Archive for March, 1993

A Fight by my Apartment

Posted: March 30, 1993 in Poetry
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I jumped into a ring of people
with a big friend to save the girl
who was elbowed in the steeple
of her nose – on purpose
by some insensitive ape
(the kind that argues justifiable rape)
who was full of muscles.
hit in the eye, though I ducked,
my buddy got up and knocked him down
and then I wobbled my way home
– sort of glad the guy was fucked:
men just don’t hit girls.

a little ice in a washcloth,
six aspirin and a cigarette
helps take the edge off
the pain of a swollen eye,
but not the sad disgust and pity
that I feel for that guy.

I’m sorry
I’m sorry
I’m sorry.

A Poem for Me

Posted: March 28, 1993 in Poetry
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a leaf falls from a tree
so that it may grow stronger;
healthy without its burden
of dead weight this tree
will rise to higher heights.
and me,
without my dead leaves
will also soar as high.

m-i-k-e on the m-i-c

Posted: March 27, 1993 in Poetry
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c’mon I see you jump around and your skirts fly high
and you’re asking yourself if I’m that type of guy.
you’ll never really know until you give me a try
but I know I get funky, so why should I lie?
you see you know I’d love to love you if you’d let me in
and I know you ain’t just staring at the jeans I’m in.
[Hey Ladies!] …you know I respect you -beastie boys
I’ll ask you first before I jump up and sex you.
you give me the sweats and you give me the chills;
I’d love to come play on your Blueberry Hills –
I’d like to wine you and dine you and treat you just like a queen
I’ll go heat up the Cheeze Whiz™ if it’ll make you scream.
I go through the fridge to pull out all sorts of treats
I’ll treat you better than Mickey Roarke did in 9 and 1/2 weeks:
to rank a likkle Roger in the rub-a-dub style
I’ll bring Cormick to bus drive if it’ll tickle your smile.

Okay so here’s a likkle groove to make you move your pants
‘cause I love to watch all the girls [dance…dance] – MARRS
the only thing better than bumpin’ the beat is a kiss
so excuse me for a moment while I go [get up on this!] – M
all I really want to do is get to know you;
if you don’t understand what I mean, then I’ll show you,
and that doesn’t mean going home to jump in the sack
– especially if one or the other has drunk a six-pack.
put your feet in my lap and I’ll rub your calves;
you give me a chance and I’ll make you laugh.
I won’t hoard you like a prize or put you up on a pedestal.
I treat you like my friend and I’ll hope it’s reciprocal.
we’ll take a walk on the beach and I’ll pour you some wine.
I’ll do everything to make your experience fine.
If you approve of my mood then you can give me a kiss
and then by the fire with Marvin Gaye’s greatest hits
we can snuggle and cuddle, eat dinner and read.
if you want to spend the night just tug on my sleeve.
you can do what you want to do – nothing is wrong.
you can go to sleep in my arms [all night long] – Kool Moe Dee

I saw you give me a wink so I think I’ll say hi
and hope that you don’t turn away ‘cause you’re shy.
I might look imposing but I’m no superstar
and I’m interested in getting to know who you are
I like your smile and your eyes and the way that you move
and I like that fact that you bump to my groove;
you can stay there all night looking over your cup
or you can dance on over and I’ll fill you up.
my name is Mike, I’m known as DJ Lurk
and there’s nothing more annoying than a hesitant flirt.
time’s ticking away – I can here the clock
and I don’t just want to get up under your smock.
it’s up to you, girl; you got to believe
or else you can just have fun cold watching me leave.
if you don’t like what you see just park it and sit it,
‘cause if you want to get with me than come here and [hit it!] – Ricky D

Another Song for a Cure

Posted: March 26, 1993 in Poetry
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when the sun sets and the lights come out
in the beachfront homes I walk alone
to clear my head and cut the sting
of the thoughts the end of the day brings
they swim alongside my walk, my pace
a school of dolphins who splash my face;
I don’t always enjoy what they do to me,
making me think things over carefully –
it is they who really write my poetry.

