tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41465322011-04-21T13:01:29.054-07:00The BungeeMans leaking BrainMusings on the pitfalls of sanity. Follow me as I knead the dough of my intellect into oddly shaped buns of pith and wisdom. See how peptic frivolity, costive thoughts and furtive twists into neologism proclaim that Norman Clature has nothing on me.Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comBlogger661100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-77976117820866104202007-07-29T20:17:00.000-07:002007-07-29T20:24:42.455-07:00I wrinkleI stretchI sit and I fetchI fumble and mumble along.I rinkand I dinkI frequently stinkSometimes I make it a song.But for schmoozers, contoozersbegeezers and wheezers,and things that go "Fizzapitz!" in the night.I dof my capMaybe go take a cra-happy occassion to ponder.I write this becauseThe Wizard of Ozhas announced his Wizardshipis to last yet a bit longer.Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-78069808742538237152007-03-31T12:01:00.000-07:002007-03-31T12:02:09.363-07:00Southern hearts, twin flames,Bound by time by love.Unbridled in passionsMobile yet unmovable,Looking for gold (remember, it is in your hearts)Connected by thoughtsAnd feelingsAnd a landscape of memories.Southern heartsBeat as one.Amber flames dancing togetherAnd smiling.Smiling.Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-49958780164821053202007-03-31T11:08:00.000-07:002007-03-31T11:19:19.133-07:00Zen guitarMindless guitarNo thoughtNo thoughtFlowOneness"It is not the bars of the cagethat holds in the tiger.It is the space in between the bars."It is the space between the notesthat makes the musicEmpy spaceThoughtlessTimelessNo MindMindlessThe Zen of GuitarI doNot doingSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1172200840973197502007-02-22T19:12:00.000-08:002007-02-22T19:28:36.461-08:00in a vast poola wave appeareda wave among thousandsmillionsthe wave slowly roseand after a timepeakedand then slowly settled back downinto the poolThe whole time of its exhistanceit was made of the essence of the poolit never lost its connectionit was all poolandall waveand in the endit let go of its need to be a waveand once moreblended back to the pooland some of itbecame a wave somewhere Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1167710877524475232007-01-01T20:06:00.000-08:002007-01-01T20:07:57.600-08:00If I change my mind,I change my choices.If I change my choices,I change my life.Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1123627889507902662005-08-09T15:46:00.000-07:002005-08-09T15:51:29.513-07:00The song and dance of Hugh Jim BisselIn the middle of the crowdI felt so out of placeLike a stool firmly caughtBetween the cleats.I know you should't be moreThan what you bring to the table,So I stamped my right foot out in the streets.And they all turned to lookAs I was dancing like a frenzy,Pounding, driving nailsNo one could see.I lit my cigarOff the muffler of a YugoAnd went back to carving Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1122751590559037102005-07-30T12:25:00.000-07:002005-07-30T12:26:30.563-07:00Snippit:Kaleidoscopic phantom flyersgather at the feast."Fold the soup, nip the bud,be sure to brush the yeast!"Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1122435796405179622005-07-26T20:37:00.000-07:002005-07-26T20:45:20.436-07:00NON ORDINARY REALITYIn that spaceThat splinter of awarenessWhere shadows cast shadowsThe sun bleeds through wounds in the darkWatchingI stand with wooden eyesTime (That Leach!)Sucks at the marrow of my soulWatchingI gaze past myselfTo a place where worlds are birthedAnd eons die back to dust(cycles of possabilities)But the leach stays well fedIn the distancedrums quicken their paceSo I slip my Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1121057331280850742005-07-10T21:48:00.000-07:002005-07-10T21:48:51.286-07:00Whacked outin my turbanin my hot tubin my front yardreading my maillike Karnack the magnificentWith disjointed fingerand multiknob nailI point absentlylike an abscesslike an antiseptic throblike Larry and MoeDervish in motionshuttlecock thoughtsrandom answersan bits-o-taffyall rolled into bricksMy skin pillars in wavessoaking flaccidbody fat indexreclining fiberglassnibs mein improper placesin Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1121018057782992292005-07-10T10:51:00.000-07:002005-07-10T10:54:17.786-07:00Reflecting on the mirrormy eyes metAm IAnd IStillI have never seen myselfIf I lose an armAm I less than I was?I am not mein this physicalityJust becauseNeither do the thoughtsmake me who I am,thinking does not make the man.So thenwhere is the man in this machinethe ghostthe sparkthe beinghaunting celland neuron alikeI have no endingBut thenI have no ending for this screedof cheese log banter Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1119325991583493082005-06-20T20:50:00.000-07:002005-06-20T20:53:11.583-07:00In my dreamI can get angry for no reasonother than to defend my right-ness.It is an ego thing,a feeding of that which ought not to be.But is.In my dream.In my dreamI want to be first in line,I want to have that new thingor that old collectible or be rid of unsightly fatovernight.