Friday, December 30, 2011

Dreaming Bob Wills

Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys performed
my life in a six song set in Tulsa
late in forty-seven. A dream, yes, but
they swung, they played San Antonio Rose
and Don't Be Ashamed of Your Age, Tiny,
Kelso, Smokey, Johnny and Herb playing
it dirty, dirty, Tommy crooning my
ups and downs and Bob, who put a fine point
on an uneven performance with a
running commentary of high “ahh haa's”.

Thursday, December 29, 2011


How To Survive Winter

The clever thing about my long
vigil is systems redundancy, an
economic phrase on loan from
civil engineering. Most but not all
of my observations will be made
through artfully hung
windows framing fixed objects
cunningly arranged. Take
the two carved pumpkins placed
just so among bare lilacs
last November. Drinking coffee at dawn
at the kitchen table, leaning
only slightly to the left,
I mark their daily progress toward
soft shell abstraction.
With only a minor adjustment of perspective
an angle opens on a cold
shoulder of snow concealed
from the sun alongside the shed, winter
giving me the business.
The feeders, visible from any
number of windows, draw
the usual rag
tag flock, making observations
of their own, shocked
by the relentless decline
on view indoors. At some point I'll pull
on my boots and plant
myself on the patio. I'll stand
side by side
with the hemlock and we'll
watch the shadows
across the white lawn
take ever smaller

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

2011 Best Of List

The Ten Most Under-Appreciated Things of 2011


It's still free, constant and in the public domain, thus ripe for privatization. The Supreme Court is scheduled to hear a challenge by free market advocates late in 2012. Justice Thomas is not expected to recuse himself despite his standing in the Gravity Denial community. Gravity has it's detractors. NASA, the major airlines and the PGA are among the most vocal. The Neckware Association of America, The American Society of Plastic Surgeons, and The National Pork Producers Council are among it's biggest supporters. Gravity was a big player in 2011. It kept the Republican side of the aisle seated during the State of the Union address but failed to keep Wisconsin State Senate Democrats in Madison in February when Governor Scott Walker decided to eliminate collective barginning rights for state employees. All are urged to enjoy gravity in 2012 while it's still free and available to all.


Words are the main component of Tweets, texts, emails, blogs and to a lesser extent, Facebook, serving only as commentary on images of your nephew smoking a bong and kittens batting balls of yarn. Words failed Governor Rick Perry and spewed from Newt Gingrich like fracking chemicals from a gas well. The air above Iowa was filled with billions of words though none made any sense, stark evidence of their speakers' dire mental state. Words printed on paper became more and more scarce but were spoken in abundance by the couple seated in front of us at a screening of The Decendents. Money, not words, constituted the language spoken by corporations deemed individuals by the Supreme Court and as such, entitled to the protections afforded under the Bill of Rights. Words like job creator, Obamacare and job killing tax policies were repeated over and over and over and over again by Republicans. Words like craven, timid and spineless described Democrats. Use of words will increase in 2012 leading up to the presidential election, but we'll see a precipitous decline in meaning and veracity.

Man Made Fabric

It seems like only yesterday petroleum based fabrics were held in very low regard by the general public except for members of the life insurance industry and immigrant pushcart vendors. Now, one must stand in line and pay handsomely in order to purchase plastic clothing. Fabrics are calibrated to specific types of physical movement. There are pants for running, walking, sauntering, strolling or staggering. Underwear is specialized to a degree unknown outside of certain Amazonian reptile species. Shirts are engineered to wick, channel, absorb, filter, drain, desalinate and store water. Sports wear is a serious business. Cycling clothing provides the only comic relief. Yoga requires an entire sub-genre of fabric engineers working rotating twelve hour shifts inventing pants that render the wearer genderless as a Barbie or Ken doll.

