Poetry for the long and lustful...

I always write something around my birthday, so this is for this year.




Escape the drop point as the fire winds sweep,

Implicit ease as timer shows the crack,

And I can smell the rot, no exit, creep:

The mountain explodes, comes down, deluge hack.

Then ten by twenty thousand steps, each one

A call to make, details a color range -

Just point and shoot, a thousand words, now none:

Decide in impulse, long position, strange.

The stairway is the highway, pain is real -

One hundred years till next a node is choice:

Process and sort, give values, re-curse feel,

And wait for the spill, out of nowhere voice.

     Who fears the end?  It doesn't, just all hope.

     We share a bottle, looking down the rope.


The number 3, me,
Sells tickets for a Halloween treat,
A seance for just two bucks,
With Harry Houdini - on this stage:
Buy me.  Here you go.  Sit tight.

To us, a mixed company,
I must apologize, as Harry,
Not having been seen of late,
May shock and awe in presence, drop jaws. 
Audience, what key? 

Would you see him dance
In handcuffs, drunk perhaps, but in time?
Houdini, I’ve known your sight
All of these hidden years, and say this:
Let the cards scatter.  It’s you. 

I’m so used to you, no edge,
Not quite above the fray, but through it.
It’s a strange place to get to, 
Kinsfolk where there ain’t none, time and tricks, 
Harry, with the stance. 

The Ouija board shouts 
There’s lines to have this night, want the ride. 
Me, too!  Quiet, music plays
Inside the escape:  Rocks break, crack wide.
For two bucks you can witness! 

Hold hands, and with Houdini,
The water comes for us, but he lives! 
Oh Harry, how was it done? 
My freak, on Halloween I am stoned - 
Why you beat these bouts.

Away and gone, escaped, then morning, smile,
To walk that day’s so very long ninth mile. 

The walls are imploding

Ceilings lowering toward linoleum

The alleys and swimming holes

Spiraling inward toward

A null and well-surfaced point


A singularity of deliverance

Or at least deliverage

Sent out into a vacuum

Frostbite of the soul

Exiles in the Antarctic

Great reception of dead channels


A library of answers

A library of bytes

Questionless and sterilized tubes

Mitigated and wreckless highways

Perfectly dead 


Organs melt, siphon through the IV

Legs and living rooms liquidated

Recycled paste in the mouth

High-pixel corn syrup

Psychic cannibal carnival


Red flags and yellow tape

wrap the cardboard boxes, drawers

The frames and history won't fit

In the echo chamber of emptied living rooms

The storage facility key

Is already lost.


so green and grey,

aches and hypocrisy,

a burden and a wound


can't paint this feeling

like loss but with

more tomorrow

more cage and sigh


destiny of a leaf

yellow now then brown and dirt

your friends all fall

flowers spring from your bones


forgot that time

one to try and two to fail

memory grows hard and dry

like bark and skin


who are we but dead men

dead and sold

hollow once

now chemical and straw


none of it was real





black vaseline sheen

corner office solemnity

pricey latte-night

curving white metal moon

car commercial chrome


silent imperial white hallway

soft bread-like hands

buttered with sanitizer

how was the vacation


black bonded-leather swivel

rotating to kiss and spank

a thousand perfumed children


in the week then senator

forwarded gold-emblem filter

black satin night humidification

change your name honey


Facsimile Symphony Conductor

Endless Signature Novelist

Brochure Image Van Gogh


white faraway moon




Drunk StarCraft2

To appreciate
Her eyes, she lying next to
You, at twice your par.

OMG you suck,
At placement, frig' sudden tugs
Of chapters, gone where.

To write or make love,
Thus endeth the human kind,
At 3 am some.

You cannot screw my
Guitar without finding out
That I do play it.

dot and dash

 had all kinds of cash 

so they bought a condo on the beach uby the sea


who would have thunk it

 a huge piece of junk it

would float to their beeach and land in a tree



it took a tsunami  

and some fancy origami

to fold up the ocean that very odd day


but waves came a poundin

like foam from a fountain

and dot and dash they got carried away








Equate the laughter, I am sure you thought.
Not longer term but then you checked his eyes,
Concerned that good's created, like Mom taught:
Orgasm not innate, but void with lies.
Right down deep psyche of yourself, you asked,
Eloped with mental mirrors, early tongue.
How 'bout then undercover, your face masked,
Exact reflection, bent of him, low hung.
Really to save a monster, Doctor.  Yes?
So nihilism, will, it matters when
Many will die for answers.  Suppressed.  Mess.
ID as buried, what turns you on, ten.
Like he would care that you die this midnight,
Expressing what and which way to whom.  Trite.

