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No One At All on Sundays

My mind is closed, close, closing

	In a fog



Hatred and anger.



Angry.



I want to take paper and pulp

And smash

	Crash

		slash

			dash

				hash

	with a

			bash and a

			gash



Dash and slash it with



	hard	black		charcoal



	pastel

		Stiff and menacingly

chalky...  					white



A knife, razor sharp, its edge,

	slit and slot and tip and tot



Rip the green paper,

	the white paper,

		the heavy bond paper



Rip rip rip it to shreds, meaningless and mean, hating it and hated

By hard hard anger, rip, rip, rip.



Furious the canvas

	fighting back,

tic tac

		give and take

	the pliable whiteness, threatening with

Emptiness and singular form



With reds I lash back with blacks and oranges

	burning, fiery siennas and…icy cold blues

Blue

Blue

Blue the sky blue the sky... sty in my eye,

	hurting 	pulsing  	tears

Hatred and tears

Sky reddening

With anger and fear and soot and mind and



Sky above

Sky below

Sky as high with clouds and pie



I want to slam and slam I am

I slam the canvas with brush and knife

Just slam it, and shred it and slap it with

	Paint and

Plaster and

		Primer

	and

			and

		and...		pennies!



And render it, I try

	The silly meandering of a feeble mind

		No focus, no connection, no rhythm or rhyme.



And burn it, burn it, burn it...  to hell… burn it to ash and

	hope dwindles like yonder cinders

		like lost springs

			running dry and out the mouth of babes fall

the ash that might rise

And I hear the one huge lie… and a whimper and

	a cry and thus is born

life from death.



I want to toss clay, earth, heavy, heavy earth,

	Sweating, heaving muscles

Tearing

	Ripping

		Pounding heart

	The chest expands as the soul comes alive as the

		Elements yield to the image

	In the earth.



To feel it in my hands, to toss it high

	In the air and

rip it

	Tear it,

		beat it with a my palms or a hammer and

A bat,

	to bludgeon the

Heavy weight

	Into submission and form

Shape

	Raw sheets of red, brown, gray clay,

Pieces flung

	Like dung, as if showered in the very feces of Mother earth,

		From waste to want,

			From worldly refuse to vital sustenance

	Out of the the world's bowels, 	

		creation.

For I want to breathe life into

	my own adam.



Art



It’s a war, it is and I a

Warrior railing

Against it not knowing why,

And

	Thought and

		Meaning and

			Time

And memory and excuses and

The depression and insanity,

	medication, the drugs....

the wanting of liquor and cocaine

	being denied by my mind…

by the reining fear and frustration and the

	Remembered sounds and

	Sweet smells

	Happy times

		Illusions, perhaps but times, times remembered and even

Times forgotten.



Fundamentals come

And go

And wither and sigh

And slowly die



Fundamental religiosity and Christ all mighty hanging on wood with nail…

	bleeding and

dying and

	sighing and

		crying up to god himself, like a baby

	Whining little baby, like a baby

Whining... or perhaps...



And the images and words

	song and sound and touch and feeling all leaving the

foggy mind…

as I twist and I try and

I wriggle and I die,

Die, die die... slowly slowly die... die my tie, red, beet, beet red...

Gulag purple teats….

Spilling black milk,

Squirting putridity and want from the soul

	(you can see it in my eyes).



Closing, squeezing, destroying, suffocating

Thought and memory and

Little gray cells, all bouncing about with

	Joyless neuroses

		Each suffocating on

	Amphetamines and magazines



Nothing comes to mind, any longer and

	Nothing leaves the mind either

It is tight, closed, solid and shriveled like a dried up lemon...

		nothing getting in

			not a drop squeezin' out, bruddah buddah.

	An' dat be da word!  word.



And finally...

	On Sundays I sit in complete

Despair,

Suicidal

	At times… at times suicidal at times.

Times I want to kill,

Times I want to chill

Times I want to spill

		blood,

	times I want to shoot semen from the

Hood of my car.



And times I sit crying,

	only knowing that I'll die

Having been

		No one

				(and nothing)

at all.

the 7:00 AM offense

It was all right, really

the 7:00 AM offense

odd, obnoxious, loud

my morning

	rearranged

Today so far

like the way up

	radio

attempts to mask

	rest of the world

the quiet car

turning

	into a nice little poem

though Lisa

makes

some really fine

	noises

this is where you are

So

you discuss Hell

with a dry, mirthless chuckle

	cold-hearted bastard



things you keep

		recognize

		recommend

		Reread



note

That Words of Wisdom

	blow gently



This is where you are.



