jack the fish & a big new glass fishbowl

three ninety-nine & huge
thick at seedy discount store
in the west erie plaza;
jack'd been living in a squat
square plastic container
in our bedroom. pink, red-speckled
gravel & a fake army-green fern
replaced yesterday with ruby red
& translucent & touches of deep blue
rounded pieces of glass,
the same fake fern. today we
added a hunk of pyrite, &
one large, one middle-sized, &
one fingertip-tiny seashells.
jack flared at the pyrite,
fighting-fish instinct-gilled,
but has approached the shells
very cautiously. doesn't seem
to have eaten any of his pellets.
he's in the livingroom
by the window
listening to BONGO MOON
i'm recording for dean.
dean & his north michigan hawks
& crows, vodka & cigars,
mentalness like an awning
over his breathing
eyes of zen, "god
does not share this human
consciousness" -- jack
is more me,
ruby-red-eyed,
flaring at strange manifestations
& situations,
glassed within blue morning sky.

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when dogs fly

the first time
I tasted the stuff
I was at a girlfriend's house
I was 15
her parents weren't home
they had lots
of money
we lived in a dry county
north of dallas
but her dad worked in big d
and brought home what
ever he wanted to
they had a full bar
off the kitchen
we made martinis
or she did I watched
she made them for her dad
they tasted weird at first
but they got better
she had two afghans
big damn longhaired
long-eared dogs
they use them to hunt
lions in africa she said
they were a gift from
her uncle who was
lloyd bridges' cousin
I think that was it
they had a 6 ft. fence
and those dogs could fly
right over the damn thing
anytime they wanted to
we took a pitcher of martinis
shaken over ice and strained
out to the pool
and went swimming
and she'd call the dogs
and they'd come running
take off on one side of the pool
and jump all the way across
to the other
sometimes they wouldn't make it
and we'd laugh at them
as they scrambled out
and they'd tear back to the end
of the yard and take
another run at it
floating on our backs
looking up at dogs
flying over us
big blond dogs with ears
like wings
drinking martinis
and laughing at the moon
I remember thinking
this drinking is
pretty good
pretty damn
good

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EAST TO WEST TO EAST AGAIN

His fresh divorce
expected on my front step
like I would open up more
than my door to him
I said Hey man
you were too long ago
It would take razors
to open that scar
So I gave him
the time for coffee
and listened to the
years in between
and those brown eyes
touched deep
again
My door closed
in latent denial
Repetitions
like waves
across my soul

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WANT HAIR

     Peru's Ampato Ice Maiden, believed to be about 500 years old, found near the summit of 20,700 Mount Ampato, was probably offered as a sacrifice by Inca priests

My hair begs for your fingers even
thru the glass. Don't lean close
the sign says as if I, the ice mummy,
could contaminate you while it's
the other way around. Once I had
egg shell skin they sacrificed even
before I used what you call tampax.
In my village, we braided cocoa leaves
or were called the red-legged women.
Red's always been a favorite color in
my town. See how it glistens thru
the weave of my wrap. I've want hair
people still murmur, it's like some
instrument begging to be played,
aching for your fingers. I read lips thru
the fog of my refrigerated case. Hair
is what is left, what I most wanted
to fill with night's jasmine and the
sound of Java birds. My hair never
frizzed in the jungle or dried out at
Cuzco. Sometimes I dream it is my
mother's hair, unbound, as she never
was, flowing and free, as taboo as
it would have been for her to save me.
Come closer, you can see your own
face in the shine of my onyx. I used
to wonder if the man who smashed my
head into the rocks first say his eyes
in that black mirror, if he could smell
the apricots I washed it with, if, like
a body falling into the river, his own
face crumbled with mine

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Safiye and Tolga

When their bodies were found
Safiye's arms were
wrapped around her young son

and we will never comprehend
death's quality, or mercy,
emerging like some quiet dream


from the rubble of their lives,
how its still breath beckoned,
gathering these two

home. They were buried
inside one shroud, her embrace
unbroken, and for Safiye and Tolga

this woman wept, that one morning
they did not wake softly
or at all.

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Crack open the neck
of that creepy pale fella
looking all serious
with slanty white eyes
(he thinks he's a bat)
and pass me a yellow brick
of that crunchy lemon goodness
baby

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Taking a swig from the beyond

Her moist ruby tasting like a peppermint liqueur
Me there,
Shrink-wrapped with a buzz
In a society destined to hang
And the dead coming on like a rolling freight train

Drawing in heaven and goldschlager thru my wasted lips
And inhaling the fountain of youth from between her pillars

Well,
Goddamnit to shit,
It shouldn't matter
Whether it was the booze or the girl that were tied around me

I only wish that I never lifted my chin up from out underneath there.