Beach Junk

The sea; deep, blue, inspiration for novelists, singers of shanties and Discovery Channel programmers sure coughs a lot of crap up on the beach. If you walked down a beach in 2011 you were likely to find an impressive collection of medical waste, fecal material of all stripes, sealed but leaking 50 gallon drums, plastic bottles, panties (see above), nylon rope, treated lumber, personal care and contraceptive products, tires, in fact, whole late modal automobiles. We've all seen photos of Hemingway in his library, posed in front of shelves stuffed with huge conch shells, shark jaws, whale skeletons, life rings from the Lusitania and so on. What beach was he walking on?

Brand Stickers on Fruit

It's important to remember that apples, tomatoes, bananas and oranges are industrial products manufactured by multinational corporations from petroleum and other chemical compounds. Tomato may or may not be a fruit, but there's no mistaking the sharp tang of the Periodic Table of the Elements when you bite into one. The ubiquitous stickers remind us we're not eating a ripe, juicy Jonagold, but rather a manufactured widgit designed on software that, with a few coding tweaks, could create a clone army of Komodo Dragons. Be loyal to your brand. Don't remove the sticker. It's no worse for you than the banana hidden underneath.

Infused Liquor

Mad Men recalls a time when liquor drinking was uncomplicated. Morning, noon and night, sleek, flanneled ad men enjoyed an unassuming menu of distilled beverages. Honest tubers or earnest grains providing grist for eye openers, pick-me-ups or the proverbial hair of the dog. Market research revealed that adding sweeteners and artificial flavoring to our old friends bourbon, vodka, whiskey and gin would make them appealing to women, children and puppies. This discovery led to increased market share and profits. Walk into the liquor store and you will find Butterscotch/Marzipan Kentucky Bourbon, Cheese Cake n' Banana Puddin' Tennessee Sippin' Whisky and Capn' Crunch Russian Vodka with Crunch Berries. Public schools are replacing fruit juice and water vending machines with open bars. The effect is not unlike watching a remake of the Dirty Dozen, the Lee Marvin and Telly Savales characters made up to resemble the Olsen twins. Scotch appears to be the only distilled beverage that has escaped the ignominy of flavor infusion. Single malt aged in Shamrock Shake cups can't be far behind.

Direct Meat Sales

Milk delivered daily from the dairy to your house? Long gone. The daily newspaper? On it's way out. The Postal Service? In hospice. But you can still get frozen meat delivered to your doorstep. As business plans go, it recalls the heyday of Fuller Brush or Good Humor. Two men who appear to have once been deckhands on Deadliest Catch arrive on your street. They're driving a '94 white Ford Ranger equipped with a morgue approved ice box mounted in the back. Perspiring, they go door to door offering a variety of vacuum sealed, frozen beef, pork, chicken and sea food products. Does anyone ever buy this stuff? Where does it come from? Where does it go? Do these men do their own butchering? At least Good Humor trucks entertained us with catchy jingles. “Get Along Little Doggie”, anyone?


Like the Supreme Court justice struggling to define pornography, the best definition of hipster remains, “I know one when I see one”. Hipsters generally are youngish to not so young and tend to congregate in the hipper parts of town. Brooklyn is a hipster haven. Fargo is not. Mitt Romney appeared at a rally wearing skinny jeans. This may have signified many things, but not hipster cred. Newt Gingrich may in fact be a hipster at heart but no clothing manufacturer makes the uniform in his size. The look includes tiny jazzman hats, Alan Ginsburg eyeglasses, pocket tees with a suit vest, Clarks Desert Boots, and polyester pants (see above). Fidel Castro facial hair for men and Dorothy Parker makeup for women. In 2011 hipsters could be found smoking at Occupy encampments, dive bars, on urban campuses and living with their parents after college graduation.

The Battle of the Spectrum

A war is being fought between the leviathans of the telecommunications industry. Cable companies, phone companies, computer companies, wire line and wireless entities, game designers, all the little companies that bury cable, string wire, retail cell phones, the FCC, the ICC, the Justice Department, content providers, Disney, Google and Facebook are the combatants. I don't understand it. No one does. Two things are clear: the winner will get lots of money. The money will come from us. In exchange, we will be doomed to forever walk around clutching little electronic flasks, compulsively sipping a cocktail of entertainment, diversion and corporate propaganda as gospel.