Act Otherwise?

sweat accordingly.



people

	God's mistake.



I AM!

	or had you forgotten?

experiencing emotional stress



Try not to think

you didn't go anywhere

feeling gorgeous

I'm just sitting here

having a boob-job crisis



I'm in love

	yuk ptooie!



that's my heaven

can't wait to get out



another major general



Life

	Where did I leave off?



'working'

'who needs job-hunting, anyway?'



April 1st

My last day



feeling gorgeous

But

I need to cut my grass.

untitled

correct our problems

improve our suggestions



time and attention matter.



going

	up and down

	Well after talking



But one thing can cause

a lot more corruption



this week

	I am

the crux, corrupted



next week

I am trying Hope



contact me

If you have any questions.

The Yummy London Grille

At least thirty minutes passed

before

I felt

felt what...



hung over

having two cups

coffee pot cappuccino



the mistake I made

scotch

	before bedtime

	Damn good stuff

this morning?

	Sampled French roast



last night I

shouldn't have Fired

it up

at the yummy London Grille

at times

at times
frustrating, frustrating
very, very
at times

work is
talk,
actually.

I hear Peggy,
Terry and Mike
striking funny emails

planet earth
Got the
weather, the meteor

Nothing much good
should hold
you up, Tom

Just saying hi
going
going
going

later.......

Friday morning thought

pouring everything
but
fucking
beer

no problems
now
but to live

it's
Friday, 8:20
nothing
has happened

Of course
I
have a headache

my throat
under control
for the
moment

It's a lovely pace today

Plus a
generally bad
Friday morning thought

the still morning sprouts

he's coming
mashed potatoes
Twice baked

morning
shower Muse
I can tease
with fucking
roasted
words

too good
to hear
fine thoughts

of the
still
morning sprouts

aaahhhhllllglglglggl
Wonderful
Brussels

Made up for
the lack
of any entertaining
corn

too good to turn down

Although
not a tasty
rant,
might as well pick up
some
finely shredded
dog shit

And
give it
the hot grill

how about
some
skewered and roasted
Jesus?

Damn wonderful,
that

I might go to
Hell
for it
by the way

still, it
sounds too
good to
turn
down.

blowing Jeff

Karen
kicks ass
with a fine, sharp
wit

'You know
how he can
ramble on,'
She Says

The well-aimed fart
might have bothered him
more than
football
or his
former girlfriend

engrossed in
thoughtful commentary
feels
sooooo good...

afterwards
It's
downloading computer games,
cooking bullshit
and
blowing Jeff

by chance/did you forget

by chance
did you forget
we spoke last night
of
frozen cigarettes
and
the Szechuan God?

Oh,
and the Boston Terrors,
they were shredded
beautiful

damn near
brought me to tears
as they plumped

then, throwing
Jesus peanuts
to the fire
before you scored,
feeling pretty lit.

Speed Kills

Speed kills, brother
And so I take my time

I take my time
Like molasses being poured
From the jug

I take my time
Like an old, frozen engine
Trying to start by the will of its owner

I take my time
Like the old man with terminal pain
Savoring the seldom and too brief,
pain-free hours

Speed kills, sister
And so I take my time

I take my time and watch
Idiots in cars speeding through
Morning traffic, obviously
Unaware that in the end
It won’t make much difference.

I take my time
To notice the trees on the corner as the weeks pass,
Maple and oak,
Change their autumn colors slowly
From green to yellow or red.

Speed kills, baby
And I take my time

I take my time
So that I might live another day
To think and to observe and to wonder
About stuff that may or
may not even matter

Speed kills, man
And so I take my time.

Wonder, Ponder, Think

I think and
I wonder and
I ponder

Think, wonder, ponder

I think
I think and I wonder

I think
I think and ponder and ponder and think

And I wonder
And I think
And I ponder

Think… wonder… ponder…

And I think
And I think
And I think think think, think think think, wonder ponder think…

And nothing ever comes
And little ever stays
And still I wonder, think, ponder, think, wonder, ponder, think…

The lyrical mind
Beautiful
Insane
Wondering
Pondering
Thinking

And on and on and on
Wonder ponder think
And on
And on
And on… thinking… wondering… pondering

Wonder, ponder, think!

Like a marble
that has been dropped,

Think,




Think,



Think,


Think
Think
Think think think think thinkthinkhinkinkkkk…

Stop.