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My Lucky Unlucky

feeling rich, I decide to go to the local bar
i used to bartend at, till I quit, in disrelish
the Barbie doll's and winner temperament got to me
I slam 6 whiskeys talking to a cook
i used to work with, who is already smashed
we sit on stools, he watches the useless football on TV
I glance at his biker like tattooed arm
i watch the expressions on the faces (I'm a spy)
of the other people in the bar, chain smoking...

i feel virtuous, I feel classy,
with my new Christmas sweater on
and my new Brut watch, whatever that means
the cook and me don't talk much anymore
till he mentions he can get drugs

i want a bag and some xtacy I reference
he makes a phone call
claiming it's all ready to go
i drive just a little buzzed
the chef brings a double mudslide
Uhhh, flashback- vodka, bailey's, kuhlula, milk
a Styrofoam cup, I chew on breath mints
as we circle the dealers house 4 times
cause the so-called car ain't there
as Mr. cook slugs his strong drink

i practically slide through a red light
cause of the dam Michigan snow
plus I wasn't paying attention
my mind was flying on that itchy feeling
of hopefully scoring some sort of mind warping substance
to swim in the sky,
to fish in the wishing well

uh oh, that looks like a cop behind us
we both slap our seat belts on
as I use my broken blinker, real fast like
with my hand, yep, it's a cop

i'm turning left. cop boy flashers come on
one of those sneaky undercover cop cars, unmarked
i pull over right in front of
dealer man's house
chewing on my tongue, holding back the fright,
telling the cook
where we're coming from and where we're going
gotta get the lies straight, in order
to tell a good one, just ask leave it to beaver

"License please, how much have u had to drink?"
"Nothing"
"I smell alcohol, step out"
"Ok"
"u got a broken brake light, blinker
and tail light"
"how the fuck would I know that"

i only have eyes
on my zitty back
On weekends of full moons
after deep philosophical thought
after many a drink
with my only true friends
Jim beam and my cat, Mr. Friday (he likes to purr)

i mess up my ABC's
he asks me to count from 1-14 on one foot
i fall against my truck at 11
he tells me to count from 14 to 3 backwards
i count from 14 to 0 backwards
jail bars flash through my nicotine
Stained nervous brain
late night calls to parents
for bail money, jump through the pus
trying to escape the doom..

Copper asks chef boy to step out
cop man searches, pokes, looks around truck
As I voice to the Cook/ Kook
"What did u do with your drink?"
he has no clue what I asked
Cops all done searchin
he hands my driver's license back
tells us to be careful
and have a nice night

another fucking miracle
of luck,
of trophy winning
actor wizard boy
me, I guess,
cops ain't so bad, I think
as I drive away, circling the dealers house
one more time

as chef boy and me discuss the insane
fortune cookies the God's, God?
have farted out on our white trash
living for a buzz wreckless dumb dumb
chance faceless forgetting lessons
of life
and stupefaction if the cop was
on crack, or just a swell fella

cook boy tells me he crushed the
drink on my truck floor
we both wonder why cop man didn't question the
ice cubes, why didn't he question anything?
cops always ask to many questions

fuck it, I'm free, I have money
and I'm an American citizen
who's hoping to be real high soon
who just got away with drunk driving
or buzzed driving I suppose
so sorry, mothers against drunk driving

Cops sure can make one sober, real quick
The weasel rat eye balled chef
I'm trying to trust with 70 dollars
Hard earned, I 'd like to mention

Kooky chef stumbles into the small dirty looking house
that I'm not allowed to come into
I wait 15 minutes, biting my
broken blood infected skin, smoking.
pinkie finger bite fetish
looking in my rear view mirror, non stop
Still wondering why
i'm not talking to some guy named Billy
in a cold ugly drunken jail cell

finally, Chef ala asshole comes
out the the invisable dealer man's shit hole
he hands my weak looking eighth to me
My two 50 dollar pills of temporary bliss
I pocket them, we head back to the bar
to give the bartender, slight limp nice guy
his share of the red-haired smoke

i spend quality time
in the public bar bathroom, shitting
and snorting so-called xtacy
off the whiter then my teeth
Toilet seat, wishing wells, vomit cells

the bartender seems happy with his bag
The cook acts nervous
as I mention the x doesn't taste like x
he suddenly has to go, the scammer cook
I saw that look in his bastard soul
As he mentions..
gimme a call if you don't get off

i jokingly say, if I don't get off
I'll come here while your working
with my 45 fully loaded
Nervous laughter from both
he leaves, I snort more
Nothing happens

