Dude . . .

if i could convince you
to consider but one candid concept
which, of course, you might suspect
concerns a most elicit topic
if your inclination
was to cringe and quickly run for cover
you would be correct
for you’ve accosted me unlike no other

with a cavalcade of quite conveniently
depicted diq piqs
clogging up my network
like a cable network choking Netflix

please don’t misconstrue my words
as puns or covert euphemisms
this is very serious
like when penis becomes penisn’t
calm down, i don’t mean the content
i declare that secondary
i can’t comprehend your cause
nor lack of couth it’s kind of scary

curbing your distinct affliction
by increasing increments
can’t quash your creative calling
and it’s in your best interest

i cannot afford to hear the lord groan
when i check my smartphone
nor have leering onlookers
keep winking as if something was known

dude, it’s just a diq
no need to show it to the world at random
put that shit away or else i’ll lop it off without abandon

Ode to Zechariah

long before light
cleft the heavens in twain
a movement
of manhood emerged

unlike the unsavory
dissidents prior
his was a station deserved

he fostered conviction
amongst the rapt populace
stoically instilling mindful revolt

fully apprised of philosophies spoken
unlike static sophists consisting of molt

fervent emotions born of empathy
ever consuming his radiant heart
salient locution so poignantly posed
lingered long after he bid to depart

tales of his august aplomb echoed through the vales
prose poised to avail the downtrodden denizens

parlance empowering dispelled compatriots
apposite to proletariat wards

forged in the fires of familial defect
stuttering sopor
societal ire

nonetheless, pwning the epic drum solo
from “too hot for teacher” when he was but twelve

not having given an “F” he sought “T”
and tempered his mind with the breadth thus required
of the scant few i regard as elite
he is one by whom i’m duly inspired

Deep within this tattered husk lies the hope
to someday avow this Marxist of a man
of every last tender kiss wrought by his words
intended for naught but to better this land

Apropos Creation?

sometimes in life
it’s all you can do
not to hang from the end
of a dangling noose
when ideals falter
from altered epiphanies
self-imposed litanies
taunt us as truth

reasons unclear
hearken feelings concise
as we slowly succumb
to scopolamine nights
on a hollow dimensional plane
of feigned platitudes
sorrowful vice
desperate pleas seeking quietude

labeled as sacrilege
should we repair
to undo the heedless act
of summoning us here
where an iron fist reigns
with such ironic scrutiny
e’er you should mention
proactive acuity

still, none dare question
’til quietus calls
of that which our parents
paid no mind at all
the stigma, long-standing
insists these facades
are gifts that cannot be revoked
but by god

how oddly beholden
to cognitive bias
that we forgo logic
and deign ourselves pious
to then misappropriate
most hypocritically
fate in itself
with such flagrant defiance

if only our efforts
were aimed toward reality
instead, we sacrifice all
for mere fantasy
lacking the merit
to make the distinction
between fact and metaphorical depiction

we must make the choice
to adhere to a mindset
consisting of ethics
not pandered by pretense
for should we persist
to exist with such dissonance
life itself will soon submit
to obsolescence

[image credit: Louis Wain]

This Pill

how is it
this pill
grants me the will
to carry on

it appears
as nil
however, still
i’d marry one

vicodin and valium
lorazepam and lithium
temazapam and tramadol

i kinda fucking want
them all

even if their glory
ever fades
into diminishment

issues anticipatory
pervade with omnipresence

what have you
got there
and would you care
to share
the love

if not
tell me where
might i repair
to scare some up

methadone, morphine, and molly
oh by golly gee
they’re great
opium evokes opining
oh please god
don’t make me wait

it might be
you think of me
as being a heedless hedonist

ah, if you could only see
what burdens
doth my life consist

rue the day
you ever have
to compensate
to gain composure

caustic truths
beyond control
servitude of lifelong indenture

dare not judge
this “crutch”, you say
is much more
than your
dearth of knowledge

currently facilitates
go suck on a
whatchamacallit

p.s. i don’t mean
the candy bar. . .