(At the expense of others.)In my dream,all is well as long as all of my needs are met.In my dreamI step over the needy Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1119325805367988452005-06-20T20:45:00.000-07:002005-06-20T20:50:05.373-07:00(actuallly written on 6-18-05)I crawled outout of the pitout of a hellthat reshapeddaily morphingglutonous and tactileIt stank down thereand my mind screamedmy soul heavedand my hair pukedMy eyessallow and melloninterstitial orbs that saw crazy thingsspinning stinging with tearsand dirtand reflectionsMy mind torrid with thoughts untouchableunfathonablesuperballs at jet speed in a closetnever Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1119325353206586722005-06-20T20:41:00.000-07:002005-06-20T20:42:33.210-07:00i am not really herealthough I could beabsence of presencepresently absenti may have forgottenwhere i put myselfor notSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1117601715150458862005-05-31T21:52:00.000-07:002005-05-31T21:55:15.170-07:00Moth Eaten and Cuniforma moth stuck to my foreheadas I sat illustrating my own shadownakedon a stack of hot wafflesgesticulating with a spatulaand prognosticating on the ways of the worlddeja bluesI've been sad beforebut the golden needle eye of the candlenever looked so cruelas when the moth pryed itself freeto dive bomb off my foreheadto the lightand disappear in a flashand smokeandaslightpop...Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1116705490621016902005-05-21T12:57:00.000-07:002005-05-21T12:58:51.283-07:00From nowhereto now herecan be quite a tripon a Persian rugSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1116705158104509542005-05-21T12:51:00.000-07:002005-05-21T12:52:38.110-07:00i am not really herealthough I could beabsence of presencepresently absenti may have forgottenwhere i put myselfor notSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1109644227975202572005-02-28T18:29:00.000-08:002005-02-28T18:30:27.976-08:00I was comfortableIn a condensed sort of way.Like pulpous fiberIn Anita Bryant’s hands,Like bermOn a consternated browOr the filthy underthoughtsThat lurk in Idyllic shadow.Somehow, somewhere,I know I saw an image,A vision.The Old Man and the Sea-Reincarnated as the Poseidon Adventure,Winter was never so hard to endure,Striving with Ernest…But I digress…I was comfortableIn a forensic sort of way,Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1092460494170377302004-08-13T22:00:00.000-07:002004-08-13T22:14:54.170-07:00There are ghosts in the wall sockets
and secrets laying dormant in the plaster.
But they have been covered over,
Left to whisper beneath screaming wallpaper.
Track lighting tosses shadows
That stick in odd places.
And I, in my top hat and thoughtful poses,
Sip tea and read a book on Zen.
An old guitar, all strung out,
Leans against the wall.
Tears and laughter haunt the hollow.
In hushed urgencySojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1075610016077721572004-01-31T20:33:00.000-08:002004-01-31T20:35:49.200-08:00Letter from Milton
Take a breath
Relax
Can you remember when you were a child
When you learned how to write the alphabet
How you learned to make small letters
Capital letters
Numbers
Do you remember?
Breath
Relax
Can you remember the sound
Of your favorite teachers voice?
The voice of someone you admired?
Let that voice
Be the voice you hear
Now
Relax
Breath
Feel the inside of your lungs
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1068956867584826382003-11-15T20:27:00.000-08:002003-11-15T20:28:18.450-08:00Had my share of city nights
Heard the call of the neon lights
I've walked the empty streets
I've slept on sweaty sheets
I rolled my own
I have drank a few
Fought my past 'til I was black and blue
Found myself out on a line
Living on borrowed time
You can die fast if your standing still
Catch your dream
And hope you fall uphill
There is nothing longer than a night
Sitting by the phone
Drinking Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1064026654507426202003-09-19T19:56:00.000-07:002003-09-19T19:57:34.743-07:00I was born
In a no parking zone
With a stop light in my eyes
Exhaust fumes
Run thick in my blood
I was born on the lower east side
I found love
In dirty beds
Where rats ran free
And lights were red
Where money talked
And the women all said
"Come back"
And I always did
I was raised
On a dead end street
With a switch blade in my hand
Where death
Was life itself
And the strong
Had the upper hand
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1063945381105916392003-09-18T21:22:00.000-07:002003-09-18T21:23:01.036-07:00The Robe and the rube
How ancient is eternity?
