packaged and sold
Scarlet hair for no apparent reason
Daddy just wants the library card that’s hidden under the skirt and any skirt will do
Then off to work, destroying the earth in very small ways that add up to madness
Don’t suppose the meaning of these words, they are a flow of blips and pops
Emotions are chemical secretions, but armed with that fact leaves you just as confused
Should I continue ? The momentum commands it
Let us explore the void but deny its existence
Laughter is illusion, a symbol of imbalance
Listen kid : standing in front of the door is the worst place to be, you’re gonna get creamed
That’s right, begin to cry and spoil your mom’s seven fifty soy latte
Poetry entered my life too late
Observation occurred but now is changed
Changed on the ether, which has been disproved a hundred time over
Work like a dog, a dog who looks like he spends a large amount of time sleeping
Dollars are easy to come by
The soul contains so many flaws as to be man made

Vermont is a brand, a very successful one
This is blasphemy to the very people busy with promoting the branding of most everything else
It goes around but certainly doesn’t come around
Where is my office ? It was here a minute ago
Black is the color, none is the number, huh is the response
Send a message to yourself once in a while
You cannot hide from yourself and you cannot surprise yourself either
What did you do in Europe ? We mostly avoided catastrophe
These words are an experiment
High heels must mean something
Shoes are our main contact with the earth, specifically the soles
Golden sky, blue waters, full of loveless information
The sublime could open up a bit you know
Please keep unsolicited advice to yourself
Back it up, save today from tomorrow
Daddy’s working and left his library card out for all to see
Games, games, games, let’s all play a game of some sort
Break out of your shell
The sign language appears obscene, looks like an air hand job, and is patently unfair
Follow your attraction, but who needs that useless advice ?
Check the time, up until yesterday I had a plan, now I’m not so sure
Control is an illusion and this fact may appear earlier in this stream of consciences
If those boots are made for anything else but walking please let me know
The walls begin to sink out loud, should I be concerned ? Try a little harder
Leave the past behind and express your thoughts and observations
There are way too many English majors in this country, what to do with them ?
Put them in an anthology, then to a shelf
Outsider art : what a joke to us on the outside
Defend your ground then give it away
Piss off, you’ll feel better
Is she here ? No, good; let’s talk about her
The inordinate power of the ringing telephone; proving that its best to be somewhere else
Kicks just keep getting harder to find

Feet First

by Jimmy Tee

the depths of night has become my enemy
with soul in need of rest
the ghosts and ghouls invade my nest
in full blown anarchy

all this despite the lack of calamity
but conscience sleep checks out
to be replaced with nagging doubt
in a dark reality

try as I might to shake uncertainty
I suffer at this point
that some nature chose to anoint
with vulnerability

soon comes the light and I stand vertically
but in my near woke realm
these questions steer every helm:
what has occurred? what shall be?


Why are we weigh’d upon with heaviness,

And utterly consumed with sharp distress,

While all things else have rest from weariness?

All things have rest: why should we toil alone,

We only toil, who are the first of things,

And make perpetual moan,

Still from one sorrow to another thrown:

Nor ever fold our wings,

And cease from wanderings,

Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm;

Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,

“There is no joy but calm!”

Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?

Alfred Lord Tennyson

‘’The Lotus Eaters”

spur of the moment

I mean by a picture a beautiful, romantic dream of something that never was, never will be – in a light better than any light that ever shone – in a land no one can define or remember, only desire – and the forms divinely beautiful – and then I wake up, with the waking of Brynhild

Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones

Kick Spinoza Right in the Ass

I brave the pace
of afternoon grace
and sermons never ending

as one of the crowd
that wonders aloud
while death is always pending

its all so weary
dank and dreary
the rules are broken or bending

a silent God
whose game seems odd
just what is He intending ?

everything I find
is mis-defined
in a deal not worth defending

can someone explain
this world of pain
if to heaven we are ascending ?