I drive home in mist filled
can't see 1 foot in front Of me
fog filler Michigan chiller
still hoping I come out ahead

arriving home, my drunken father
booze hounds have strange sleep schedules
is up at 3 a.m., fire sizzling
smelly dog at side, with briefcase
he starts telling me another long
story about the CIA, and composite materials
and terroists, and jfk theories
and his Pat Buchannan book and
his mouth begins to look like a never ending machine

that spurts out never ending words
and all these gin infested
things his brain is thinking of, I scratch my pocket
of shitty weed and phony xtacy..

dam, I'm sleepy pops. sorry, I head upstairs
my infatuation of hope
that I didn't get ripped-off
on bunk... sniffle, its bunk
I don't know what the hell it is
but its not what it should be
i feel nothing and the rage of past faces
past scam artists come back to haunt me
their fucking demon like greedy faces

i decide to drink as I pet my Mr. Friday
And load my 45, thinking of
that dirty looking house
that cook with the crooked smile
then I think about the cop
who let me go and I think
It's only a fifty-dollar fine
and I'm still free and getting drunk
and actually quite lucky
i unload my 45 and sleep
all the rage off. things come around
three-fold Mr. Cook
Karma kookcook, rat fuck
hope
u have a clean conscience
my mind is more powerful
then a gun-slingin fisherman

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Scott Holstad

Christ went to the wrong planet

there are no fucking miracles
aside from the fact that i'm
still alive and far too many
other people are too
why
in the world
people aren't throwing
themselves off bridges in
droves i'll never know

i've been shot at
my dog's been shot
i've been homeless
i've knifed myself
        why wait for someone
        else to do it?
i've been cuffed
i've been in court
        3 times before the same
        judge in one fall alone

i
drive 160 on the freeway
in the hopes of a
fiery escape
my major
x-mas wish
and
like everyone else
i get shit
life on a razor's edge
words that kill
and guns that don't

[From my book "Shadows Before the Maiming"]

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trade ins

yesterday
I pick up the boys
knock at our front door
though you are not home

today your '79 ford pick up
fills the garage
so I holler a few hello's
down the long hallway
see you both in the kitchen

coats still on
you, unpacking groceries
her, standing idly by
quietly

I smile and say hello again
offer my hand
my name
chatter a few niceties
the nerves do it every time
and wait

you come out
to see my new trade in
agree I did well
found a good deal

we say goodbye
I take the kids for a few days
you take back my garage door opener

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Marc Ellis

Lucky Pierre The Lounge Singer,
Pulls a gun on the audience:
copyright 2000 Marc Ellis
(From "Double Espresso")

"For my final song of the evening
ladies and gentlemen, I shall not sing...
But I shall conduct an orchestra;

     It shall be an orchestra of crickets
     And doll-house mirrors;
     Of rusted iron
     And empty sky,

     Of neutron stars exploding
     Inside the skulls of baby sparrows,
     And of children's satin bed pillows,
     With little embroidered stars..."

     (Lucky Pierre the lounge singer, breaks down crying.)

     Man in audience:

     "Mister, shoot us if you have to,

     But will you please spare us the damned poetry?"

 
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y2 Que?

I stand in the grocery store line
looking at the pure numbers
of folks being foolish.

I'm the only guy in the express
15 items or less
behind a chick
taking care of a monthly......
....eh hem....emergency......

All of these senseless
knee jerkin'
paranoid
"a pock e clips"
beLIEvers
waisting precious time preparing.....

For what?

No water for a few days?
Gee Junior did you buy stock in
Mountain Valley Spring Water too?
It could of doubled and split
based on your purchases alone.
But what good is money
in an "a pock e cliptic"
situation?

Buy now!
While the prices are managable
then clean up on all the
folks standin' in line!

Ya right!

Lemme tune in to see
CNBC covering
the fall of DC
and Clinton fleeing
a burning White House
on New Year's Eve.......
that's if we got power
to crank up the tube...

Shoulda got that generator
when it was on sale....

The bank and the ATMs
got their share of traffic too.
Don't want to be
without a few spare bucks,
or let the Bank lose it for ya'!

Wow!
First time I've ever seen
an empty battery rack
at the grocery store....

Do my Duracells
expire in Jan 2000,
or 2001?

Well....
Nothin's gonna happen
to us on New Year's Eve!

At least till Hell Freezes over!

I hear Beelzebub himself
has set up
a combination
Frozen Lemonade
and Dreamcicle stand
right in the middle of Hell!

Save me a spot in line.....