Has it been around forever
or just recently?
Ticking away with unseen hands
(lunar ticks?)
Chaos on cruise control.
I stare into the face of time
pure Wisdom on ancient paths.
Light bends
my thoughts tumble in their orbits
my eyes breath deep.
I can see farther back
than I can see ahead.
A cosmic dance of glory
limitless in all directions.
The robe Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1062641110627144822003-09-03T19:05:00.000-07:002003-09-03T19:05:10.590-07:00I was drawn.
My body
Made of lead.
Pencil me in
when you get the time.
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1062307366500776112003-08-30T22:22:00.000-07:002003-08-30T22:22:46.470-07:00What is this mess
Dry twig ideas
That snap at any kind of a tension?
A madman howls from inner ear.
Thoughts ping and ketter
Looking to escape
A maze of butter.
Pure corn for the critics eye,
For the ear that pays attention.
It is not a river of meter and tempo
Guarded with bad refrain.
It is rather the ashes of a smoke ring day,
The drippings of purpose
From the Bungeemans leaking brain.
Inner Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-106214230781605132003-08-29T00:31:00.000-07:002003-08-29T00:31:47.816-07:00Tired as
lead
To the slaughter,
Origami words
Take odd shapes
As I tan
In the rays of mars.
O tannin’ bum
O tannin’ bum
Your presence
And gaudy metaphor
Gack at tin whistle ideals
cast in wax
Behind thin shadows cast
By the ember of a good cigar.
A noble ash
Without fir.
Who wood?
Owls own this stretch of road.
It is best left
to the other fowlers
While I flow ill formed
off to a pillow
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1062051214199015672003-08-27T23:13:00.000-07:002003-08-27T23:14:22.090-07:00---A slight rework of an older blog----
I sat in the bus and stared out the window
out over the pavement
out over the people
out over a sea of cigarette butts
out over my past
A lady with a face like a bat sat next to me
and stared at my temple
her eyes were solid black
bottomless
and her stare burned holes
through my invisible wall
She asked where I was going
and in between her words
her noseSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1061158561355410312003-08-17T15:16:00.000-07:002003-08-17T19:37:23.416-07:00IT WAS A SMALL CAFE
FADED PAINT BLISTERED AND CHIPPED
ONCE RED AND WHITE
NOW PINK AND GREY
TWO LARGE WINDOWS
UNBLINKING
UNBELIEVING THEIR LOT
THINNING GRAVEL LIKE THINNING HAIR
DIRTY BROWN MOTTLED WITH GREY
ONE OLD CAR SITS OUT FRONT
STARING AT THE SMALL CAFE
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1060451063901692672003-08-09T10:44:00.000-07:002003-08-09T10:44:23.746-07:00I SAT ON THE BENCH
IDLE AND EMITTING GASES
LIKE A CAR WITH A BAD TUNE UP.
THE BAT FACED WOMAN APPEARED AGAIN.
I SAW HER COMING FROM A DISTANCE
SHE WAS RIDING A ONE EYED PONY
ALL ASWAY AND CORRUPT.
THE PONY SET ITS EYE ON ME,
AN ORANGE COAL IN ASH AND MATS.
AND SHE WITH HER AERODYNAMIC FACE,
SATISFIED WITH MY SHRINKING
AS I TRIED TO MELT INTO MY OVERCOAT.
“WHAT DRUDGERY KEEPS YOU HERE, HONEY?”
I Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1060392359655717222003-08-08T18:25:00.000-07:002003-08-08T18:25:59.626-07:00WITH A FRESHLY SHARPENED TOOTHPICK
I CARVED THE LIKENESS OF J. EDGAR HOOVER
INTO A PEANUT, ONLY TO WATCH A MAGPIE FLY OFF
GACKING IT IN ITS BEAK.
