critical mass

—

compelled by inward-feeling

propelled by ego-fuel

BOILING POINT CRITICAL MASS

meltdown of me

selfish shellfish

bursts out

sick of living on

my own shelf

—

GJK

2012

i can’t stop

—

i can’t stop it i can’t stop i can’t

i can i can do i can do it

i have i am i will

—

carry on

keep on

continue

—

burning fuels

purging ghosts

wording pomes

—

encircled by omens

enraptured by life

enthralled by language

—

entranced by music

the ever-present

pulse

—

i go everywhere

and nowhere

with rhythm

and euphony

intact.

—

 

GJK

28FEB12

night-wolf

—

invisible to human eyes

i silently stalk the earth

without moonlight

without malice

but with tremendous hunger

—

i seek flesh.

i leap upon ovine prey

that bleats helplessly

and gurgles its last

as onyx jaws crush windpipe

—

as life leaves its body

my blood thrills.

—

teeth rip carcass

and i am nourished

as my mate joins me;

we feast together

and our howls outflow

with abandon

after we are sated

—

we call out to our kind

who also revel in the hunt

and my mate vanishes

to do her own

secret work.

—

i am again left only with

my four limbs

and gnashing teeth

—

to search out more

unfortunate sheep

and liberate them

from oblivious lives.

—

 

 

 

—

GJK

21,22 FEB 2012

(for the new moon)

satori

—

i am at peace

with myself

—

i am at peace

with everything

this nineteenth night

of february

in the year 2012 a.d.

i am at peace in the night

when neighbors sleep

and dogs yelp their answers

to coyote call

and i pray for wolf

to howl

but there is only me

so i smile a silent howl

of my own

i om

and it is clear

above beyond and within

that i am my own

at one with all that draw breath

i am here

alive

and that is enough.

—

i know very little

but of this i am sure –

time is not a line

it is a circle

and i am at its center.

you are at its center.

time does not rule us

it encircles us

it is not a cage

but rather an embrace

and being all around us

it cannot be divided.

regret and pride are illusions

as are fear and hope

so i am free

you are free

liberty exists within

without striving or grasping

it can be had when thinking

and doing cease

i say again

i am at peace.

—

the problem never was drunkenness

or high-ness or shroom-ness

the problem never was uppers

downers or nicotine

these are all symptoms

of a basic need

these are all external fuels

of the simplest disease

the problem never was

outside of me

it was only

desire

itself.

—

i am at peace

because it is effortless.

—

i have done nothing

but open my eyes

—

nine years ago i woke up

for the first time

then i forgot

i flailed and splashed

without awareness

and then i remembered

to stop trying and let my self

drown.

—

now i sit on the riverbed

unperturbed by the unstoppable force

of the current; the fear of death

is gone and i rise to the surface,

laughing.

—

nothing can harm me

nothing can harm you

we are a oneness

—

i am at peace today

i see

i hear

the entirety

in my own

raspy breath.

—

 

 

GJK

19FEB12

in defense of body odor

—

i know many people find natural bodies

without aid of chemical-laden deodorants

repulsive, and i understand

but i will not go along blindly,

i just won’t.  it isn’t polite

but so what?  there are plenty of other

senses and i look okay, i mostly

keep quiet, there’s no need

for anyone to touch me

or lick me

so if all i am doing

wrong

is stinking

then i say again

so what?

—

i’ll tell you what i find offensive –

nearly every time i enter a public place

like a restaurant or a store of any type

i am assaulted by horrible music –

terrible, ugly, banal, abrasive music

that is designed, not for anyone to like,

but for no one to dislike so much

that it disrupts their eating or shopping.

well let me tell ya

it offends me.

—

music is my thing, aural perception

is my forte, and it pains me

to endure some of the most vile music

in the world just to get served

some steak or some greens

or get coffee on the fly

but that’s fine

i don’t need to be served

i can prepare my own food

but of course

the grocer too

insists upon playing wretched music-like

abominations of sound

so my dinner often has a tinge

of disgust in it

unless first i can wash my ears

with silence or music of some substance

so i do not apologize for stinking

in public from time to time.

—

if my stench offends, i will only see you

in passing and you’ll figure out a way

to forgive me or forget it

or you’ll hang on to it

and tell your people all about the guy

at the store that smelled like a pile

of moldering gym socks

either way i don’t care

you’re a grown-up

you can do

as you see fit.

but i’m not sorry.

—

why would i apologize for being myself?

and trust me, if you want to tell me to my face

that i stink, go right ahead.

a few years back a young friend of mine

i had been spending lots of time with

said to me in my car,

dude, before we do anything else today

we need to go to your house so you can

wash up and change your shirt.

and i thanked him for having the courtesy

to tell me that my stink was bugging him.

i live with my stink,

i like it, so i don’t know

when a little muskiness has turned into

outright disgusting pit-funk.

how refreshing it was to get called out

on it by a friend!  so you, a stranger,

can tell me i stink and i’ll probably

laugh and say,

okay, i know, thanks, by the way

i think you’re wearing too much make-up.

or too much cologne, or whatever it is

i think about you on first sight.

as long as we’re strangers being candid

then no one has any reason to be upset.

we’ll walk away from each other

equally amused and the only real crime

will have been the horror-show

of the store’s satellite radio feed

chipping incessantly away at my

peace of mind.  if i knew that you

hated the music too then maybe

we could be friends.