I never knew how much I cared
for anything – not until I finally dared
to lose it all by telling the truth
seeing what came out when I opened my mouth.
I’m still waiting for the water to clear,
for the echoes to fade so that I can hear
what I’m doing and what I’ve done so far;
with what monsters I must continue to spar,
the attention I give to particulars…

Song for a Bedsheet

Posted: March 24, 1993 in Poetry
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I am really wondering if I’m lying to myself – you see
I’m good at what I do and that’s lying to myself.
Oh I hurt and I’m torn and don’t know what to I can do
I need to talk-to-a-certain-someone and that one is myself

when does it end? all the questions and waiting
for the time to come when it has worked itself out;
I can’t stand the surprises, both the good and the bad.
I think I crave some stability – this now I can do without

…and my heart strains and pulls
– my mind says we’ll be alright
but I find I can’t hold on to it all now, tonight.
am I losing control? do I want to? I might,
my senses shrieking away – my hands clenched too tight.

I think I’m falling and falling –
I haven’t moved; I’m right here.
I remember when I went crazy,
I laugh at when I was clear.

I know I’ll continue at slugging away through the days
staying broke, lost and hopeless, just counting the ways
and the time that I spend, I record it and write
until I can’t stand my pen and I turn off the light.


Posted: March 23, 1993 in Poetry
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floating cold down a river
full of rocks and branches
on a little ring of rubber tubing –
it’s supposed 2 B lots of fun
but that’s where I got this bruise.
it still hurts;
I still limp.

Fa the Baby

Posted: March 23, 1993 in Poetry
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I want to keep you forever, Fa –
you are a reminder of
my wonderful history with her
and you have never changed.
you, covered in lasting kisses,
big blue eyes made of waves
and ocean breadths –
you know where my spoon ring went.

Nyarlathotep 1925

Posted: March 23, 1993 in Poetry
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thy Bloody Tongue caresses
the forehead of the Chosen
for Hotep, Dark Lord.
the Crawling Chaos erupts
from blood for us:
those willing to see his vistas,
landscapes draped in flesh,
drenched in blood,
shattered like mirrors
so close like dreams
one bright tentacle to worship
one hypnotism
one belief of truth;
as you wish it!

a bottle of wine and a sunset,
a beach a place to sit;
this is what I’d like to do
with you to believe.
I believe you can summon dolphins
and that you’re a spirit, an angel.
I know of our fears of demons
and of blue bathroom windows,
ouiji boards and my piano playing.
I live to see you cry and argue
and almost break: then
there are my arms for comfort,
my tongue for talking and my ears
for listening and understanding.
I’ll catch you from harm
by falling against you at the same time;
we’ll teeter but we won’t topple.
all of the sunsets are painted on a canvas
big enough to share: the sky
– and I’d like to share it with you.

Living in Myopia

Posted: March 22, 1993 in Poetry
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If I went blind from loving you
I could see all my pictures more clearly;
My mind would make up for my lack of sight
And although my eyes would be black as night
I would love you all that more dearly.

Untitled Poem #156

Posted: March 22, 1993 in Poetry
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each time I turn a page
I wonder if it is already written –
not like as in I’ve done this before
or it’s something I’ve forgotten

– but rather if Fate or Destiny has called
and their webs are woven invisibly;
the strokes of this pen color in
what they’ve decreed delicately.

Lying in Wait for a Reaction

Posted: March 22, 1993 in Poetry
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a little girl lies in
her room at night
and she thinks of me.
who can it be?

I know who but
I’m not telling;
I have the secrets but
I’m not selling.

it is whispered into
animals ears – they hear
and clap their hands
because they understand.