MEANWHILE, OUT ON THE LAWN
A CAT FLOWED BY, A FOG EDGED WITH FUR
AND CURIOSITY.
ENTRANCED BY THE CAT AND STILL LAMENTING
MY LOSS,
I SPAKE "I THINK I SHALL GO OFF TO SLEEP."
AND WITH A FILLIP OF MY FINGERS
I LEAPED INTO THE 'MORROW,
BEMOANING MY Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1060134151949927782003-08-05T18:42:00.000-07:002003-08-08T18:29:46.333-07:00I'M BIG ON YA.
I'M BEGGIN' YA.
HERE, HAVE A BEGONIA.
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1059847974914591722003-08-02T11:12:00.000-07:002003-08-02T11:12:54.890-07:00Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1059801247880161532003-08-01T22:14:00.000-07:002003-08-02T11:14:34.153-07:00NEVER AN ADULT MOMENT
OR IT JUST SEEMS THAT WAY
AS MY MIND SPINS AND PINGS
AND FRITTERS AWAY.
TIME IS A WIND
AND IT KEEPS STEALING THE LEAVES
FROM THE FOREST OF MY PAST,
AND MY FAMILY TREE.
WHERE IS THE WOODSMAN
I ONCE THOUGHT I WAS?
SURE OF EACH STEP,
ASTRIDE IN THE DAY.
NOW ARID AND CAUTIOUS
WITH EACH STEP A PAUSE,
THE WEDGE IS NOW IN MY SHORTS
WHERE MY AXE FARTS AND SWAYS.
WHAT IS THE Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1058588678124339952003-07-18T21:24:00.000-07:002003-07-18T21:30:27.616-07:00EEEP.Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1058580378083775302003-07-18T19:06:00.000-07:002003-07-18T21:08:40.486-07:00WATERMELON WORDS
SPITTING SEEDS
AROUND THE DIRTY FEET
OF MY IMAGINATION
MY THOUGHTFUL TOES
DIG THE DIRT
IN FANCIFUL ANTICIPATION
DRIPPING DREAMS
LEAVING TRAILS OF JOY
DOWN MY ARM
WARM WINDS COMB MY HAIR
AND I
REVEL IN CHILDISH EXUBERATION
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-1058577353680413752003-07-18T18:15:00.000-07:002003-07-18T21:16:04.473-07:00ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE COINED A WORD
MY BRAIN HAS BEGUN TO SMELL
I’VE PUNCHED MY FIST
I’VE LACED MY LIP
AND STILL I HAVE NO TALE TO TELL
MY HEADS ON FIRE
MY HAIR IS SMOKING COAL
ONLY A WATERFALL OF WORDS
WILL COOL THIS FIRE IN MY SOUL
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-960033662003-06-24T20:47:00.000-07:002003-06-24T20:47:05.913-07:00IT WAS AN ODD DEPRESSION
THE KIND THAT SNEAKS UP
AND SLIDES YOUR FEET OUT FROM UNDER YOU
A TUMBLING
SPIRALING
DOWNWARD PROGRESSION
THAT KNOCKS YOU SENSELESS
AND WINDLESS TOO
IT WAS AN AWKWARD SUSPENSION
OF TIME AND MATTER
FLOATING ON WILLPOWER AND HAIR TONIC
IT WAS APPREHENSION MANIFESTED
ARMS AKIMBO AND HANDS FISTED
FEET ALL KNOTTY AND BADLY PITCHED
THOUGHTS SOUNDLY MONOPHONIC
IT WAS AN ODD Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-959681412003-06-23T20:32:00.000-07:002003-06-24T19:06:53.000-07:00WATCH WHAT YOU SAY
WATCH
WHAT YOU SAY
A WORD IS A BREATH
AND IT DON'T WEIGH NOTHIN'
BUT IT CARRIES A LOT OF WEIGHT
SO WATCH WHAT YOU SAY
WATCH
WHAT YOU SAY
THE TONGUE IS A FIRE
THE TONGUE IS A FLAME
IT CAN DRIVE A MAN
TO A RIVER OF KNOWLEDGE
OR DRIVE HIM DOWN THE DRAIN
SO WATCH WHAT YOU SAY
WATCH
WHAT YOU SAY
LISTEN TO YOURSELF
LISTEN
TO YOURSELF
DO YOU KNOW ITS THE SPACES
IN BETWEEN YOUR WORDSSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-958941472003-06-21T08:46:00.000-07:002003-06-24T19:05:15.000-07:00THE RAVEN SETTLED ON THE POST AND MUGGED ME
WITH CAT CALLS AND INNUENDO.