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Lucy ParT #6
+++++++++++
Lucy?....Lucy?...
Ya ^-leFt the RoUnD_House?
"Yeah Cuse All the Lines_____are all--Clear"
Lucy SAy:~"thE Passion Pig Served mE~^-Water__
....as ..i...hit him so gentley on on his head...
.......with= "Pacthes HammER!"
And in the Morning ~rays~THE Round __House..well...
....never....Smelled....BeTtER____as..I...
..............danced .....on,,,,thE ,,,,hEaD.........
.........0f_~^_a..passion Pigs _heAD__
Ate panCakEs....0n a pogo ..stick ...TILL...
...SUDDEN-ley....the passion PiG-MovED!
an...he ...said ...an...he ...said.......ShU=BoP..
"RuN!=lucy_____RuN!..beyond ...there!!..beyond..
,,,the forests....beyond the Glo0mY Aprons!!!!!...and...
.....Slight...Smells of ......smuT"

: I SaW.....LucY_~pack a ...bag_...
in..the LIGHT!!~an..she grew oh so~palE~
She...ok.....Sucked the laST_bReaTH.....from...
......hEr........"pig"...
an..smuttereD....~*my sheetS-are-Stained....
......lonG_losT=souls...ok,,,,
...that never ,,,,ever ,,saw the _~^_dawn....
I.sucked the truths .....from.....theyre ToungEs
an....hElD A cRooked croSs upsidE down+++
ThERe=.".in the ,,Banks.."...there" in the StorM."..+++

: T0 ThE RounD=housE...
Some!..SAid.....no======more====!!!
Lucy said ....n0.....more ......
as.....shE..opened ,,,,,,,,,,,the ~^_DooR_~^
"OH Lucy My DearesT"
"Your The Sweetest Thing ...in THis World T0 me"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Signed: Bracelets_HELL....brace*

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zen sweat blooms

ant hill kicked to scattered
piles of loose red brick
with a word

once proud walls lay crumbled
in inanimate surrender
to gravity and the wrecking ball

two brown men work in the carnage
chipping the crumbled remains
of the artery mortar off every last brick
discarding the chipped and broken
and piling the survivors in square piles
that wimper in ominous shadows
cast by the shattered walls

fluent, steady, moderate pace
focused on the bricks at arm's length
their eyes do not rise with the mountain of work
so to smile without intimidation
at the simple purpose of their labor
the center of now is sovereign
and zen sweat blooms

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New Years Eve 1999

a new millenia or whatever
and its on every channel
3 pm
eating chips and salsa with a cough
fighting a cold
Looks like Im staying in this year
everyone else wants to spend a fortune
on their fun
I dont even feel all so well
a big bag of dope
12 pack of beers
and enough pills to choke a horse
the weathers an unatural 4o some degrees
in Iowa
this must be an omen
the world is going to continue on
it tells us
Ive no shirt on
contemplating when Ill drop the psychadelics
I tried to score some coke
or speed
but not very hard
I even thought a hooker would be nice
or a wild fuck with my ex
to celebrate just this time
then kick her in the ass
donkey punch

The queen is going to light the beacon
how exciting
shes still alive
survived to the year 2000
now she may die in peace
this lights been on for 2 days
and the one in the ceiling keeps burning out
I have to replace it every few months
crap
the dogs got a lump
and i hope its a cyst
she deserves no worse
abused as a pup
before we ever knew one another
I am her master
she sleeps awkwardly
as Yeman goes 2000
a gaggle of children sing
where are the terrorists?

trying to call up a friend
says he wants to be spontaneous for the new year
his roomate is a slug
hes staying home like me
making chicken
smoking pot
but hes not sick, just fat and lazy
I like the guy
come on over later
Ill tell them
after you cook the chicken
Ive got chips and salsa
and beer
I know you dont drink beer
the tv counts down the hours and seconds
technology can make you laugh
live reports in a moment
there will be normal news cast
just fluff

the bridge is closed
expect traffic as usual
but theyre gonna blow it up
or something
fireworks they say
and they continue to stock up on groceries
party preperations
and apocolyptic stocking
and some wear funny glasses
2000
they say in giant bright yellow across her head
2000
they still show the commercials
but they all mention Y2K
Ive got a sore on my lip
a nervous habit
I chew my flesh
the bong Im using is purple
and I smoke it before the next part

I heard a friend died last night
2 am
car wreck
another friends brother drove
not sure where
but the car was airborne
he was a bit of a drunk
but his older brother is worse
always crazy
calmed down when he had a kid
the drivers in jail
and some missile launches occured today
but it was nothing
dont worry
merry new years
drink your beer
and kill a brain cell