Psychotelepathic Kitten

every day it seems i am beholden to an untold power
i once thought was emanating from my garden’s wildflowers
but since new damning evidence has narrowed it down to my cat
my life has been a whirlwind of sin and there’s no looking back
the force exuding from this kitty is anomalously grave
its effect has left me to a lifetime as my kitty’s slave
endlessly i toil scooping his remnants from the litter box
and i won’t even mention all the times i’ve had to darn his socks
i cannot explain nor understand the tasks which he assigns
all i know is if i fail the consequences are unkind
by his ardent insistence, i have to wear a pink mustache
then i must go downtown and panhandle to re-up his stash
he has what you might call an addiction, and it’s quite severe
once a week i make the trip to Humbolt just to bring it here
criminal-grade catnip is financially prohibitive
but if i should refuse then it is likely he won’t let me live
recently i had to quit my job so i could work from home
if i did not comply, he insisted that he would have me cloned!
ethically, my opposition to such things does not permit
so i became a phone sex operator as do most hermits
you may laugh, but i assure you, this is deathly serious
my kitty cat will kick your ass if he hears any word of this
again, you scoff, but i implore that you should take heed of these words
otherwise, i cannot guarantee you won’t end up a turd
understand the implication, yes, it truly is that dire
i scoop tough guys like you from his litter box as is required
that, of course, is based on the assumption that he will take pity
on your wretched soul, for truly he’s a nitty-gritty kitty
certified and licensed by the Badass-Felidae Committee
they’ve got local chapters based in every major U.S. city!
now look what you’ve gone and done! i’m late for his standing appointment!
at Suinolon Spa Spectacular which means a sturdy groin kick
not only for me but for you too for wasting his precious time
here he comes now looking like he’s out of sorts and not of sound mind
i can’t bear to witness any punishment he wreaks upon you
so i’ll have to close my eyes while he exacts his wrath of kung-fu
there, you see? i bet that you’re regretting having not had listened
to the true-to-life tale of my psychotelepathic kitten

[image credit: Louis Wain]

Lost Expression

all that i desire to say
can be found lost in my expression
enshrouded by archaic airs
arbitrary to my intentions

are these conscious thoughts of truth
in conflict with my hidden layers
or is it pretense so aloof
driving rifts through solemn lair

this much i may never know
and such it is i must accept
that all i might forever show
should be not what my heart reflects

Perilous Sky

my truth existed
somewhere
in her opaline eyes

a timeless visage

dangling moonbeams
from the edge of oblivion

muted by the dismal
desert sky

silently
she drove an erubescent arrow
through the sorrowed vales
of a wailing echo

which impaled my imperfect heart

i followed her flicker

’til the trail
led me to an apparition

which dissolved
into a parasol
sprawling with mesolite

then she vanished
into the night

[image credit: Kay Nielsen]

Chaotic Pedantry

these, my thoughts
a plague of vague and divergent plagiarizations
indiscriminately pilfered in epic proliferation

culled and culminated
an insipidly loquacious clamor
pulling at the seams
of a precarious defenestrator

sonorous disquietude
of pointless quips methodical
poised with impropriety
imprudently parodical

pondering the response
spurred by unintended implication
posed from every angle
with fastidious consideration

formulating fears quickly forestalled
and then falsely inflected

internalized dialogues
disseminated and dissected

infiltrated by effusively
flourishing fantasies

in fluctuating malformations
of infernal lunacy

frantically then bantering
a bevy of inbound semantics
transmuting juxtapositions
chaotic thought pedantic

poring over every nuance
with a painstaking precision
lamentations
over lingering lexical aberrations

an incessant onslaught
of neurotic errings syntactical
cringing at the notion
of the permanence of erstwhile drivel

ever ready to unravel
by mere random incidence
so unwittingly interweaved
with arbitrary intermittence