—

all because i refuse to play along

with the silly game of unnatural

odor-obsessed politeness

and you had the guts

to confront me.

—

GJK

13FEB12

don’t ask

—

if you’re not prepared to hear the answer

you best not ask the question

—

why you keep askin’ questions

just to ignore

every bit

of sense

you hear

—

stop calling me

you don’t want my advice

you just want me to tell you

you’re right

—

but you’re not

and i won’t.

—

get over your self

get over your life

get out of your own way

and stop whining about

what it is you need

want and deserve

—

all i know for sure is

you talk too much

and listen

too little

—

give me a break

do me a favor

and forget

my number.

—

 

 

 

GJK

13FEB12

$

—

her keys clack into the vortex

embattled by dissonance and hypocrisy

and what flings itself out is a burst

of violent shimmering money

succulent somnolent vital

money

—

as mine attack the matrix

embittered by injustice

and perceived shortcomings

of self and others

and what combusts

is what i’m left with.

what combusts becomes ash

and i wash myself in it

—

my gray hands clasp hers

and bounty is shrouded.

—

her pains become jewels

and mine are to keep

the thieves

the ignorant

the befuddled

the unbalanced

away.

—

　

　

GJK

9FEB12

flight from the matrix

–

the knives stabbing my knee

and neck

ought to be enough

to tell me

to stand up and move around

a wee bit

–

walk stroll weave bound

find a melody in the engines

without and within this dwelling

get up punk

move yr ass

but no no no

i’m hurling myself thru the matrix

clicking and buzzing

i’m not breathing

my knee is on fire

get that fucking albatross

off yr lap son

yeah okay just one more thing

i’ll just click here

and close this

and fuck

it’s frozen

again

the quarks are sending up sparks

again

so i shut it down

–

and start back up!

why am i not eating

i am ravenous

this machine is so sparkly

and inviting

in it i am unbound

but that’s only mind

this machine binds my body

oh you sneaky little bastard

i love

i hate

the matrix

i love

i hate

this machine

but fuck those knives

smash the screen

amble to the kitchen

and eat

you moron

you excitable beast

you gorgeous man

you writer-in-second-person

you better get back

to calling you i.

–

　

　

GJK

8FEB12

i am alone

—-

i am alone in the diner

in the back corner as usual

and by alone i mean

there are no other customers

i hear the cook and waitress

gossiping away in the kitchen

as if they are unaware

i can hear them

as if i’m not here

which is fine

because i’m not here

i am nowhere

i am not even me

i am a flesh-pile that breathes

i

i

i is devoid of meaning.

but the point is that

the teeming masses

in this tiny hamlet

are all, apparently, at home

or in taverns and bars

watching football.

important football.

the playoffs!

THE CONFERENCE CHAMPIONSHIPS,

in fact.

and it is good and right

that they are doing

what they are doing

the football on TV

the beer

the booze

the bratwurst

the filial love found between

fellow fans,

though few would admit it’s love,

oh it is good and right

and fine

and what could anyone expect

in January in Wisconsin

except perhaps that it rained today,

curious that, but football

is wonderful

as are predictable people

and mob mentality.

—-

the decaf is disappearing

from the mug

on the table

(the decaf? can you believe it?)

the fingers gently scratch

the chin whiskers

it is quiet,

now,

the voices are gone.

more decaf appears

in the mug

on the table

without please or thank you

it is good

it is quiet

it is calm.

—-

　

　

GJK

22JAN12

knowing now

—

knowing you

are sleeping serenely

in our bed,

in the bed that came to us

not from a store

but from the spare room

of that beloved old lady’s apartment

where you spent so many nights

without me,

makes it sometimes tumultuous

when sleep eludes me

and i pace quietly

unsure of what to do

with myself

—

knowing you

slept in that bed

less than ten steps

from my grandmother

as she lived on in those last

few years

before the day

that she stopped living

makes it melancholic for me

now

remembering nights i spent

drunk alone, here,

in this dwelling

that neither of us

truly feels is home

—

nights that found me on the floor

cradling my skull in my elbow

rocking myself not to sleep

but to whatever heartache

or reverie i could muster

with my face inches from the speakers

ears enthralled by

whatever hero of mine

i could lay my hand on

without moving the bulk of my

sodden flesh

—

knowing now

how heartless i was,

how vacant my being

in those squandered years,

pains me sorely.

how horrible it was exactly

i cannot recall

—

but that has passed,

that shade of a man

that was me

that now i can barely recognize

—

that has passed on into

an unknowable beyond

as has she,

that old woman

we both loved

as matriarch and teacher,

that stern and tender worrier

you also counted as friend

—

knowing now

that knowing doesn’t matter

—

only that we have

each other

still.

—

so sleep now,

as i pace this floor

and stumble humbly forward

through this baffling

sober mind

with its minefield of memories

—

sleep now

as i stand vigil

—

sleep now

in this imperfect refuge.

—

　

GJK

2FEB12