2001 is the new millenia
they say on television
a comedian
with a letter signed by numerous intellectuals
that the millenia is over
next year
and its a big joke
but what isnt
when your talking time?
they advertise pharmeceuticals on tv
talk to your doctor
wheres that bong
got a letter from my editor
I offered to help her out with the zine
poor womans overwhlemed with shit
I used to archive the old editions
theyve been lost
I think i may still have a copy somewhere

fireworks everywhere
a not uncommon theme
the greatest monuments in the world are all shows tonight
Phish is playing in Florida later
revelations hasnt come true and not a bomb has dropped
4 pm
a telephone call
hangs up
it was my dad
don't wanna talk to him
there are a host of others Id rather speak with
candles and balloons
the Palestinians and white doves
a plethora of ethnic music
I don't have this on CD
it looks as if the acropolis burns
thundering orchestratal music
this should lose its charme as the night goes on
Ill be watching Im sure
pretty awesome spectacles i must admit
the wild greek drama

my camera sits out
waiting for a moment to grab
the film within has been there for ages
now the acropolis glows blue
coverage on this channel is suprisingly good
I wont change the channel
the russians have surely changed capitalist
by the way they partied
in Red square
beneath the churches and hills
Yeltsin retired today
Id have bet hed die in office
he'll be forgotten well now
most places in africa are empty and dark
and those who live out there
have been asleep for hours
they exist in another world

my computer thinks its february 1999
and always will
I tricked it long ago
in ulterior motives
I will not be effected by the chaos
my technology exists in the past
and i will be typing on through the change of the century
pepsi and a couple bongs
Ill probably drop at 6 or 7
my plants havent been watered in weeks
Jen wants hers
I say take her pick
but they are still here
and her mom still dates that rapist
ex navy seal war hero
not a bad guy
but he can be creepy
I bet Jen loves living at her moms with him around
her problems with dave are superior to anyone else
I could give a shit these days
I smoked a joint with him

havent shaved for days
nor showered for as many or more
I feel fine
and my hairs a mess
filling up all my water stuff
just in case
never hurts to be ready
and Im known to be slight paranoid
the suns going down and everybodys smiling like a good shit
the dog started eating as soon as I filled her bowl
she looks at me and shakes
lipping her mouth
she returns to her bone
holding with her paws and gnawing
I think Ill grow my beard back
got a picture of a friend in email yesterday
hes got a big bushy job
lives in chicago
dated my wife once
he and I had some times
forgot my pepsi in the other room
empty mug with ice
sitting on my fridge
at a slow melt
and a bong hit on the way

thirty dollars on the table
think ill finally make a call on his weed
and get myself a cheap ass quarter
twenty bucks
he wants it for new years
I can work with him now
feeling better
had this cold or whatever for a few days
its weakening its hold
I even smoked a marlboro when aaron was by
had to use my inhaler
killed my lungs
but tasted good
time to make a call
he aint got that much dope
so sowy bill
no poopoo for yooyoo
didnt much feel like heading anywhere anyway
did my errand trip for the day
drug store
chips and barbeque sauce
just picked up a some beer there the other day
and a ton of robotussin gel caps
psychadelics Im pumping to my brain tonight

bill on the phone
no luck man
I might stop by tonight
he says
Ill be here trippin out
might be crazed
come on over
times square is full of a million fools
packed like cattle
moo sows
too many hours before time
I sit on my couch with no shirt
amongst a dozen beer cans
watching cheese-vision
2000 doves
my glands stay swollen
the one is chewed up from strep back in high school
15 years old
still fucked my girlfriend
always seemed weird since that bout
the body amazes me
its a wacky christian device
god I mean
he did a number
if ya go for that
I think its darwin myself

I wonder if theyll still show cartoons on FOX
take a millenium break
with an episode Ive seen 5 times
and it was never good
a phone call
no answer
my brains already addled
stoned
time lapse
I left a message
cant stand it
back to the news
bad cartoons
and i adore them so
gospel music
amen on christ in the new century
suck a dick
2000 years is how long that groups been duped
a testament to their moronics
no wonder I cant buy cheap RAM without a credit card
online saves
chalk one up for technology
I disobey my own rules
and forget the next line