why must it be so
that my mind never ceases inundating
every thought that fills my head
with copious neuroticisms

moored and then mechanically mulled over to such mundane measure

maladaptations of mind-numbing malefic discomfiture

omnipresently presaging
prominently ominous

a vomitous slew so profusely foul and insalubrious

besotting of verbosely vulgar surreptitious linguistics
repetitious literary folderal inefficacious

unrelentingly attending all obsessive inclinations
descending into grammatical quandaries sans hesitation

requisitely structured with laborious alliteration
assonance and consonance or else subjective condemnation

were that my implores could ever be expressed externally
surely they would lock me up then quickly throw away the key

cognitive calamity at this degree of grave affliction
begets one naught but a ticket to the mental institution

left bereft of any hope for one’s existential salvation
in an exile of the vilest form of human deprivation

i must then be heedful in revealing my indisposition
if you would excuse me from thus furthering this exposition

Upon Consideration . . .

fuck you
for the thought you’re thinking

fuck your epic pompadour

fuck that smug look
on your fuck face

fuck your doppelganger dog

fuck your every breath you breathe

fuck whatever makes you happy

fuck the way your clothing fits you

fuck the timbre of your voice

fuck anyone desperate
or dumb enough to fall for your shit

fuck you
for not being bothered
by the fact that you’re a prick

fuck your “soul patch”
fuck your soul
fuck your lack thereof
fuck no

fuck the way your mouth moves
every time you make an utterance

fuck your feigned gesticulations

fuck you
just because

fuck the fact that you perceive
yourself as being above others

fuck your lack of self-awareness

fuck the way you mistreat women

fuck your racist undertones
you always try to justify

fuck your privilege
being of a magnitude superlative

fuck your pompous
omnipresent omnipotent arrogance

fuck your vapid elocution
fuck you for always guffawing

fuck your predisposed conclusions

fuck you for wearing “cologne”

fuck you for making me smell you

fuck your insincerity
fuck your insecurity
fuck your lack of verity
fuck your duplicitous nature

fuck you because “~Dashers, Dashers~”

fuck your fucking sweater-vests

fuck you for even existing

fuck you for not remedying it

fuck your parents
fuck theirs too

fuck them all
for never caring

wait a fucking minute, dude –

you too
were neglected

under slightly different circumstances

nonetheless

life had not afforded you
the proper chances

for the record
fuck my hypocritical
lapse in discretion

leading me to perpetrate
a most impetuous transgression

if you would excuse
my hideous affront to civil discourse

mayhaps you and i
could be the source
of one another’s recourse

[image credit: František Kobliha]

memories like these

cruisin’
in a sky blue pinto

nineteen-eighty-six
or so

through the foothills
of tujunga

headed to the old rainbow

pockets emptied
at the castle

somewhere out
in sherman oaks

squandered
trying to conquer strider

level four
was all she wrote

swinging
on the rings
at santa monica
beside the pier

followed by a stop
at woolworths
for some penny candy fare

frantically we’d beg our mom
for change when came the ice cream truck

but when we finally raced outside
most often we were out of luck

garbage pail kids
lik-a-maid
bazooka joe
and pixy-stix

pelon pelo rico
big league chew
and candy cigarettes

gotcha bracelets
vision street wear
swatch watches
and jelly shoes

members only jackets
were the only thing
not neon-hued

weekends when our friends slept over
mischief would soon fill the air

regretting
forgetting
to have chosen truth
instead of dare

helpless
at the mercy
of my older sister’s
bumptious best friend

ceaselessly
accosting me
to follow her
into the old shed

i was far too busy
rocking chopin
on my tape recorder

fostering the nuances
of burgeoning mental disorders

not to mention
perfecting my hand-to-eye coordination

come the day
when playing nintendo
would become my occupation

memories like these
drift through my head
amid the desert twilight

where this heart bleeds cali love
and will until the day that i die

(pictured is myself on the left with my friend David O’Neil at Santa Monica)