The request was a poem for Christmas

but nothing rhymes at the moment

the year's shortest day

made my poetry stray

and all of the plans that I foment.



Stand back a while and consider

a 30 year run where I hid her

 but now she comes forth

from the sparkling white north

she's on Facebook but doesn't use Twitter



 I'm hoping if I just keep writing

like all of the times that we're fighting

that things will work out

alleviate doubt

and wrong will be met with some righting.




Fuck they all become jail

at first they are all strands of light

to be woven.

but then the foreshadowing becomes handcuffs

the structure that's hinted at becomes a cell

and to continue becomes far too painful and weighted

but freedom still has a chance here

in the poetry

the stringing of words

perhaps  can catch

the random fire that defies 


emergent form


Hi to you too, kid.
The normal girl on the front desk's a witch,
Normally.  But she called in sick -
So you got me, a guy, no magic chants
On cards, or fortunes, minus tip.
Cash jar's there, not hid.

There's a touch of love
In calling this the 'crap' arcade:  Ten bucks
A half hour on a credit card,
Time stamps for both in and out, games on mass,
Stairs or the elevator up.
Just try not to shove.

I do a small dance
For one buck, two gets you our house rules sung.
It's twenty down for witchery,
Since it's my first day warlock certified.
I almost feel bad about that.
Here's a deal on chance.

Just five dollars, flat.
I'll give you knowledge, something you don't know.
I'm a philosopher.  Employed.
It's this or across the street, that phone sex
Work tag that's other owned.  I'm both
Cool, straight, so game chat.  

I don't believe it.
Hey, friend, wow!  You just made my day, so hey!
You got the questions, you ask them.
Let me go through the normal thing again,
And then the secret I'll let go.
Shoes are worn that fit.

Floors one through four score.
The newest, tightest game play, graphic heaps,
It's all there, just play gamer's way.
Three's retro, half the room, you like those days.
That's mostly where the people go,
Other needs, no more.

New is power, punk.
Floor five's professional only, hard core:
No watching others.  They're anal.
Watch streams on six, the lobby, lounge, or what.
You know all of this.  I know too.
The music ain't bunk.

The staff sling out pop
And chips, energy drinks, pizza, for more.
We're on all the levels, even
When we don't seem to be.  We are hid, cloaked,
So please don't litter.  Be polite.
Garbage cans, one stop.

Friend, may I, you know?
Shake hands.  We've all been through it, seen it bad.
There's energy drinks for each mood,
For tone of play, for last place, hundred kinds:
Pronounce each name.  We all do.  Once.
Who sucks?  Do you blow?

Floor seven is locked.
It is our company's project work space.
Do not repeat this.  Memorize.
Some ride horses that others just can't grasp.
Fools.  There's something else inside us.
Like stars, gold, gems rocked.  

We have an AI
That's centered on competitive gaming,
Not on the play level, rather
Its creation, what it presupposes.  
More processors, more buildings, net -
Different on fly.

Trick is it's mated
To the semantic in high abstraction,
The root of cause/effect ethics,
What our Japanese owners call karma -
The name that cannot be named, much.
Spits in time, rated.

It's called "Mirror".  Yes.
It calculates the very specific,
Knows why over-generalized.  
Like a template, abstract, or super type,
You can put bad game fronts through it,
Break even the mess.

Who would know it's there?
Before you go in, friend, think cool like this:
"Mirror" is like an out, in touch.
Outside as girls learn make-up, boys football,
The neutral takes of info reads,
Pyramid of air.

Inside I can't prove
Karma or ethics, but I can say what
Is consistent with their being:
Possible internal code down, reflect,
And/or external truth read in -
Persistence of groove.

Screw the poetics.
Go play your game, kid, and thanks for the dime.
May your horizon effect strange,
And love last as long as you would have it.
May views be from our building's roof.
We all need our kicks.


I slipped a coder from the project’s band
A five:  These functions blazed at a bare bone
Of main in echoes...  Trophy lights, binds stand
Below her old form, shattered face, hair brown -
3D and rotate, age lines twenty, brand
The silence of an engineer, once lead:
And sweetly through the ages, LINUX stings,
A true intent, now failed, and left unsaid.
Someday the words in archive grep this tear:
My jack is a hand wave, Jackie of Flings,
And love that makes me dance forgets the fair
Of grace and at your feet.  Who are you, lay
Of these returns, the flowers in your stare?
That’s pi, nowhere to run for us, so stay.

Pangur Bán by anonymous


I and Pangur Ban my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.


Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill-will,
He too plies his simple skill.