Journal Chills

Posted: March 20, 1993 in Poetry
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and I never thought that I was one
to spend all of my time writing dumb
things about being in love with girls
and how they mean more than the world
to me and even then some…

Untitled Poem #155

Posted: March 20, 1993 in Poetry
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now I know I love you
when I heard you sad because of me;
I realize things too late
and make due with writing poetry
to read or think on when
I cannot call or hold you with me;
my thoughts may wander briefly
but I will always love you truly.

when did my heart become so armored
that I couldn’t feel a thing?
like what I do or say to make you hurt
and never feel it sting me like it should.
did I disremember to knock on wood
when I found that I was enamored with you?
all I know is how you were curt
and I knew that I had made you cry;
I felt stupid not knowing why.

in the darkness
of being insensitive
perhaps I will light
my way with my task
of understanding
what I always

A Sunrise over the Phone

Posted: March 19, 1993 in Poetry
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I am the anvil that rings
with each hammer falling,
a star impacting, exploding, desiring, denying
that I love so deep, so much;
I feel when I hear you hurt, your voice
like butterflies in my ears,
the tautness of a drum
within my heart.

Tuned In to Static

Posted: March 19, 1993 in Poetry
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these fingers are filled with blood
that time wears down to bone.
obsessive, driven to write
and blister, chafing without
a rest, a reminder of hard work
dropped out and tuned in
to static; the station’s gone dead.
what do we do without direction?

Manic Thought Process One

Posted: March 17, 1993 in Poetry

So I’m delerious with a head cold
and I listen and look at things intently.
I’ve been wanting to write and get it over with.
Get them all out of my head, all these responsibilities
that I’ve picked up somehow like this hazy fever.
Rant and rave on paper, die and get famous so
my friends will fight over what was written about whom
now that each poem goes for a million dollars a word.
Be a freak and wack out until nobody cares anymore.
Stay really skinny and make people worry that
“the genius” is going to snap one day.
Get put back on Ritalin, Lithium, Magnesium, Geritol;
whatever the Doctor prescribes to keep me in line
and remove all the knives.

The Poet-Muncher

Posted: March 15, 1993 in Poetry
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what to think of the world anymore/is a serious question like a toothache/
or this sore throat/or the nagging love for someone who’s gone/I
don’t understand any better than the next person/they point to
me and say “poet” and nod their heads/at explanations that
I give them without numbers/no graphs, no statistics/poetry
is the science of one:/one person, one point, one opinion, one
truth/and if you ask me, of course I will answer/I am not nor
have a mouthpiece for any concept but me/my thoughts alone
are science/my dreams are mathematics/my rambling, philosophy
and rhetoric/my palms, hammers/my paper an anvil to forge
truth/my pen, the sword, dragonslayer/I am poet, hear me roar.

Untitled Poem #153

Posted: March 15, 1993 in Poetry
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these poems are chunks of my mind;
sometimes they’re raw and unkind,
but they are always what I’m thinking
even if (especially if) I’m drinking
and I know I convice myself sometimes
that I’m guilty of various crimes
but when I see I’ve written that I don’t care
is when I’m falling again into despair.
I hate that feeling coming through
and I know that you hate it, too.

The Way it Is

Posted: March 11, 1993 in Poetry
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I was born down south San Diego
left all alone so I got switched to the home
of Mom and Dad – they’re not my real parents
but they’re the ones who loved me best, y’all.
so I made a lot of friends through trial and error.
I learned the hard way not to think or care
about foolish opinions that don’t belong to me.
I try to be happy and who I want to be,
now I’m not saying that I’m a hard lucker
and I’m certainly not a big bad motherfucker.
when I get a lot of money, I tend to share
and when I get real drunk I like to say [yeah!] – beastie boys
I’m never too busy to get busy
and a lot of my friends get busy with me.
I don’t know everything so I go collect knowledge;
I went through high school to end up in college.
I caught a cool class from my good friend Sara
she told me of the problems I should work to take care of.
things aren’t equal in the land of the free
and I know that it isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.
I live my life as best as I can;
I smile and say hello to my fellow man.
I’m not going to tell you how hard I hit,
all the women I’ve been with or any of that shit.
I don’t pride myself on being a jerk
‘cause like Kool Moe Dee [I go to work] – Kool Moe Dee
this world I’m in ain’t the perfect place to live
but I’m not going to keep it just the way it is.