HIS VOICE ALL RASPY FROM TOO MANY CIGARETTES
AND TOO MUCH CHEEP WHISKEY,
RATTLED AND TATTED LIKE SOME BOOZY HAWKER.
“LAY SOME BREAD ON ME, MAN,
I KNOW YOU GOT DOUGH!”
I JUST STARED AND LISTENED
NOT BEING MUCH A TALKER.
“I GOT TRUE LIES, TRUE LIES TO TELL YA,
LISTEN CLOSE AND I’LL FILL YOUR EARS!
I’LL SCRUB YOUR LIDS WITH Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-958455882003-06-19T17:49:00.000-07:002003-06-19T17:49:04.416-07:00IO HEAVED AND SAID
“QUIT STEALING MY ELECTRONS!”
BUT THE BIG RED EYE JUST HISSED
AND LOOKED OFF INTO SPACE.
THE OTHERS SHIVERED IN THEIR COOLNESS
HOVERING OVER THE BIG RED EYE
THAT NEVER BLINKED AT ALL
OR COMPLAINED ABOUT ITS PLACE.
AND I IN MY NIGHT CAP
SAT BY MY SCREEN
AND MORPHED UP A WORD
THEN EEPHED UP A MEANING.
ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I WAS ME,
WAS HERE,
OR WAS THERE.
I’VE BEEN OFF BACK TOSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-951604912003-06-01T12:01:00.000-07:002003-06-01T12:01:04.333-07:00MY HEAD IS AN OVEN
FILLED WITH PILLOWS OF MALICE
AS JELL-O CLOUDS OF ACID
BURN THE BOTTOMS OF MY EYEBALLS
WHEN I WAS A CHILD
I WOULD JUST GO ASK ALICE
NOWADAYS I JUST WHINE
AND ROLL OVER
AND SINK DOWN THE WALL
MY THROAT IS A RUSTY CAN
FILLED WITH SHARP ROCKS
AND SCRATCHING HENS
MY CHEST IS A HEAVING WAVE
OF SPONGES SOAKED IN SYRUP
AND ROLLED IN PINE NEEDLES
AND DEAD INK PENS
THE HAT ON MY HEADSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-941724012003-05-11T17:25:00.000-07:002003-06-02T20:12:03.000-07:00IF I WERE A SHOE I PONDERED
WHAT I COULD BE
AND THEN MY MIND SHUFFLED OFF
WITH THE POSSIBILITIES
I COULD BE A HIP WADER
IN THE DEEP END OF THE POOL
NO MORE SHALLOW THOUGHTS FOR ME
WAIST DEEP IN THE COOL
( FILTERED SUNLIGHT ON MY TOES
MY FEET FLICKERING
LIKE A SILENT MOVIE
I WOULD BE LIGHTER THAN I WAS
FOLLOWING THE BREEZE
CASTING MY CARES
AND REELING WITH IDEAS )
A HIP WADER I COULD BE
ANDSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-937804332003-05-04T21:03:00.000-07:002003-05-04T21:03:10.200-07:00YOU ARE AN ADDICT!
SITTING HERE PREENING OVER THE KEYBOARD
EEKING FOR A WORD OR THOUGHT
WITH PRODDING DIRTY FINGERS.
LIKE FINGERS DIGGING AT THE LAST PIECE OF FIDDLE FADDLE
STUCK TO THE FAR EDGE OF THE BOX.
IT MIGHT AS WELL BE A STAR; VISIBLE
YET LIGHT YEARS AWAY FROM YOUR GRASP.
YOU DIG FOR WORDS LIKE SEAGULLS PICK AT A DEAD CRAB.
WORDS MAKE YOUR MIND DANCE AND TINGLE
AND SOAR ON THE WINDS OF Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-937795982003-05-04T20:46:00.000-07:002003-05-04T20:46:18.973-07:00HE LOOKED INTO THE WATER
SORELY DISAPPOINTED.
“THOSE MUST BE RIPPLES,
THEY CAN’T BE WRINKLES ON MY FACE”.
HE WAS STUNNED WITH SORROW,
AND IT CUT HIM TO THE MARROW
HOW THE COLLAGEN
HAD SO ODDLY BEEN DISPLACED.