bad music in Jerusalem
hebrew
not so bad
people cheer on long after the new year
of course
I can never find a lighter
I have a half dozen
most are red
I was alerted of this by aaron yesterday
or was it today
how many times will i see this commercial
this wisdom sucks
shoot oyur dog
take your mom to Jamaica
and treat your dad to a whore
nothing is supposed to be real
after the new year has past
be aware of your natural surroundings
garbage cans and street lights included
Im sure Ill paint tonight
try to do it all
not on purpose
ill be possessed by Tussin
DMX
cant recall the name
told my friend earlier
many bowls ago
and i carry on
but my memory has degraded
barbara walters is in Paris
france assaulted so hard as of late by unatural storms
the vatican holds 50,000 tonight
the last place Id want to be
without a bomb
or secret machine gun
but Im too nice for that
bastards

all the heart of europe prepares for the next minutes
5 pm
crazy german propaganda over the loud speakers
some wild kook
isnt it always the way with the germans
berlin lit up
over 50 years since rubble
the gate still stands
and serves as a focal point
in china
a man meditates on a rock

a great sweep of midnights
as the world turns
the eiffel tower is red
and the low clouds low above
wicked with sin
they prepare to light this thing
as explosions resonate
on my surround sound
bass and a fortune in speakers
the pope sits pale
in the window alone in his room
illuminated by artificial light
above the maniacs
in paris they up the firework ante
with an amazing asortment
my dog is unimpressed
and would rather go outside
I oblige

a beacon upon the eiffel tower
will stay lit all year
for what i wonder
who are they looking for?
who do we think well find?
I think the pope died last month
though he appears alive
he is on acid

bill stopped by and we smoked some bongloads
played some old time video games from the day
when james called for me
I was passed out
just dropped half the DMX
and loosened consciousness
no longer could i hold tight
up and stoned too long
needed a recharge
Bill left
awakening to a phone call
hour later
tv far too loud
its James again
didnt he just call?
lets cause some mischief he says
Im sick
he wants out of the house before his roomate returne
hes afraid of his lameness
his roomate bought a massive can
of nacho cheese

the world is a phonecall away
tonights the night to use a dime
theres a strange smell in my nose
my hairs still dirty
the president and his family smile like idiots on tv
always the same goofy fraud smiles
bad television
and beautiful tits
beautiful tits are timeless
old women of today are held with timelessly beautiful tits
on reruns every night
beautiful dead rerun tits
everybody has given in to the christian calender
do they not know its flaws?
sometime well lose a day
its amazing
the shit I get in the mail
I feel like Im going to puke
the gelcaps
my arms are slight numb
calm the gut
I meditate

January 31st
but not for long
my windows are open
train whistles blow
Im still warm
my forehead glows
the nuremburg trials are on tv
THIS is the millenia
genocide
horn rimmed glasses
Im not sure if James intends on stopping by at all
hell be by to smoke some weed
maybe between here and there
classic twilight zone episodes play all day
and night
a young captain kirk
watches a man in a cheap gorilla suit
tear up a jet engine
a cool breeze
no landlord below means i can get as rowdy as I want
all alone
Ive got guns

drag queens with black roots
wild sun glasses
trimmed with shining gold
they drink bottled water on a bus
with a lisp
or whatever that feminine talking thins is
I like his jacket
I wish my lava lamp worked
I wonder if Ill ever get it fixed
so long I wanted one
and finally got it
as a gift
after years
even giving one as a gift myself
now it doesnt work
and its new years
is this acceptable?
we must move onward
to the batcave
(weed)

hot tight pink tops
and little breats
the world is still full of breasts
and I know it all the time
but every moment I see them
I am drawn to amazement
and want
I have no breasts of my own
I watch porn and masturbate with the volume turned down
this millenia is sponsored by At and t
bad hair is chique
butcher yourslef proud
the world will love it
less then 2 hours here
before the world ends
or the year changes
and i havent seen a single sniper
my grain reserves are y2k compatable
is your mothers arthritis cream?
I wonder what the kids at the shelter I used to work at
are doing now
I hope for them the best
I didnt meet a bad one
unlike the staff i worked with

more gel caps
cant take them all at once
theyll jam up in the stomach
in a single spot
and not dissolve properly
so I continue
4 at a time
into my gullet
to combine with the rest
almost done
only a few left
my mind twists already
it will be a long long night
I am ready for such devices
I've come prepared
and in peace
take me to your leader
and still more breasts
will it never stop
venezuelan beauties
clebrating in song
with slimming white dresses
and youth
the riot police are on standby
watch your mouth

creamy shit
need to empty the bathroom waste basket
overflowing
filling the dogs dish with water
best to be prepared
in case of The End
the mutt can drink
in case of rapture
fire crackers outside
my ergonomical keyoard
fits well
with my bong on my lap
and with 22 minutes til midnight
eastern time
a 30 year old Dick Clark
resides on tv
this is his day
has been for 1000 years
he is the anti-christ
and tonight he will reveal himself
enslave the masses
set the world aflame
when that crystal ball drops
times square
2 million youngsters
in one place
a thousand shiny wigs