maybe I’m weak – I get beat in a fistfight
but before I get up I’ve begun to write.
I pick up my glasses and back home I go
‘cause next week I’ll dis you on the radio.
I’m not the type of guy to reply with violence
but like Bell Hooks it’s hard to keep my silence;
to tell you like it is: ignorance is hell,
so pick up a book and educate yourself.
I can’t stand to see you dismiss my sisters –
think you can rape her just ‘cause you kissed her?
listen very carefully to the words of this song –
you’re not only ignorant – you’re wrong.
now you go home and you beat your wife
and I’ll cheer my head off when you meet her knife.
you haven’t really recognized their rights yet
and you’re wondering why they seem upset?
women cross lines in all races and creeds;
a little respect is all they need.
I make sure my mother gets across on a green light
and I make sure my girlfriends get home at night.
I learn and I write, make music then preach
I’ll get a college degree to continue to teach.
I turn on my mind and mix me a drink
to write something funky to make you think.
I’m not always sure of what I can say
‘cause the PC strictures make my hair turn grey.
some stuck out of luck dumbfuck says it’s none of my biz
but you know it is, that’s the way it is.

(Analog solo a la pus and zero boy)

I light my pipe, sit back and kick back
because I know I just pumped out a fresh track.
I’ve got some homework but I know I’ll be done soon
then I pop in my tape and I [pump up the volume] – MARRS
sometimes I get drunk, bounce checks, and get high,
think about what I want to say and I sigh,
I can’t seem to get it out right through my teeth,
a sharp bladed dagger that’s stuck in its sheath.
because other people don’t let me live
I’m getting plenty of time just learning to forgive.
I guess I’m just waiting for the world to get wise:
talk to your friends and you’ll realize
that I’m not out for world peace,
just tolerance, understanding – some relief at least.
I take time to turn on and tune in,
writing white raps with a big old grin
because I’m slurring you can guess that I’m sauced
but at least my message is coming across.
I get funky on a track ‘cause I’m badder than Cheese Whiz
want to know why?
that’s just the way it is.

[inspired by Sara Seinberg — thanks to Bruce Hornsby]


Posted: March 8, 1993 in Poetry
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when the night has come and I
have shuttered my open windows,
it is then that I turn away from other things
to my room of books and hanging plants
hiding in the warmth of my possessions;
a dried flower to remind me of you,
a red blanket that I was born into,
a zillion and one things to do –

the air gets thick in here…
fuzzy little octopi squirm through the air
but they’ve always been there.
I’ll let you in on one condition
and that is that I won’t lie to you;
fibbing tastes bad, like a bottle of glue
and they’re stickier, too –
but you come in of your own volition.

how can I entertain you?

alone, I lay out in the middle of the floor
on my magic Arabian carpet,
and I dream and I’ll do that for you
if you come in and listen.

Untitled Poem #152

Posted: March 7, 1993 in Poetry
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big and small
and sometimes with a tail
that is clutched
by twisting hands
of nervousness
I try to write like you do.

no starting out
with an I
but statements that swing
through the sky
and sometimes like tuning a guitar
they’ll rhyme.

Untitled Poem #151

Posted: March 7, 1993 in Poetry
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there’s a shadow who lays on my windowsill
from the crow who sits on the telephone wires
and if I wasn’t home reading up your poetry
I’d be out in a forest setting fires.

For Josh Walsh Concerning Wolves

Posted: March 4, 1993 in Poetry
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A Wolf saw me,
he scared me,
and I wonder if it was
the same Wolf that howled at you.

I am the poet that you long for.
I have powers seething in my pen,
Poems and poems as a storm-whipped sea,
Songs that make you forget to breathe.
This is the something to love, not fall for;
Pedestalled I glitter but don’t grow.
You don’t want to watch, you want to know
How I will surprise you again.

I have been elected a poet
While you have been chosen
As something equally important,
Perhaps a poet, too –
It all depends on you.

I was once a caterpillar, once a dog;
I was once an ape, then an eagle; once a frog,
But always you could tell by the
Shining eyes that it was me
Figuring out what I was supposed to be.
I’ll change again into something else,
Something new – write a poem or two –
Maybe I will try to be you, but
Remember, I remember who I am now
And who I will always be: myself.