Organized Religion

It's as if Chapstick tried to revive sagging sales by advertising their product caused fever blisters or Mrs. Pauls held a press conference to trumpet their fish sticks were made from sea snakes and eels. All the Big Box religions are suffering from declining enrollment. To turn things around they have embarked on a campaign to drive away even more people by becoming more rigid, backward and reactionary. The Mormons, counter-intuitively, hired a Madison Avenue PR firm to help them shed their cult overtones. In 2011 some of the more well known brands busied themselves undoing reforms made over the last forty or fifty years, hinting that the Inquisition was only a paperwork error. In the meantime they have to import clergy from the Third World, a neat reversal of corporate America's habit of shipping jobs overseas. Fundamentalists continue to be the horsefly on the ass end of democracy. Wealth ministries on the other hand, touting their ability to make investor/congregants rich, have seen their numbers sky rocket. God rendered in the image of Man or at least Goldman Sachs.     

Saturday, December 24, 2011



Skin is a road map leading
backward to the beginning.
Every turn, fork and road
side attraction carefully creased
and pleated, trace of a journey
deliberate only in hindsight.
Ruddy record of unexpected
tragedy and chance grace.

December 24, 2011

Friday, December 23, 2011

Interview With A Job Creator

Fox News: We're pleased to have as our guest tonight a Job Creator. Praised by Republican luminaries such as Eric Cantor, Mitch McConnell and Mitt Romney. Reviled by Democrats like Barrack Hussein Obama and his cabal of socialist fellow travelers. This Job Creator has taken time out of his busy week to explain, in a straightforward, plain-spoken manner why he is the most important man in America next to Ronald Reagan and Christ, our Lord and Savior.

Job Creator: Thanks. Good to be here.

FN: How was the trip up?

JC: Great. How can you complain about a Booz Allen Hamilton corporate jet? The drinks were a little watery, but. . . meh.

FN: You must be very busy, trying to rescue the economy from the failed economic policies of this disgraced administration and a President, I might add, mired in Kenyan anti-colonialism.

JC: Well, actually, no. When your producer called I was watching season three of Entourage on DVD. I've never felt better. I'm thinking of taking a ceramics class.

FN: Surely you've been working long hours, trying to cut through knots of regulatory red tape, navigate oceans of uncertain tax policies. Right?

JC: Nah. I mean, yea, the regulations are a bitch. I haven't paid taxes in. . . let's see. It's been awhile.

FN: Let's talk about jobs. Your hands are tied. If it weren't for all the terrible, terrible uncertainty, you would be creating thousands of jobs, right?

JC: Actually, no. Too expensive. I mean, you've gotta pay 'em. Employee parking lots, bathrooms, surveillance systems. It really adds up. I'm sitting on a mountain of cash. Why spend it?

FN: The socialist liberal media would have us believe that unregulated banking and financial practices led to the Great Recession. A blatant lie, of course, when we know it was caused by Federal meddling in the free market and profligate governmental spending. Can you comment?

JC: We're on strike. As bad as unions used to be, the idea of striking for your fair share is ingenious. The best part is we don't have to walk in circles in the rain carrying stupid signs. Profits climb, we invest offshore and wait things out. Like Atlas Shrugged. Personally, I've never cracked it, but I gleaned the high points from listening to House Republican's quote it on the floor.

FN: A job action! How counter-intuitive, rebellious, a daring Gingrichian ploy!

JC: In the old days, the governor called out the National Guard when unions went on strike. Heads got busted. Not pretty. But we're golden. Both parties are falling over each other for a photo op with a Job Creator.

FN: What are your demands?

JC: Only what's coming to us. A level playing field, you know, low wages. Shift benefit costs to the employee, that's huge, that whole 'empowerment' thing (winks). An end to government regulation and taxes. Privatization of the public sector, send those Federal dollars our way. Snuff out the trial lawyers, that's a big one. Shift financial risk to the Feds, etc. It's a short list, but once we get what we want, we'll create more jobs than Carter has pills. Good American jobs (winks again)! So many jobs, people can have three or four at a time.