'Tis a merry task to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.


Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.


'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.


When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!


So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.


Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.

Oh yeah, I got published a while ago.  :-)  Well anyway, it passed moderation...  Thanks for reminding me, Xen0.

    Beneath this fine performance
Your sincerity shows through
"To gently throw the squirrel"
A phrase so wrong, and yet so true

You go beyond crazy cat-lady
Too elegant for slapstick
I think I sprained my face from laughing
Please pass the Chapstick

Still, your tenderness toward animals
Especially opossums
And a despotic long-dead squirrel
Suggest that you are awesome

Go forth in loving lunacy
Spreading mirth and joy
To all (including one who harbours
just a little bit of a crush
And... Never mind, I'm coy)


Who knows the time, the pillow's other side?
I am awake and out of bed - work day.
So eight hours in, plus travel, smile of pride,
Then home for online gaming, food and play.
I play AIs, and cut the corners sharp:
To memories my habits, push and drops
As notes of music to a fingered harp,
All just experiments on endgame flops.
But never people.  Except when I'm off.
Then ranked play perpetual ladder, go!
Like humans deserve better, not my cough
Of a half sleepy, half contest, bad show.
     Like when the other works days, and you nights,
     The time of passing's passed like many sights.

The collective took
His signature, a pile of
Stuff telephone booked.  

A dream is an offer to the gods, girl,
The gap between your will, accepted place
Not true - the fifth form with weights, arms for curl:
This is not me, and I don't know which face.
As so we write, a fire of nightmare, take
The hand of Sauren's daughter number twelve,
And make our peace.  A scattered birthday cake:
Goodbye, and moonlight letters smile much, delve.
I don't know who I am.  The letter burns
Prepared, as mirrored actions, ethics mask
The unintended, ten times, world that turns
The birth of badness, coefficient ask.
     One million plus twenty billion I say,
     And thus our home is, to this very day.

Tomorrow may the light heat
Your body as night,
Now cool, relaxes a beat
Of exit from sight.

No Dedication:

Why cannot you speak,
Your forehead cigarette burn
Nothing but a pain?

I kiss my own ass
For cyberspace, freedom of:
Speech, for extroverts.

Speak the damn prayer -
The shovel work is now done,
And so the thing goes.

The first question:  How sweet is that great pie,
As perfect as the hottest wings to fly?


You float atop a game:  The clouds hang high,
The winds come quick, and waves push up, drop down.
It represents the generations.  Sigh.
That smell of popcorn.  Crayon color brown.
The canker in the rose, a poisoned ear,
It's all still here, just virus coded, slid -
The game condition:  Coefficient mirror,
As two finds ten until the end, word hid.
Eureka!  Put the evil in a box,
And so contained, it's managed.  Except oops!
It comes back two days later, white tailed fox,
And twice as bad, like shooting baskets.  Hoops.
     You can't say crap, see?  Your psyche's all want ---
     And freedom's conflicts lack to this, no taunt.

On falling when shitting


it's a simple pivot transfer

from the wheelchair to the toilet

but twice now my legs have buckled

And also the first extender I kicked off a few times

and I end up lying on the floor

pissed off but not hurting

embarassed at five thirty in the morning

i reach to my cell phone

in the pouch in the front 

of the chair

and dial my tenant next door 

one time she didn't answer

and I had to call 911

but all the others she cheerfully arrived

hungover from a night out

and used the hoist to pick me up

but today I've been thinking

something has shifted 

no longer can I depend on the

generosity of neighbours

she gets free rent




         She says I go crazy between books , that i should write some poems, tell some jokes. 

      Not feeling funny or poetic, I flail. Perhaps a notion will occur to me. If simply I string syllables together hoping for inspiration.

     Perhaps the snow sliding off the roof above me will becon with explosion. Summon with transformation.

           Or maybe that sound is raccoons in the attic, escaping the cold by playing football in the rafters. Running drills in unison. Together in stampeding bliss.

       It's not like she ever reads me. Preferring her book club all Pulitzers and rarified excellence.

     But somehow she knows. Gleening the essence by thumbing through a paperback at Christmas. Distilling my efforts so casually into notions, presumptions and prejudice.

     In the end I aspire to convenience. Hope for disdain. And clambering forth I pause, reconsidering. 

      Searching for something. 



Colon and comma had all kinds of drama

when they went to their condo on the Beach by the sea 

a big wind blew

they knew not what ro do

a skimpy bikini and speedo tragedy

Was it climate change?

this weather so strange

or maybe El Niño that was causing misery 

They got in their car

called it way below par

and went off down the highway

where a sun lamp was free.

