29 August 2011



She plied me with snake bites, made from real snakes. I had a poisonous head in the morning. I never went to bed with an ugly woman, but I woke up with a few. Not that she was bad to look at; she just had an unattractive disposition. Somehow she brought out the squalor of our situation and held it in sharp relief. My place could use a woman’s touch and she had the touch of a seasoned professional, which is how she picked me up.

I was already trying to distance myself from the events of the previous night, which was easier than you’d think – I couldn’t remember a thing, but my bed smelled of pussy and I smelled of corruption. I’d had my cheap thrills, or maybe it was she who was slumming it. This flat was a temple  of cockroaches and I was the high priest of pestilence. My breath smelled of dog shit, but she didn’t seem to mind as I followed her down for one more roll in the dirt. I speared her as I worked on how to get rid of her without bruising my feelings.

This whole situation smelled foul enough without stinking things up further with a stricken conscience. It was already awkward enough that I did not remember her name. The only names I could remember were Herpes, Chlamydia and other great heroes of Greek mythology. When it was time for her to finally spit we agreed to meet again. When she was gone I threw her scribbled phone number in the trash. I had survived the Gorgon once, I was not about to press my bad luck again. In the kingdom of the roaches there were no little black books and no repeat performances. They say you can judge a man by the company he keeps – I guess that made me a transient, or a roach.


Never Look Back


The past is a barren land

Of box canyons and blind gullies

You must not look back

Never look back

You must kick yourself

Whenever you look back

There is little solace there

And much confusion and heartache

Your eyes must be fixed on the horizon

On the future, not on the shadow land

Of the past – where your graves lie

Silent, awaiting robbery

Get used to the smell

Of burning bridges

And to your shadow

Stretching out before you


27 August 2011

No ones cares for poetry


No ones cares for poetry

It’s a waste of fucking time

Tortured verse and imagery

And mangled twisted rhyme

No one gives a monkey’s

What your words express

They just ask you blankly

Who you’re trying to impress

Words are last year’s news

I guess that’s called progress




We are all just dogs

Good dogs, bad dogs

Top dogs, lap dogs

Big dogs, little dogs

Give me a paw

Sit up and beg

Lie down, play dead

Roll over, now fetch

Bitches in heat,

Get it doggy style

Good dogs

Get doggy treats

Stray dogs

Scavenge for chow

Underdogs retreat

Tail between their legs

To the doghouse

To lick their wounds

And nurture their dreams

Of bitches and bones

Because as we all know

Even mangy old dogs

Will have their day


26 August 2011

Stratospheric blue


My Aces are high

Flight perfected

Telemetry good

Cosmic intuitions

Keep me on course

Great silver bird

Impossible altitudes

The white arc of flight

Cuts right through

Stratospheric blue


25 August 2011



Your days and mine

Shall not be undone

Like balls of twine


We are cast like stones to skip

Across the seas of time

Every moment we live

Is faint progress under heaven

For we live in the shadow

Of forces far greater than man

Or even stars

But even their crushing certainty

Does not inhibit our struggle

For some small measure

Of immortality

You’ve got to throw some stones

If you want to cause a ripple




This morning I awakened in time to see

My dreams vanish back through the mirror

I saw them fleetingly in the parallel fantastic

Of unfathomable sleeping existence

Their memories hang like ghostly shrouds

Around my magic carpet of a bed

Who weaves my dreams?

And who can catch their threads?