FN: We here at the network salute you, sir, as you fight the good fight. Godspeed!

JC: Solidarity forever.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Old Man, Look At My Life, I'm A Lot Like You Were

When Kim Jong-un made his public debut last year, he was prepared so that he would look just like his grandfather. He was overweight. He wore his hair slicked back. He clapped his hands at party meetings and received kowtowing generals older than his father with a casual gravitas North Koreans identified with his grandfather.

New York Times, December 20, 2011

  • In a highly staged event in April of last year, Kim Jong-un had an early dinner at the Down Home Cookin' Buffet in Pyongyang. Taking up two parking spaces with his Soviet era armored personnel carrier, he arrived accompanied by a cadre of generals wearing red hats. Kims' visit appeared timed to take advantage of the tail end of the lunch special and the beginning of the dinner special. Midway through the meal one general observed that Kim had made eight trips to the salad bar and was ordered drowned in a bowl of ambrosia. North Korean watchers speculated on the number of broasted chicken thighs Kim stashed in his fanny pack.
  • At an official state dinner in his honor marking Fred Mertz Day, a seated Kim could be seen periodically pushing himself up on his left side and holding the position for several seconds. Generals seated on either side appeared very distressed and ate little. During a particulary long speech by a party minister, Kim offered a finger to the general on his left who hesitated only briefly before pulling Kims' waggling digit.
  • Kim Jong-un was noticably absent from an important military parade in Pyongyang showcasing the latest generation North Korean medium range ballastic missiles. A South Korean Intelligence Services' analysis of Comcasts' Pyongyang program schedule revealed there was a two hour Storm Chasers special on the Weather Channel at the time of the parade. One old North Korea hand in the State Department speculated that Kim may have simply been waiting for local weather on the eights.
  • Late one morning last summer Kim Jong-un was out hosing off his driveway when a neighbor boys' errant baseball landed in his backyard. Kim mobilized the five million member Peoples Army, throwing the entire Korean penninsula into a state of high alert. He sprayed the eight year old, pocketed the ball and went back into the house.
  • An audio feed by a CIA drone in early spring recorded a verbal tirade by Kim Jong-un. He could be heard padding through the house, turning off lights in empty rooms and complaining about the electric bill. At one point, Kim could be heard to say, “who left the goddamn fridge door open. What are you trying to do, cool down the whole friggin' house?”
  • A group of generals attending a Peoples Liberation Counsel event in July, snickered at Kim Jong-un who arrived wearing peach colored seer-sucker trousers, velcro Freeport Walkers and a baggy, stained cardigan. Kim sentenced the generals to public humiliation at a downtown mall where they were forced wear lycra tri-athlete singlets.
  • A visiting Iranian delegation in early December reportedly suffered complications from over-heating. According to one flushed mullah, Kim kept the thermostat set at 88 degrees and insisted the Iranians use extra blankets.
  • Kim Jung-un kept a telemarketer on the line for over an hour one evening last May, talking about his upcoming colonoscopy and sharing his frustrations about worsening Pyongyang traffic. The telemarketer finally fainted from starvation but Kim went on talking for another twenty minutes, ordering a set of steak knives and a Tug Toner flexible barbell.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


Spice Rack

I will make eggs in the morning, not too
early. Coffee in the cold of the back
room, windows on the feeders, half empty,
epicenter of an explosion of
small birds on film run forward and backward,
a mad scramble of egg-layers. Iron
skillet, butter, crack and whisk, yes to toast.
Salt, pepper in shakers, simple gifts, hymns
to a humble meal. Yet, the spice rack brims
with dormant fiery powders waiting
for a chance to ignite underneath our
mothballed rocket of a morning. Crushed red
pepper, curry, cayenne, chilis bristle.
Alas, cumin, just a pinch, my hand, stayed,
a cook wise to incendiary meals.