HE HAD YEARS OF EFFERVESCENT WONDER.
YEARS THAT HE WILL NEVER RECALL AGAIN.
THE SANDS OF TIME
GATHERED DUNES BENEATH HIS EYES.
AND HIS DREAMS HAD SKITTERED
IN THE WIND.
THE MUDDY WATER
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-936832652003-05-02T18:54:00.000-07:002003-05-02T18:54:26.790-07:00FENCING WITH MY SILHOUETTE
STILETTO JABS WITH MY FINGER
DARK THOUGHTS LEAN AGAINST THE WALL
I NEVER STRAY FAR FROM MYSELF
I AM THE MIDDLE CHILD
BETWEEN SHADOW AND SUN
WE THRUST AND PARRY
COURT JOUSTERS
IN A COMIC DANCE
EVENING COMES
MY FEET SUCK MY SHADOW BACK IN
I AM FREE UNTIL DAWN
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-928131822003-04-17T19:19:00.000-07:002003-05-15T16:50:58.000-07:00?Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-926905732003-04-15T19:54:00.000-07:002003-05-04T21:11:22.000-07:00
ohSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-925341472003-04-13T10:57:00.000-07:002003-05-15T16:56:30.000-07:00AN OWL FOLLOWED ME DOWN THE ROAD TODAY
SILENT CUNNING BROODING
PATIENT
I BEGAN TO FEEL LIKE OLD NEWS, PUNGENT AND PECKLED
I COULD FEEL THE EYES
SOLID
FIXED
INTENT ON SUCCESS
THEY BURROWED INTO THE BACK OF MY HEAD
AND FESTERED THERE
I BEGAN TO FEEL OVEREATEN
UNDERCOOKED
OVERSENSITIVE AND PICKED APART
I SWUNG A FURTIVE GLACE BEHIND ME
EXPECTING TO SEE THE ONE
THAT WOULD DEVOLVE ME
EXPECTING TO Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-924934612003-04-12T11:17:00.000-07:002003-05-15T16:39:54.000-07:00
.
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-909717732003-03-18T20:58:00.000-08:002003-03-18T20:58:32.250-08:00IF YOU RAN OFF SCREAMING INTO THE WOODS
AND THERE WAS NO ONE THERE TO HEAR YOU,
WOULD YOU STILL BE GOING CRAZY?
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-909038472003-03-17T21:07:00.000-08:002003-03-18T20:48:37.000-08:00I SAT IN THE BUS SEAT AND STARED OUT THE WINDOW
OUT OVER THE PAVEMENT
OUT OVER THE PEOPLE
OUT OVER THE SEA OF CIGARETTE BUTTS
OUT OVER MY PAST
A LADY WITH A FACE LIKE A BAT SAT NEXT TO ME
AND STARED AT MY TEMPLE
HER EYES WERE SOLID BLACK
ONE GIANT PUPIL
AND HER STARE BURNED HOLES
THROUGH MY INVISIBLE WALL
SHE ASKED WHERE I WAS GOING
AND IN BETWEEN HER WORDS
HER NOSE WOULD WHISTLE
FORLORN
LIKESojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-909036462003-03-17T21:03:00.000-08:002003-03-18T20:06:14.000-08:00
OH
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-907927912003-03-15T21:31:00.000-08:002003-03-15T21:31:16.466-08:00I WOKE UP EARLY
BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE
BEFORE THE SUN EVEN
BEFORE MY BRAIN
I SAUNTERED A DISHEVELED PAIR OF SWEATS
FILLED WITH ACHING BONES
ACHING SKIN
ACHING ACHES
THROUGH A DARK HOUSE
FOLLOWING MY WITS
TO WITS END
USUALLY A BAD IDEA
FILTERING THROUGH THE BATHROOM DOOR
I SPAT THE LIGHT ON
AND WOUNDED MY EYES
SQUINTING MY THOUGHTS TOGETHER
I FUMBLED FOR THE TWEEZERS
AND RESHAPED MY LIPS
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-903399542003-03-07T20:30:00.000-08:002003-03-09T08:25:02.000-08:00I’M SO LOW DOWN AND BLUE.
BLUER THAN BLUE AM I.