24 August 2011




We shall be as chaff

Before the Earth gives way

And mountains tumble

Into the sea

Our tears shall run dry

Before the oceans do

The world will still turn

Without our pushing


We shall trust

To the little sleep

Give ourselves up

To the darkness

For safe keeping


Life will go on as before

No great change

Will mark our passing

The pain of the world

Shall not end

With our departing

But shall go on long after

We have ceased caring


23 August 2011



For tender souls

Who wield the knife

And know no right or wrong


For lonely souls

Who shun the light

The night seems very long


For twisted souls

Who embrace conceit

The lure of hubris is strong


For tortured souls

Acquainted with sorrow

Who sing a sadder song


For all the souls

Who long for home

But never quite belong


22 August 2011

The Shore

I scrubbed the rocks
Of this accursed shore
With caustic soda
And elbow grease
Cleansed every pebble
On this beach
Individually, patiently
Until they gleamed
With no trace of my disease
Measured every grain of sand
And separated them into piles
According to their dimensions
And significance
I sterilized the raging sea
Expunged all life from the depths
And started from scratch
Repopulating the oceanic expanse
With tiny monsters
And grievous currents
Not because I wanted to
But because I had to

20 August 2011



The corridors of this place are pink

Pink is soothing, less suicidal -

They echo hollow and impersonal

The smell is clinical like cocaine

This place is full of empty people

Each one an island, each an exile

Locked away for safeties sake

Just whose safety isn’t quite clear

Maybe they are quarantined

To keep the world sane

Maybe they’re a captive audience

For the television room

Maybe they’re guinea pigs for drug trials

Maybe they have nowhere else to go

Nobody to love, or love them

They each sought solutions

Solutions that were rejected

Solutions that ended in madness

Laying in the dormitory dark

Of terrible isolation

You can hear the trolleys squeaking

The distant and near howls of rage

The screams of anguish

The weeping of the lonely and lost

And you know

You’ll find no asylum here


18 August 2011



I thought she might be slimy

Sticky to the touch

So shiny a being

But she was dry, smooth

Cool silken tactile

I felt her muscle sinewy

Powerful coiling

Around my flesh

And I realized

She might be poison

Or constricting

Might devour me whole

With reptilian smile

Into those tattooed

Tapestries of ink veined skin

Her fangs so sharpened

With the practiced feeding

On hapless imbeciles

Such as me – inert, inept

And dazzled by patterns

Of camouflaged treachery


17 August 2011



There will be no resurrection

Death’s embrace is final


God will only

Shackle your imagination

And limit your possibilities

You don’t require license

From a myth

To live as you see fit

There is no such thing

As literal truth

All stories are apocryphal

All texts are fictions

Make up your own mind

Don’t you become one

Don’t be tied to the words

Of some long dead prophet

Beliefs that can’t be challenged

Are merely superstitions

Don’t live in denial

Ask yourself this question

Are you still a child

Frightened of the dark?



16 August 2011



Your litany of lies and truths

Indifference and passion

Coalesce into nothingness

Those sacrifices you made

Are commensurate

To the demands

Of your vacuous prideful

Craving for attention

The distillation of which

Tastes bitter to the tongue

Nauseates with the knowledge

Of the futility and squalor

Of your purposeless existence

But screams into the vacuum

“I am real – see me – I am real”


15 August 2011

Poor Cow


In the languorous haze

Of the afternoon sun

I stared at her breasts

Heaving as she drew

Each labouring breath

Beneath me

As I drove home my seed

Amidst the tall grass

And I hated her then

I loathed her

As I wanted her

The flies surrounded

Her corpulent flesh

And I saw her dead

In her rictus gaping

And the fecund

Detritus of her lust

And I knew it was over

Before it had ever begun


13 August 2011



Three Lines

To express

The intangible


The Expanded Man


Love yourself – don’t be ashamed

Feel yourself – don’t be afraid

You can be the expanded man

Not just real in your dream machine

But actual and real in your situation

In the now - more than the then

There’s no sin in self awareness

There is no crime in love

No matter where it comes from

So let it out to let it in


12 August 2011

11 August 2011

Rat Race


It’s the system

Fuck the system

What’s the system -

Done for me?