Monday, December 19, 2011


The Death of Marat

Some art history classes behind me, a
flimsy soapbox on which to
stand, flattered, blathering who knows what about
Caravaggio to the
question, which famous painting would lend itself
best to a class exercise
in color theory. Sinking in the shallow
pond of my knowledge, I loan
my copy of Boltons' Brief History and
disappeer beneath the waves.
Later, dry, revived, hand on helm, riding high,
Bolton reappears. The Death
of Marat over Caravaggio, a
choice I applaud as I sit
stabbed in my bath, rendered in classical pose.

December 19, 2011

Saturday, December 17, 2011


Record Store

Has anything bad ever been stored in a bin,-
forgetting for the moment
confined loonies, in for dark deeds or failure to
comply-not potatoes, say
or the solo mittens and knit caps living lives
of quiet desperation
waiting in vain in dark grade school Lost and Founds for
their young indifferent owners.
Bins packed tight with used record albums organized
alphabetically, canted
cardboard jackets, nothing up their sleeves save for sounds
committed to memory,
on the first hearing. Flat, carved, gleaming disks shot through
with notes, chords and one, perfect
hole through the center of all that noise and messy
creation. I sort through the
bins, a kid again, fingers slower, clumsier,
oiled with that fine patina
of filth, dust and grease, badge of honor bestowed by
Sam the Record Man thirty
years ago for dogged perserverance, combing
the bins for hidden treasure.
Now, pawing the wares in this new store in my own
neighborhood, flanked by youth hip
to wax, adrift upon the thinnest of pretexts,
hunting a pristine Kind of
Blue, some Bob Wills or John Fahey, I part mossy
layers. The bins release an
appeal to my senses, blunted by the perfect
cool of pure digital sound.

December 14, 2011

Thursday, December 15, 2011



Coffee table doorstop tips the scales at
nearly seven pounds of high grade paper
bearing photos full of heartbreak, beauty,
irony, three legs of a stool bearing
the weight of our short run on the planet.
Should we conclude that truth is sold by the
pound, turning a blind eye to the thumb on
the scale? I close the book, Elmore Leonard,
sixteen ounces give or take one or two,
four of them would fit just so inside the
glossy doorstop. Heartbreak, beauty and more
than a drop of irony in a pulp
full of double crossers, saints and sinners.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011


Hey, Jude the Obscure

That sad song, from years
back? Hey,
Jude couldn't make it
Never even tried,
distracted by the
claim one
could leave his lover
in one
of fifty ways. An
of library time
there were fewer than
probably something
to six. In his search
of the
records he was floored
to find
that everybody
need not
get stoned, but sat on
the news
until last April.
He did
something in between,
driving cars for some
star, credited now
as the
guy who put all the
nahs in
Hey Jude and the Night
They Drove
Old Dixie Down, by
my count
fifty nahs or more.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Beginning Painting

Stroke pulled through wet field,
each hair cuts bold trace in time,
earth, oil, paired bright smear.

Sunday, December 11, 2011


What Passes For News

What news? Pirates cut
deals, madmen bury
bombs, pols crave love,
princes rob paupers,
gods rain fire, men rape
hamlets, mothers bear
children, lost children
stare, kings rob princes,
mobs sacrifice scapegoats,
kings reward mobs, madmen
pitch plans, gods feed masses,
pirates trade inside, dupes
devour trash, all want more,
pols reap treasure,
pirates garner power, gods
crush minions, pols sell
books, zealots starve towns,
pundits rape facts, madmen
coopt God, gods starve many,
mothers weep buckets,
children lose innocence, pols
lie smiling, voters cast blindly,
Believers rain fire, paupers
garner blame, fools covet
baubles, Others stand
accused, thieves invoke God.
News? Only
human nature played
out on a sublime stage.