BLUER THAN THE STUFF THAT KEEPS YOUR TOILET CLEAN,
BLUER THAN THE LEVI’S JEANS,
BLUER THAN MOPHEADS
OLD AND CRUSTEEN.
BLUE, JUST BLUE.
GOT THE “STUCK IN PRISON” BLUES.
GOT THE “MY BLADDERS FULL BUT
I DON’T WANNA GET OUTA BED YET” BLUES.
THE “I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH FOR THE TOLL,
BUT THERE IS NO PLACE TO TURN AROUND” BLUES.
I GOT THE “MY LAWYER GIVES Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-901579082003-03-04T20:58:00.000-08:002003-03-04T21:05:26.000-08:00THEY CALL ME STORMY PETREL
BUT SOME DAYS I'M JUST A BIRD
YEA, THEY CALL ME STORMY PETREL
BUT SOME DAYS I'M JUST A BIRD
SOME DAYS I AM A PHRASE, YEA,
AND SOME DAYS I'M JUST A WORDSojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-900239292003-03-02T17:41:00.000-08:002003-03-02T17:41:44.263-08:00IN THIS OCEAN OF HOURS I FLOAT
LEAVING NO WAKE
AT LEAST
NOT UNTIL I DIE.
MY HEAD SWIMS
AT MY ODD STROKES
OF LUCK,
MY THOUGHTS DRIFT
AND SHIFT WITH THE TIDES.
I SAW THE DOCK YESTERDAY.
HE SAID I PITCH
AND YAW TOO MUCH.
I LET HIM PIER IN MY EYE.
HE’S A QUACK.
MAYBE HE IS REALLY NOT A DOCK
BUT RATHER A DUCK.
(I SAW HIS BILL)
BUT I WILL CROSS THAT BRIDGE ANOTHER DAY.
AS I FLOAT I WONDER
WHO AM I?Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-900236972003-03-02T17:37:00.000-08:002003-03-02T17:37:18.060-08:00BACK AGAIN
NOT MUCH TO SAY
I MIGHT HAVE SOMETHING
SOME OTHER DAY
TO PULE
OPINE
AND STUDGE ABOUT
BEGRUDGE
FUDGE
AND NUDGE ABOUT
STRING CHEESE THOUGHTS
IN A PACK RATS DEN
TO LAY ABOUT
AND CARRY IN
STUMBLE OVER
IN FITS OF THOUGHT
STRESSED OUT INNER CHILD
A TAUGHTED TOT
I TEETER TAPPING
TANGLED TYPE
OVER ROT
I BID GOODNIGHT
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-894760712003-02-20T20:13:00.000-08:002003-03-02T17:26:06.000-08:00THE BUNGEEMAN IS ON TEMPORARY LEAVE RIGHT NOW DUE TO SUDDEN AND UNEXPECTED
INCARCERATION. HE SENDS HIS REGRETS AND PROMISES TO BURST AND GRUNDER WITH BLATHER AND
BLUNDER WHEN HE IS RELEASED OR TUNNELS ASUNDER.
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-887631372003-02-08T10:18:00.000-08:002003-02-13T19:15:15.000-08:00THERE WERE WORM HOLES IN MY COFFEE
IMAGINE MY SURPRISE
AS I SAT TO WRITE BY ROTE
DOT MY TEES AND CROSS MY EYES
BUT I NEVER SAW NO CRITTERS
JUST WHAT THEY LEFT BEHIND
LIKE WORM HOLES IN MY COFFEE
AND NOTHING ON MY MIND
“I CAN’T THINK OF WHAT TO WRITE!”
(NOR CAN I WRITE OF WHAT TO THINK)
SO I SIT HERE EMPTY HEADED
WORM HOLE COFFEE FOR MY DRINK.
WHERE AM I GOING WITH THIS, OR Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-885746332003-02-04T21:32:00.000-08:002003-02-05T20:30:52.000-08:00I WOKE UP THIS MORNING
TO THE ALARM BELL RING
FLUFFLED AND SQUEAKED DOWN THE HALL
DIDN’T WATCH WHERE I WAS GOING
AND THEN I DIDN’T WATCH AGAIN
MADE A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION
BUT TOOK A TURN FOR THE WORSE
AND THEN MY FACE HIT THE FLOOR
LIKE THE BUTTERED SIDE OF BREAD
MY BRAIN RANG LIKE A CHIME
IT GLOWED LIKE A KNOB FROM HANFORD
MY SKULL DEACTIVATED
AND EMITTED GASES
AND Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-885145852003-02-03T21:01:00.000-08:002003-02-03T21:02:52.000-08:00I've had this problem you see, every time after I eat I lose my appetite. Not only that but every night
I also lapse into a state of unconsciousness. This has been going on for as long as I can remember.