an amazing sight
300,000 pounds of confetti
a blizzard
a funny taste in my mouth
James and chris will show up
got off the phone
chris ate his chicken
I told him I had all the tortilla chips he can eat
he mentioned bringing a ton of nacho cheese
and did I have butter
real butter
not margarine
I told him I had 2 things of it
and I dont know if its butter
and i know its now
he'll bring his own stick in case
the keyboard is getting 4 dimensional on me
the beginning of a night of chaos
by midnight i should be in lala land
floating on the ether
no one can tell a just man
-a poet
what to do
and in a year this one will be over
one word
5 syllables
bigger then a bread box
and green
disembodiment
my mind is beginning to loosen

I think bill came over earlier
but it seemed like a dream
yet i could type better
my hands were more attached
soon Ill be a type-stumbling mess
transcribe to the dog
form is determined by function
I may be temporarlily losing my opposable thumbs
the journey is about to begin
evolution can be a wicked thing
in a thousand years weve gotten television
and laser beams
sheep still look the same

*****************

my hands never got so numb
though even now at 530 am
I have difficulty typing
and my spine tingles
I am a bit tripped
and very high
I wonder if i should dare a beer
and should probably pass
DMX and alcohol do not mix
James and Chris showed up
an hour before the new year here
with weed
James not smoking
hes sick now too
chris brought 5 nanograms of shake
and 4 grams of seeds
I pestered him all night for this
the rest of the half oz he left at home
agraid of the cops
and idiot
as I let him know

Chris made food the whole time
James and I played video games
and watched the current happenings
about the globe
more focusing on the video games
and smoking bongs
We put nachos out on the special
mexican sombrero server
no one touches salsa
Chris chows down heavy
with his big body
able to consume alot
he'd just had dinner
now he feasted on rolls and chips
and when finished goes into a semi conscious mode
making strange noises like he does
at the toll of a new century
Im blowing a large cloud of pot smoke from my lungs
happy new year
not much to it
they show somewhere on tv
they all look the same
with their light shows and fireworks
monuments and crowds

Chris heads home soon after
James stays behind
he has to work in the morning
and had hoped the world would end
so he'd be done with his bills
now he was depressed
all year he anticipated chaos
and financial freedom
nay
timezone after timezone fall to the clock
I forgot the mountain zone
they celebrate in Idaho
Nevada looked insane
with its masses
drunk and swaying
night light of day
on a whim we got on the news chat
interacting with the guys on tv
alot of harassment is done
and we discuss cartoons
and absurdity
so little sleep sane minds in the room

the news commentator-chat liaison
smiles on tv
in anticipation
a goofy question
that hes assured they will get to
the main reporter pressing on
he looks like hes drunk
I tell omar to smoke a bong
hes black with dread locks
but looks 'whiter' then me
winding down at 5
the channel beginning a new show
the chat clears
and James wants to go home
on a shirt and shoes
he puts the magazines and books on his lap
the front seat of my little truck
with big orange ladder on top
it never gets used
I work in a hotel now
the drive is quick and cheap
a cop on the way
always speeding
letting him off
I am told to wait
he has no keys
I roll my eyes and he jumps the stairs up his porch
beyond the squeaky cyclone fence gate
knocking
loudly or not
I cannot hear in the truck with my radio on
some countless tune

an open door
I drive away
to return home
feeling odd
and more weed left then Id expected
so return and continue on I will
my dog in my bed now
sleeping
her day is over
the party has ended
and I return to my computer
to finish off some poem
smoking some more bongs
and contemplating a bath
or a shower
but I will definately masturbate
again
new asian porn
gets me off but needs to be returned
its a bad dub
those guys rape a fortune rerecording tapes
a million times again
and Im left without sound
and a flickering cunt
being penetrated by a wavy cock
from y2k action station 1
begin program sequence

now

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Lewis LaCookSheila E. Murphy

from OUTSIDE THE BOTHER OF SUNLIGHT (1999)