Saturday, December 10, 2011


Morning Huddle

Before we start another busy day of
osmosis, transmissions, conversions and
moments of rapt incredulity might it
not be prudent to review our mission
statement, essential document bearing one
simple imperative, unamended
since our inception? So elemental, so
humble, prone to ginning up when we blazed
with righteous indignation and less noble
appetites, good, again, to recite it
in unison. I won't give my speech about
equality, we all know better. The
heart, four chamber rhythm section with a no-
break clause and skewed genetic pedigree,
the whole operation depends on you, you
wonderous metaphor for crazy love.
Pancreas, spleen, sundry schincters, lungs, glands, teeth,
kudos, but lets be honest, for you it's
just a job, if not this, then barista at
Starbucks, greeter at Walmart or direct
sales. A moment of silence now for our hip
and her replacement, bearing up, I trust
under the wear and tear. I'll wrap this up, the
fingers are drumming, feet are tapping, oh
and prostate? My office in ten. I don't care
about numbers or units or climbing
graphs. If my feet hit the floor in the morning
everyone gets a vacation in Spain.

Friday, December 9, 2011

They're Playing Our Song

They're Playing Our Song

Mitt Romney is ready to rock. The Republican presidential candidate will use Kid Rocks' Born Free as his 2012 campaign theme song. The patriotic pick, first reported by the Detroit News, comes as Romney tries to shake the image that he's a buttoned up elitist who has little in common with the average American.

New York Daily News, December 8, 2011

December 9, 2011 Kid Rock tweets, “Mitt is one fucking awesome dude. Dude's got rock chops and some awesome licks. Rom's great live. Incredibly fucking awesome.”

December 9, 2011 Mitt Romney moderates a round table at the Corktown bar in Munising, a small town in Michigan's Upper Penninsula. He poses for photos in Carhart coveralls and wide brim homburg, does schnapps shooters with locals.

December 11, 2011 Newt Gingrich's team announces that it has selected Howlin Wolf's Three Hundred Pounds of Joy as it's 2012 campaign song. A spokesman for the campaign said “Newt's proud of his body, particularly his lower abdomen and thighs. We think the song strikes the right note at a critical time in America history.”

December 13, 2011 Kid Rock tweets, “Woke up after partying all week. How did my car wind up at the bottom of the pool? Worse, did I endorse Mitt Romney?”

December 14, 2011 A spokesman for Republican presidential hopeful Michelle Bachmann announces she has selected Katy Perry's I Kissed A Girl as it's 2012 campaign song. “Ms. Bachmann's been planning on coming out for some time. The timing just seemed right, just before the Iowa Caucus and we wanted dibs on the song before Herman Cain snatched it up.”

December 14, 2011 Herman Cain reminds America that he only suspended his campaign, he never kissed a girl and gave an icy "no comment" to the word snatch. “The American people know what they want, the Searchers, Love Potion Number Nine, Nine, Nine. It's simple, it's catchy.”

December 16, 2011 Kid Rock tweets, “Romney is driving me nuts. The texts, friending requests. Can't he just leave me alone?”

December 17, 2011 In a bold bid to court the Hispanic vote, Governor Rick Perry announces he has selected Mexican Jumping Bean by Paul Whiteman as his campaign song. In a statement from his Texas hunting club, Person of Color Head, Perry said “I may not be schooled and all, but I know the good Lord must love Mexicans because he made so many of 'em.”

December 20, 2011 The remaining seven candidates for the Republican presidential nomination were embroiled in a heated exchange at a Las Vegas debate over claims to the Procol Harem song, Whiter Shade of Pale. Herman Cain, in a written statement, adopted the Beatles Revolution Number Nine, Nine, Nine, ironically from the White Album. Later, Cain said he thought it was from Magical Mystery Tour.

December 24, 2011 In a bold move to court the Christmas spirit vote, Governor Rick Perry announces Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer by Randy Brooks as his 2012 campaign song.

December 26, 2011 Kid Rock tweets, “Partied with Mitt just to get him off my back. I must admit I was pleasantly surprised. Dude's got an awesome look! He promised to hook me up.”

