Freakity Freakish Freakout

critters die human critters die i’m going to die planets die stars die but when the shooting starts at the diamond exchange panicky panic ensues and I just start blasting it’s not this way for everybody some people mow their lawn and die a lot are watching a film when grimmy swoops ‘em up what film? why something medium already seen in bits and pieces between commercials i’m watching this film wish it was a tornado instead tornados can take you places with funny little people and witches and colors you’ve never seen but no made for tv supernova w/ peter fonda world’s gonna end says the overly extremely good-looking physicist and cut to die

the early days

here in the early days you could get chopped shut down and stuffed away rockwalled into eons in the early days sticks could swing and bounce your brain right out of your body for food or sex or just plain itchy we lived through it like any other mammal adapt and survive and die, roll and hop and twitch we misused everything, didn’t even know we were alive in the earlies back here there were none-suches that made up freaky sky-faces told the littlest gimplets terror tales to make them cry and shiver when the thunder passed over their stones in the early days a man with flat eyes could take your thoughts take ‘em right away with his voice, and his pictures – you could run but the whole earth had got filled, and they were everywhere some say the earlies were the bestest but i don’t think they remember the daily danger, and the unfair around every corner the not-feeling and the terror-tales that squeezed so many hearts too many bursts of fear too much pressing down too many falls into the heavy earth the early days were bright and sunny, sometimes but i liked the later years when i was free.

sign. on my back.

she said ‘you’ve a sign
on your back — did you know
says “kick — me”‘
i didn’t know
but i know now
the dances are all fine
the dancers finer
but in the end i stay up late
past everyone
and write about things other
than real or true
every last bit buried in code
an endless stream of non
what comes out — look
over there — fascinating
certain films to tears
certain songs to heart thrums
my beautiful lucky when
when i was
not really
not chosen
stopped the gap
useful
can not complain
certain films to turn away
wishes and fishes and over they go
can not be sad
certain songs to grip and squeeze
look at all the lonelies
here in the lonely box
things are as and not over yet
tattooine turns on its two suns — did you hear?
mars in spring — i’ll go
it’s time
i don’t mind
damn the sign

two over

universe smiles and waves
i leap up in the sunshine over the beds
clean blue sky and fresh air
over the trench i go the dugouts are deep
and cool with fragrant mother
happy horses trot along snort at me
i have to hug them excuse me
beautiful wooden wheels on the steel
look at that shine!
twirl up and take a sky spin with Wilfred
he takes a line: so many of me still live
but i’m off! for tea and scones with Hinden the Burglar
woah the Keezer! actual and not sad
having done his best to read the words
hey i’m carting with kemal and an armeniac
too fast! too fast! so they slow and old Allenby
drunk asleep across T of E
weird but sweet, the edges neat and tucked in hospital corners
flip to ypres and here is where
shicklgruber got hit with the light
spent the rest of his life
working with jewish cats
oh could they swing! oh could they wail!
they say rock and roll cures everything
but i know it’s the hard bop
so we take it to the top and spy
doug’s small beady penguin-eyes
and i stop
flutter down
and whisper words of wisdom to his pressure vessel:
not you not you
this was never you
now dance!
and he does.

burnies

in the deep black freeze little hot dots
hot burning souls
human is a radiator soul
nothing out here but burnies
wicking up and spinning photons into fire
coming together right now
hot toes dance the nuclear floor
too bright to look just like the star
sweet simmer star makes the summer
super deep freeze burning women
twine on flame men
make fiery littles to sizzle up the nothing
everything seen now in the hot lights
ninety nine and detailed from a light year out
all remembered every small blue white moment
when the fuel goes dark and the jets sputter
the cold cold reach bows down and takes
the last embers to dust
grateful for the rare last light
the three times move back forward and beneath
roaring furnace faces
hot souls
return

Four.

magenta barrel over beer falls
would a way to come and go with it
sap the trip to pay the day for it
i'm a tree dwell
surfle intuition bang sorts of thing
trill a lute for comedy a fish for dramedy
a fin for couth
sight sweller
wait bring it two way

Chortly Kills.

back the down stairs at Tellers
in the sweeping basement a thousand years down here
crackling under a bare minim of time's blank verse
i trouble myself to find Cooney, flicking in the shadows
and i hunt.
'Cooooooneyyyy!' I call as i chase down alleys
we have always played our parts like this
he is the frightening figure i always beat
i catch and kill again and again
really i'm the frightening one aren't i
Cooney's just a symbol, a mask, an extension of me
i use him to stay sharp
to feel the blood pulse in the back of my tongue
as i lope down side streets looking for him
he wears an exasperated look when i catch him
'why?'
because i need him
to stay sharp
and he once bit me bad
so he's the ghost
he's the antagonist
he's the me i overcome in this world
my world
play planet