Interwreathed with more serious girders, more
declaration
Nudges our worlds into a self-centered harmony, the
matrix
From which radiant children stare rainbows into oil.
Apology
Is as male as narration; these icons, we can change
their
Colors into paths to favorites on the harddrive,
If there are. And we, gladdened by the little
chunks,
such
Search for structure to hours unfurling, nested
Loops in our array. I'll turn here for you, though
They work me past the poverty of streams, merely
A text machine, programming borders onto every cloud
That saves the screen, as if touch were an awning
under
Which we run, thickening in trickle to the grates.
Sleep
Is not so precious that I can't
Have some. Dissertation, or sex's opposite;
Dissemination, or a mouth not so loud
You don't need friction to be in love; Desertion, as
in
The bottom of the text is Me? We were
Trying on new coats for me in the unwoven color of a
Mirror's reciprocal lore. Symmetrical, our
Bodies thicken night to transcendent paste. I'll
Schedule for more of that, evenly
Ludic, perhaps even monochrome
At a squint's that luscious, maybe
December at The End Of The Twentieth Century,
Even. I'll try to describe it
To you. We
Ululate from the bottom of the text
To the antenna that composes our souls.
Comprehensive, prehensile.

Papered with the tone poem of unrest, each composition
Stokes each pending composition.
The idea of escape is to replenish torsion,
So we won't dry the antennae, or thicken what arrives
To neutralize an insufficient trickling.

She used to talk about the water toss against a fire.
After being in corporate life so long, the root word
for body
Seems to tamp itself into the very ash this city's
named for.
Friction taunts its receiving end.
Declaration is a pose.
Narration ought to have been snorted and then left
alone
For centuries. Worship comes to be
The next thing on to-do lists.

New coats mean new paint on constant body.
New body means all coats will soon feel old.
Weather incites obedience.
If declaration is a pose, what then is scheduled
For the screen?
Nudges, harmonics, rainbows centered where selves
might be?

Discovery shared becomes an imposition.
No one wants to be the derivation of a child.
No one young, that is.
Description seems so many reruns that immediately
cease
To match the present tense.
My dissertation has a friendly way of treading
treading dust
mites
On the shelf.
I've signed it over to the ones I love and generously
forgotten
It and them and me in such a prior time.
When is this century supposed to end?
There are celebrations planned ahead.
I'm one of them. My photograph and yours.
Along the pianotop awaiting someone random's chance
To dance the tap fest of the hemisphere
We'll call our tilt-a-whirl.
Only half of it will be reruns.
The other will be a documentary on how
Even bested the fetish will pose as centered.
To match the present tense, I've
Incorporated into my body some of the lighting
And some of the food you left lying. It
Told me to snort it. I did this,
And then
And then.
I learned how to talk this century,
And then
And then.
But I was always talking to the next
Century,
And then.
And then, no-one ever seemed to be DOING anything,

But swimming through that hip-deep cathode of
snowglobes glow,
Stirring something foul in the smoke. The next century
says
We won't have any books, just digital umbillical, just
The antennae for anyone's just-right season. But I
Was always talking to the next guy, and he had
Management in mind. I'll declare my position in terms
Alcohol occulted eloquent and sutured. Locomotion

By mouth through our carnivals wining slaves to the
fur.
The idea of escape is almost impossible in the cups
Of familiar transmission, this (you) tiny
(vertiginous)
Site that leaves the bathtub ringing with force down
the tubes
That sigh of a hasty tease. If in five hours your
Dealer doesn't call she doesn't
Want to talk to you. No-one wants to be
The derivation of a child. Just (come)
Over here and sit down (on my). There is
Hawk girl stark with sex olived on her nose.
Heavy girl with lollipop lolling in making up your
mouth.
A "young tough girl in a push-up bra." Me,

I mime the greenroom.

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Beat Poet Exhibit or Kerouac's Not Getting Laid
(De Young Museum, SF, CA)

Three girls outside
watching turtles
"Give me a quarter and I'll tell you if they're real"
"Uh-uh", she pulls the sleeve of the security guard
pointing down into the pond, "Are they real?"
a nodding guard and one of the girls puts the quarter
back into her pocket

It's all pictures and paint inside
Kerouac standing like a god
reading "On The Road"
Ginsberg and Caros naked
and naked again and again
Burrough's cut up poems in a pile
"On The Road" scrolled and crumbling
and Kerouac's notebooks for Dharma
scribbled at the bottom in big letters
and underlined
"I NEVER GET LAID"

words under glass
words on top of words

history of Dylan and Hopper
back then it meant something to be a poet
people came to listen to the words
people came to forget McCarthy
ducking away from the Rosenbergs and Soviet bombs
Dean on the screen
Mingus on stage
O'hara's lunch
Jones in clubs
the hip ramblings of Lord Byron

Beat beat Beat Generation
but there ain't no music in these museum walls
and Kerouac still ain't gettin' laid

they're all just turtles in a pound, man
here we are with hands full of quarters, Daddy-o
and no security guards to ask questions

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