quittin' smokin' pome

practicing my rudiments

building my blocks

right left right right

left right left left

relearning the power of paradiddle

of gravity’s bounce

I used to get so tired

bulldozing, steam rolling

wielding sledge hammers instead

of these perfectly balanced divining rods

losing myself in repetition

long patterns seeking rhythmic submission

the world contracts pulsing light

my children peek in

Gangly & Awkward, the undersexed adolescents,

schlepping their horns like your baby

after you’ve dropped it already once or twice

ask if they can play with me

and that is my grace.

when it gets too late for drums I

start puncturing small withdrawal holes in my tongue

rather than being a dick to my wife

I pick up old cochon quequette

my neglected acoustic six string

and play long into the night

outside temple xxx

to the left to the right

the usher’s torch illuminates slouching

analog souls
stuck like brittle on modern ribs

last triple x in captivity nets small brigade

of self-inseminators 
breach the crowded boulevard

chagrinned

sky transcends infinite distance

and the soil gently fellates a nutty little seed

underneath the asphalt

leisure suit gods lounge on high

debung barrels

of profane and propane

spoiling for America’s next celebrity blow job

stones like bones

sow the earth that covers me

with Grimzell Seed Co. hominy

absent a fork, you will know I’m done

when the dirt ejaculates

fresh shoots

fraught with meaning.

I'll Stop the World

losing the ability to trust you

know what’s best for me

your drone clanks like bent tie rod

dripping bile from its punctured kamikaze

whaddaya think money grows on trees

no, yo, I swallow baggies and shit your GDP

keep me high on dopamine

and what am I doing appealing

grapes

snow flaked

epidermal death

clogging nostrils jamming
the mucosa of multitudes

swapping buttery gender rolls

rank and file

percolate

burning faith

burning mind

bored

wait in line faith

can’t be fucked with cause

it won’t see the trees

for the crazies

bending reason

to lick the perspiring
mountain of imagination
it takes to blow up
the world

Livestock Show

slip on the boots

dad broke in

who may have found peace

before he was laid to rest

when Sadie finally stayed for that second lemonade.

senti-mentally stripped Nashville slick

meaner than I am rich

and I pick
up the tab

for the long line behind me

pickin’ and a’grinnin’

pull a pearl snap sleeve
across an
Orange Crush mustache

bees

steal the

angel’s share in the dust.

can’t tell whether it’s me, mesquite smoke

or bagpipes on Copperhead Road

but my eyes won’t

stay quiet

dad did say

he didn't care

for my confession.

that I can behave

and not believe

who I am

anymore

but the rest of the world

is not obligated to chart

my growth

or note my

overall improvement

Where You Been

in early October

as you lay splayed

facedown

grapevines trained and pruned

fresh blood blooms

confused by unseasonable warmth

some samaritan manages 911

post-nose dive

sirens fart

arpeggios emblazoned

with your name

a fine stench indeed to

accompany vintage blackout

come late November

you are resurrected in text:

fell off the wagon hard

5 days in the hospital

30 day detox

almost killed myself

pitching horseshoes

Go Down Guadalupe

brindle brown Continental

creeps anew

Brylcreemed ancient angling for strange

cross myself with a scratch off

bus stop lotto

winter sky lobotomized

pretty punk preens

twists an obscenely riveted tongue

inhibition slips on whiskey

lips as I debut conversation for one

privacy is not rent-free my blue-jean jacketed

crack baby

I clutch my heart and scream

it's all about to blow