I Don't Agree With Myself, Or Anybody Else

why leads to lie
and don't give me a whiff of if

every person walks by
in their own universe.

the sky walls me off
green grass holds me up
with nothing down below
unless i dig to find it

trees all mourn over water
but we ain't heard nothing yet
millions dead with no freeze
to kill the bugs

and people wonder how
i'm going to die after
the cancer diagnosis

like everybody else, I guess

Brake Pad

In a building where the walls are live
and your mother's argument with your aunt
takes up 25% of your entire vision
and it seems like all of your hearing, and
you may wonder kind of hoax is this?!?!

My favorite thing is my fear of death.
It made me the toddler that I was
when someone told me someone died
and they'd never be back, and I learned
what never meant, slowly, over every day

And I guess I travelled a lot in this life
to avoid Mr. Death, or maybe see him,
briefly, at the end of a night, arrived
for some other poor sucker, drunk,
walked into the street, run over dead.

The fear of death keeps us safe
from the jinx of denying it, and
making the underworld angry
enough to kill a ton of us at once
in a tornado or earthquake, bus crash.

I’m not laughing. it's just the avenue
of "I Walk Alone," and how you find it,
how you get there, how you go further.
Blackstar night followed by ocean day,
loud jungle dark, assault of dawn.

Shapeshifter peace, just as they found
oregano in the dna of some Italians,
and photos that were more than photos.
The lion's roar is the jet taking off.
Make believe, then, weightless goodbye.

Calling Out The Haiku Power of Words

in a major thrust
all the words got filled up right
in spite of the law


there were always phantoms  another world right on top of this one we can't stop to even see it all when the rent's due or it's time for more groceries or the car won't start or maybe it's finally time to try and buy a house  we get it quick from the content box, but it never says much not like someone who's been staring at the big dimensions of life  for a long time maybe that person knows what is being said or what we're supposed to say  ah, civilization is mostly distraction


There it was, the fogtown bridge,
getting ready to blow its girders
in a night of unforgiving dark,
darkness that welcomed me.
I was a poet
who believed in the many gods
and distrusted the rule of guns
as part of a thought process.
Robbers had struck, and left the train
on full throttle, despite a deadman.
This is when I wrote my first poem
about a river god that rose up
to let a train ride across its back
and reach the other side in safety.
I won't ask you to believe me.
I will ask you to be free.

Preparing a Poet's Sunday Sermon

something about the vortex of space and time
and how it sure feels like me,
as if dimensions are mere concepts
whirling in me until i sort it out
and we can talk about here and there, then and now

next, something about the afterlife,
and how maybe we're supposed to build it,
but we probably can't even truly start
until we stop war and famine,
because it will take all of us

maybe talk a llttle bit about how consciousness
in some form zooms through all living things
(it's different than thinking),
and so we're brother and sister
to coastal redwoods, honey bees,
tulips, panthers, hummingbirds...

how it's all a sea
in every direction
from your fingertips,
toenails, ear lobes out.

and how it will all be destroyed soon
by men with guns and gold

unless language


The moon fell off the workbench, and
rolled to the corner, by the broken TV.
"I'll get it tomorrow," I said to myself.
Then, the stars collapsed like marbles
from the ceiling rat-a-tat-tatting
on the floor. "I meant to fix that."
Venus, the great light, went out,
but that was easy. Just a new bulb.
All the other planets made a creaky
noise, and I wished I'd lubed them
sooner, but I had stuff to do,
and you can only do so much.
If you do more, you'll be unhappy,
or worse, fall over dead as dead
from a heart attack or stroke.
I got put in charge of the universe
several years ago, promoted, and
I don't like it much. It's nonstop.
It's old, and falling apart. Expensive
to fix, with no one to help me.
Then, my wife looks at me, mean,
in a nice way, like it's my job
and the kids depend on it.
I grab a Bud and get to work.
The sun will rise. No one
will notice a thing. No thanks.
That's OK. I do it for my kids.
Oh, and your dreams are safe.
They electrify the ether.