buried cake

Funneled whispers of fennel through the open sore
Called upon the scent again of that Little Tokyo store
Strolling aimlessly with mighty aim
Upon close inspection, methinks it needs salt.

Dirt park gifts, hills with stop sign secrets, wrist o tenders, creams, unguents and ointments, bathtubs, fogs, heads held so high, sharpened words, fighting sticks, dirt people dirt people, shellfish cactus, normandie normalcies, waitings, wonderthings, wonderings, wanderings...

Put on the ol' delusion disc and let it spin...

...at red lights, into the mirror of bits, past that one place and that other restaurant, that alley, that Ivar sidewalk- back to me...covet runneth over.

Saw it all come up in the reflection of the forlorn for lease carpet storefront, the one on Franklin just east of some other street.

Funny how it never goes the way the imagination makes it go
know'd tat, druid tat
too much time wasted on the ponder.
I'm a pander ponderer.
tre small thoughts that are best left to the past ether.

criss crossings, what if's, how 'bouts and contractions, up and dislikes; music, art, what is right, wrong, giggled and fat, none of it fits.

Shaking it, pick axing it through the bled blood. Scab upon scab bored scab...ooze still punches into the soup.

Fridee - Redwood Bar

This Started Out Originally As A Jacket

Anthony Lister in Berlin from rodgezooi on Vimeo.

"Tonight my heart is filled with Shreds..."

Hector was falling asleep. Jaquelin watched but fumbled with her bag of M&M's. It made a sound as she crunkled the paper bag. It echoed in the small theater in the silent places. Other kids between 19 & 20 began to open their candy even though signs and announcements made it clear not to bring any candy into the theater after intermission.

The man onstage wailed.

Some nights he heard the candy bags, but most nights he did not. He knew from years of performing the rope trick for thousands of chimpanzees and armed accountants, boot lickers, kitten shavers and ass wipers that unless a dead possum carcass were to fall from the ceiling and stop the whole thing, then it was useless to make notice of it. "You can't enjoy what you can't see...or hear." Old Kramer used to say.

"Folded pop ups, and stuff of the heart, farewell stuff; feathers, obscure bones of small creatures, portraits in lockets of the less Popes, poop, sailboats, sentimental threnodies from the gaslight era, odd riffs of jazz, corny keepsakes, tufts of hair, confederate dollars sewn into the ruffles of antique gowns, ferrotypes of audacious perukes, satins, lizard skins, coral buttons, ivory needles, silver thimbles and billets-doux from the Pretty Times Done Did."

He had lost them, once more. The catapulted youth of Mexico, the angels of Western America, the raccoons below decks, the girl running sound in the booth on her period, the geodesic dome outside in the dark.

I want your sole

You need to start a ploughdcast right now!

NEPHICIDE by JOGGER from Matthew Robinson on Vimeo.

TOUCHDOWN!! BERNIE KOKER WINS IT ALL!