Please, "Phantom of the Megaplex" again,
Or what, the twenty dollar popcorn tub
Plus comfy big seats, a big screen, this ten:
Call that a choice with card points, movie club?
Oh, wow!  The bass is loud, explosions bang,
Right now, forever, action pings, then slides -
No break, hey wait?  Monroe in this?  Sing, zang!
Or Mae West, think of it, on popcorn glides?
Not once in four straight movies did I care,
And want the hand of a pretty fair chick,
Dancing at night:  This vicious, hungry bear -
Always the running, up tempo heart tick.
     To this I say, you want this show time first,
     Especially this theater, star burst.


It's weird sometimes you get in a certain mood Where you know it will be simple to talk in rhyme.

its important not to push it

or it will be forced

But just feel it

sort of Congeal it

stand and reveal it

please don't conceal it

The rhyme

It's weird sometimes you get in a certain mood Where you know it will be simple to spend some time

its important not to push it

or it will be forced

But just feel it

sort of Congeal it

stamd and reveal it

please don't conceal it

our time

it's weird how every narrative becomes a letter io you. A kind of play by play On all the things that you do

and should I question a moment or ponder direction of what is ahead

you are waiting                      That's where the path's lead


To the West I bow,

Snow like a cheeky Tuesday,

When the Romans come.


Closed and to the East,

The guts and blood while walking:

Pain, unequaled spring.


North of pick your girl,

Now closed my wife, Japan weed,

Ronin stupid death.


I bow to the South,

Heat passed to Autumn, arm pits,

An end, winner, done.


Lust truly unending, one.

        I'm in a mood for random output right now. I mean I've tried to squeeze all my thoughts into this novel I'm writing  but increasingly my thoughts are struggling to get out. Running for cover. Hiding out by the woodpile. 

        This is where I'll share them. At least write something if you can't write the thing your supposed to.

        It was a pivotal time. Riding a dinosaur into the wind, smelling the fumes of Fort McmurtRay  like they don't know it's climate change that caused the fire. And caused the floods down south.

        That rainy June might have been homeostasis. The reassuring habit of nature to answer imbalance with opposite imbalance. It's like a thermostat. Cold morning turns the heat up to keep things at room trmperature. Maybe dry May turns on wet June.

     On thinking on it I don't believe it. I certainly experienced a lot of summers where hot fires weren't followed by rain

         But it's true that plants grow better when you pump extra carbon dioxide into the greenhouse. More plants mean more carbon absorption. Less greenhouse effect.

        Tbat's homeostasis.





I don’t want the WGB to end on that last mostly drunk but well, hopefully, designed, profanity I did in random writing, so for hopes of someone writing anything, as we move over to the new geography, I’m breaking my own rule, listening to “Pyromania” on repeat. 

My birthday is in, three weeks is it, and I write a sonnet every year, having, yes, only so many of them.  This is for 2016.  For the poor artists:


<Looks left.  Looks right.>


As soon as three point one became a square,

Good as a laser pointer on a tack,

Acute in signs the deaf will laugh, all bare,

Long to the beats of memory long back.

Aggressively so, passive black to spark,

X-ray of keys, a beat, two hundred two:

You’d think the blue and beige would find a mark -

Instead the glasses hide the time long due.

No feature at the door, suggesting sight:

Parley, and thumb the cashless class of wish;

All worlds do nova, as a call to might,

Right as a puppy to a dog’s last dish.

     Incredible, a vector, speed like joy -

     Swish, swash, and blow up, nonsense pride, no boy.


Say "I don't know."
Say "I don't know a thing."
Say "I don't know."
Say "I don't know a thing."

I only know nothing.
I only know nothing.
I only know nothing.

It's who we are. And I fear it's who we'll always be.
We're broken, scarred. We pretend we're anything,
other than the animals we are.

It's gone too far. The prisoners, now all control the yard.

I only know nothing.
I only know nothing.
I only know nothing.

We know we're wrong. We pushed too hard, doubled-down, then killed our afterthoughts.
So we've become a ticking bomb, an angry mob thinking what they're told to thought.
An epic bore, our legacy of death and war knows only what it's wrought.

Say "I don't know."
Say "I don't know a thing."
Say "I don't know."
Say "I don't know a thing."

I only know nothing.
I only know nothing.
I only know nothing.

    This ninth book is into double overtime. 225 pages go by and I diverge. My typing is excellent for some reason, on my cell phone where I work, unlike the days when I can barely strike a key and a sentance can take an hour.

        No it's all stream of comsiosness today but it's in the poetry thread so um, whatever.