I often wonder how many others there may be that suffer from this chronic syndrome. Yes, I wonder.
Hmmm.......(am I hurting for material, or WHAT!?).Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-883075122003-01-30T20:12:00.000-08:002003-01-30T20:12:31.540-08:00I YELLED AT TRAFFIC BUT NO ONE CARED.
AND IF THEY DID, THEN NO ONE DARED
TO TURN
AN
EYE
JUST SAT THERE
WHILE MY NOSE HAIRS SWAYED IN THE BREEZE.
MAYBE, JUST MAI BEE,
NO ONE HEARD ME OVER THE BELCH
OF MY CHOAKING, CROAKING,
TREAD WEARING OZONE KILLER.
ITS GROAN BURROWED DEEP INTO THE
GROUND
COFFEE
FLOATED AT THE BOTTOM OF MY
STYROFOAM FLOWER
POT
HOLES
Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-883033112003-01-30T18:46:00.000-08:002003-01-30T18:46:16.410-08:00---THE POEM WITHIN A POEM---
(or, Never be positive of what
you are not sure about.)
IMAGINE THIS IF YOU CAN--
IMAGINATION IN A CAN.
TO SHAKE ONESELF A JAR WITH THOUGHTS
(CHIPS OF FOOLS OR JUG-O-NAUGHTS?).
A THOUGHT:” TO THINK NOT A THOUGHT I CHOOSE.”
WOULD THAT MAKE ME A-MUSED?
IMAGINATION IN A CAN,
JUST HEAT AND STIR, SURE YOU CAN!
LIKE BOTTLE WATER FROM THE BRAIN
A CEREBRAL Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-882380652003-01-29T16:55:00.000-08:002003-01-29T16:56:49.000-08:00IN RETROSPECT I CAN SEE HOW I HAVE HAD PROBLEMS WITH MY GRAMMER.
I SHALL SPEAK TO MY GRAMPER ABOUT THIS...Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-881373512003-01-27T20:14:00.000-08:002003-01-31T18:33:36.000-08:00Sometimes it can be wonderfully blissfull to be ignorant...in a dumbfounded sort of way.
I find that I am less prone to worry if I don't actually know what is going on, and so there
have been times that you would think my tranquility
would mass so large it would actually bend light.
Ah, but ignorance does have its drawbacks.
I wrote the following words for a song quite some time ago, back Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-880735222003-01-26T18:39:00.000-08:002003-01-26T18:39:28.120-08:00THE HEAD COLD
MY HEAD FEELS LIKE TEN POUNDS OF WET BREAD,
STICKY AND TACTILE.
MY THOUGHTS FALL LIKE WADS OF TAPIOCA PUDDING
OFF A WOODEN SPOON, SWOONING THEIR WAY TO THE FLOOR
AND LANDING VERY UN-CATLIKE.
FAUX PAS. NOT FOUR PAW.
WE WERE SUDA FED FOR BREAKFAST, MY HEAD AND ME.
NOW WE JUST HANG TOGETHER, MY HEAD AND ME.
THE PAIN IS INFECTIOUS, FRONT TO BACK.
FROM THE TOP OF MY HEAD TO THE TIP Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4146532.post-880640852003-01-26T14:34:00.000-08:002003-01-26T14:36:15.000-08:00WITH HALF DRESSED MUSE I RESTED MY LAURELS IN MY NEW CAPTAINS CHAIR.
MY EYES WERE FULLY LOADED WITH THE ANTICIPATION OF GORGING THEMSELVES UPON SOME SEMANTIC VISUAL FRAGRANCE, SOME
HOR’S DOERV OF WHIMSY.
AFTER A MOMENTARY EON MY EYES REFLECTED UPON THE OUTPOURING OF SHADOW FROM A CRAG NESTLED DEEP WITHIN THE ROCK OF MY SESIBILITIES.
IT WAS A SIGHT FOR SORE EYES.
THE PAGE THAT HELD MY DEEP Sojournalerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14308758984631519266noreply@blogger.com