No Mas

Tonight, the Latino grill man sings Kumbaya while he slops together another hamburger, as though his singing will rouse God from his day off and come rescue him… His faith doesn't care for history of field hand strung to trees of the past. Especially in this town, where the locals look at him with contempt because all the plant workers names end in Gonzales or Hernandez. And he can't help it if he knows Spanish because Mama wanted him to remember where he came from. Mama who knew America for its HMO's and not for homeboys who'd sit on their porches and watch her pull Read more [...]

In Search Of Dog (an Eclectic Journal: Long)

May 9, 2002--Springfield, MO On the 157, 643, 241, 708th day Dog created me--and he thought it might have been a waste of his time. 11:49 pm Dropped CM off at his place about 20 mins ago. Beginning to wonder how many people think I'm homosexual. I tend to have more guy friends I hang out with, and more female friends I consult with, but I am really good in bed…(I am an egotist!)…or does that mean something else. Sign says: watch for backing cars I went to punch it on Grand at the Jefferson intersection, and the auto-clutch stalled. Upset. Still loaded on caffeine from the Mud House, no sleep tonight, acute insomnia. Read more [...]

Beauty Of Simple Things

(The Poem of Our Lives) If we were to walk down a deserted road in autumn, I would not point out the foliage, nor mention the clouds or how the breeze meanders along. Instead, I would find a felled tree and count the concentric rings encompassing the stump; remarking on how a year's growth had been by the width of the band. Then I would look up and ask: why don't we recycle the paper we use to draft the poems of our lives? or burn all of our money and move to Tibet? After this thinking had exhausted us, we would lay down and not speak. Imagine how the other Read more [...]

Cacophony Of Voices

My room is an abyss windows blackened with construction paper. I lie alone, awaiting enlightenment, incense burning sickly sweet. Apparitions of people appear, examine me with physician eyes, determine the dimensions of my dementia. I do not see them. Instead, they chatter while they work their of voices blistering my brain. The process is slow, but eventually I will tear the covering from my windows, flood the room with light, and become invisible. Read more [...]

Four Views Of Allen Lake

This is no hallow place it is pasture land and that is all. Why do I find myself at it in times of trial? And have since November ‘97 10:00 pm--20 degrees steam rising in phantom sheets off the hood of my car. Even when I am nowhere near I still find myself drawn here, always with the same question… **** I walk the gravel trail adjacent to the water's edge noticing the broken beer bottles and charred remains of a previous night's exuberance. A five-leafed marijuana plant spotlighted in the moonlight makes me laugh. It is no weed. More likely the remnants of someone's cheap bag-- Read more [...]

Inside-out

From the outside looking in this appears to be a normal place, but nothing is normal about it. Objects move, telekinesis and philosophers feverously grind words to their nubs. How much a ticket? how long a ride? do not ask these questions. Save your money for the cinema; you would not like it here. Stand back telescoping the madness that takes place-- for there are those who, once walking on water never again touch dry land. Read more [...]

Juxta

I sit across from a man, we look at each other without shifting our heads, it's a staring contest like the ones from lunch in junior high school. My opponent has no face I am afraid he might win. I try to picture him with eyes, blinking, signifying my victory, but I cannot. He is tougher than to fall for such trickery. He simply sits there blankly, wearing me to the point of exhaustion. I rapidly throw my hands above my head, screaming: He has won! He has won! I have no time for games that are unfair towards me. I run circles about the table chanting silly rhymes and Read more [...]

Making Our Eden

When we talk about making love; it is as though we already are; it is as though the world has collapsed at our feet and all the walls that held us at their mercy have been destroyed and we are left among the ashen ruins; as though we have been placed there all along; it is as though we are Adam and Eve, sent to make our Eden from these crumbs, this devastation left; and in that hour when we hold each others' bodies naked in the cold sun, when our bodies lie exhausted quivering; it will be as though we never parted before or holding forever while time slips endless. Read more [...]