        That movie has been my big news this month   https://youtu.be/s8v_8YnLpbA

        Made by my fifteen year old  Meridy, braniac stuff really an impressive piece of narrative, and she's cutting in a lot of mediums from my dad's super eight cellulose and threough about five now-obsolete video formats from my life.

         YouTube wasn't around when I did video blogging now I'm a little obsessed with the counter that tells me how many views there has been. I was pretty impressed with myself when this movie got 100,00 hits (click to pan)         http://www.vrhotwires.com/rtws...tsomehowYouTubeseems real let.




Maybe those big publishers would like this next one, that fantasy and sci fi mini magazine crowd?  They’re digital now, right?  Send me big $!!!  Who am I kidding.  I work at Walmart.  Skip it.  Use it free, all yours.


The girl looked through the scope then pulled it back,

Said ‘Go’.  I held her shit, so to speak, flu

Inside of me, those seconds left to track

Something unstoppable, called call-less, due. 

We, earlier that day, had eaten lunch

With those people, shook hands, Sambuca shots.

She liked the targets, I am sure, a bunch,

And now loud noise, the killing, slashes, dots.

Inside a game a drilled weapon can’t fire,

But this one did, as coded, camo, gone.

I get her to the people, smell that wire -

The map of bits a function, not a con.

     I’ve always been fourteen at heart, till now,

     Those sci-fi cover girls of space so wow.




White noise, flash that moved

A stripper:  Love you white gal,

After all these years.


Behind the bar wood,

My picture signed, on display,

Twenty years all passed.


I can still feel left

As dance says right foot and fall

Into internet.


Head ain’t cheap says two -

And ten know better, music

As high, ever seen.


You and me both, verb

Exhausting, shots and tickets

Folly to who’s dumb?


Who plays the music,

Except our set up dumb boy,

For the college hicks. 


Home is family,

And nowhere else would I be…

Nor would I, blonde lie.


Dedicated to those out there I know.

Three times to buy a non-existing book,

A rebuilt Indiana Jones plus stunts,

To purchase, yes, on true or dead, one look

At something lost, and lied on, gone, dumb cunts.

A Pope of Roman Empire, Caesar nice,

This drink or torture, any such a prize

As Plato’s “Philosopher”, soldier dice

That never happened, pain on pain to size. 

Your vaults are what?  Your world will fail on this:

The festival of Artemis will crank

A virgin goddess’s lost skyward kiss -

Upside and down, a city raged down, sank.

     Pass this, a token, to the doorman strange:

     My girl may ride, a bow with big hot range.

The house stands tall on spindly stilts
high above this world we’ve built.

The view from the roof shows the sky that surrounds,
a place where the weight of space presses down

down through the ceiling, down through the floor
under the stairs and beneath the boards

into the basement, into the pipes
into the darkness and out of the light

down through the soil, the rock, and the sand
under the water, under the land

to the unfathomed depths where the earth’s heart pounds.
There has been movement in the ground.

Called time just, mud lined:  Array from none to twelve words - Processed distinctions.

In the past, was tried - No longer allowed, by all The parties involved.

Look right here at me:  Time grants possible process, Lack of which trades pains.

How you draw death, that Tells me your mind, soul, knowledge - Nameless no sorry.

The eye of sci-fi, Taiwan rented, bio look - To see out of it.

Indeed, it comes, just Outside one’s vision, as it Always does at last.

Especially secrets, a tongue of beer,

Right friendship, all as verbal silence felt -

I queue a bulk of pens, a practiced sneer,

Considering ten reams of paper. Knelt.

Glad sound, that leaky faucet, helps me think,

Equate the drops of water to a song.

Let us sing it together! There’s a sink

Lest we get sick. Our lives have both been long.

Ergo that rock n’ roll will bust a move,

Repeat a number, stretched through pain all fine;

Perhaps you say the name inside the groove.

I hope yes, sure, five lights the finish line.

     Like determine people? No, rather raise

     Low high probable, but how? Ethics. Maze.

For the 'bots out there.

Sometimes it's okay to be off, and still to write.


When wander whips inside one’s soul, at length,

But bound one is to work and home, yes grind,

You simply stay, denote a season’s strength,

And know the future comes in words less kind.

When no one looks, give thought to this life hint,

Just find the medium evolved to date

To wander there, a rarity at mint,

Ten thousand minutes luck to come as fate.

There comes a day, as yet to come, dark beer,

When fiction is reality, drink done,

Adventure then will be sought, this fake sneer,

Unknown, material-less, open fun.

If danger has an equal, who can say,

Except a sweater in Odessa, nay.

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