Don’t be surprised when

Faces pressed to the glass

Opt for smash and grab

And your innocents

Get beaten and mugged

By the bad Samaritans

The rat race is for rats

And when you cage people

That’s how they act

They’re fighting in the street

There’s a riot going on

It’ll be bloody murder

Before the day is done

Because sometimes mice

Get in the way

When the rats

Come out to play


10 August 2011



In the annals of wasted time

Your life deserves a chapter

Of your hall of hollow trophies

Tributes to your pyrrhic victories

When you told them

And told them good

When your little rat soul inflated

To elephantine dimensions

When you trod inelegantly

And you danced like a banshee

With your sacrificial lambs

In your piety of purpose

Around your alter of malicious intent

Where bitterness became your master

Distant voices now call your name

In acerbic acid mocking tones

That strip the veil from your heart

And the flesh from your bones

Because they know who you are

And they know where you went

In your fortress of solitude

Pretending you’re a recluse

But those voices bear the truth

Because you’re really an exile


9 August 2011

The Myth Of Reason


A visceral and bloody tongue

Measures inchoate nothing

Screams it loud into the dark

Where the flames of chaos

Lick at the feet of the statues

Erected to mythical reason

And tear at the flesh of order

To rip the mask of civilization

From the faces of monkey men

Smeared in the shit of hypocrisy

I know these barricades

I used these weapons

But where do I stand

When the shit hits the fan?

Am I a soldier stolid, solid?

Or am I a monkey man?


4 August 2011

3 August 2011

The Sporting Life



I’ve been tapped on the button

By skull cracker monkey warlords

I was dug up and called out

By knuckle dragging sporting types

Who had me pegged an easy mark

But I have never been easy

And I never mugged a chump

But I made a few exceptions

When exceptions were the rule

Chumps were thick on the ground

Back in Monkey Town


I rolled in the hay with farm girls

And in the street with street girls

I bought their stories on approval

I’ve got a few stories of my own

Hard to tell with dirt in my mouth

I was committed to no commitments

On my honour to be a good boy

Never easy in the no tomorrows

No yesterday’s life stream

Of unconscious, reflexive existence

The jungle demands of its inmates


I crashed out of Monkey Town

Before I went native too

I bugged out of the urban

For the country of no names

Became a real nice fella

Raised a family in the cozy

Intimacy of belonging

And total commitment

But sometimes I feel it

Burning bright and hot

The monkey in my soul


Are we not men?


Are we not men?

That pound our flesh

In search of mystery?

That pound for pound

Outweigh monkeys

In the zoo of our keeping?


Are we not men?

That watch, waiting

For faint glimmers

Of some great white dope

To pound into submission

For all our sufferings?


Are we not men?

On bended knees

Prostrate in superstition

Before the holy of holios

Begging for small mercies

Before the empty throne


Are we not men?

Frightened of the dark

Immortal and childlike

Blessed by the one true

Cloud dwelling giver of life

To be the special creatures


Are we not men?

Prime amongst primates

Snake stomping

Forest chomping

Lords of dominion

Aren’t we the lucky ones?


2 August 2011




The long summers of childhood echo in memory with the faint aftertaste of strawberries and cream. Days of Roy Rodgers and the Saturday matinee play gently on your mind along with “In The Mood” and “Moonlight Serenade”.

I have in mind a crueller time; one of blood and sacrifice. Somewhere later in life - when you were mated, procreated, and opted for distance between you and all you had previously loved. Suddenly you erected a gulag in your heart – of concrete walls and iron bars, fences and wires, and proclamations absolute – you are… You are commandant here – you are absolute… You are ruler here; imprisoned by your own devices.

Beyond the fences and barbed wire from the safety of your watchtowers you abstractedly survey your children at play; they are close but out of reach. Cowboys and Indians is the game of the day. Acted out in the strawberry haze of a long summer’s day.


1 August 2011

Death Whispers


Death has tapped my shoulder

And whispered in my ear

Each day you grow a little older

Your time is drawing near

So you should live for now

Not dally in the past

And with every day avow

To live it as your last


‘Skeleton and Roses’ by Stanley Mouse & Alton Kelley