December 29, 2011 Michelle Bachmann denies her campaign has selected Bitch by the Rolling Stones and Witchy Woman by the Eagles as her 2012 theme songs and condemns those responsible for the hoax. In a statement, Ms. Bachmann said “Like the Dude in the Coen brothers hit movie The Big Lebowski, I hate the Eagles.”

January 2, 2012 Newt Gringrich only smiled enigmatically when asked by a reporter if he was the subject of Carly Simons' hit single, You're So Vain.

January 5, 2012 Herman Cain drops out of the Republican presidential race, suspending his suspended campaign,declaring “Lord take me downtown, I'm just lookin' for some tush.”

January 7, 2012 GOP presidential hopeful Dr. Ron Paul, slow to adopt a campaign song, selects Search and Destroy by Iggy and the Stooges from the Raw Power album. Dr. Paul commented “The song perfectly exemplifies my approach to dismantling the Federal government plus James Williamsons' guitar attack is fucking awesome.”

January 12, 2012 In a bold move to reestablish his evangelical credentials, Governor Rick Perry announces he has selected Stairway To Heaven by Led Zeppelin as his 2012 campaign song. In a statement, Perry said, “I uh (long silence), I think (long silence), um, um, you know (uncomfortably long silence), if there's a, you know, bustle, um, in your, in your, your hedgerow, um (very long silence), don't be alarmed now. It's just a, a, a, sprink, sprinkling for the, um, um (interminably long silence) May Queen.”

January 12, 2012 GOP Presidential hopeful John Huntsman selected Spooky Mormon Hell Dreams, from the cast recording of the Broadway hit musical Book of Mormon by the guys from South Park, then announced he is dropping out of the race.

January 15, 2012 Kid Rock premiers his new song and video, Stiff As A Board. In the video Rock and Rom are seen driving around Salt Lake City in a Lincoln MKS sipping Diet Coke and coming to complete stops at intersections.

Thursday, December 8, 2011


Don't I Know You?

If you resided in my memory at all you must
have been squatting in one of the abandoned
store fronts on the two lane running straight as
a nail past the defunct rail yard parceled into
lots never sold, survey flags paeons to dreams of
manufactured housing. I apologize for relegating
you to the outskirts of town, but property here is
dear, boundaries fixed, all the prime locations gone
to family and friends and enemies and Lacy Webb
from fourth grade and Jerry from my first job who
sprinkled pot into the wedding food we
made. That, and I've begun to notice whole
neighborhoods razed, scraped clean, returned
to meadow, only birdsong and shallow cellar craters
to the horizon. You sprang fully formed, swiveled
on your bar stool, sly trick of synaptic algorithms,
like the misfired launch of an ancient Sputnik
transmitting a Good n' Plenty jingle into my
brain, taut and sweating with the effort of reading
E.O. Wilson. You entertained me with an impromptu
before and after, the former hazy, the latter frightening
with your hunched back, eyes like odd and even dice and
your mouth slowly kneading words into doughy vowels.
Your town is populated by ghosts. We shook hands,
said goodbye and you returned to your haunted stool.

December 8, 2011

Wednesday, December 7, 2011



Marks our trips' first step,
bows to new, fast modes. Quaint march
spurs us toward the end.

December 7, 2011

Tuesday, December 6, 2011


Finger Tips

The World At Your Finger Tips she promised,
a pretty young girl
in red, cooing something about Gs and
4s or was it 5s
in big blazing font in the Sunday Times.
A right fielder by
inclination, the world, I complained, that
wobbling, spinning sphere,
was more than I could handle, man my age.
Fearful of bobbling
earth, old girl gasping her ragged last breath,
I pled my case for
the pebbled skin of oranges, the bark of
old growth white pine trees,
Rings of Saturn grooves round a Band LP,
wrapped bike handlebars,
the cool, smooth shell of hand blown glass holding
Argentine malbec,
a sharp Dixon Ticonderoga on
fine, white sketching bond,
the still smooth hands of the woman I love,
my finger tips pledged
to touch lesser worlds I'll remember with
my ragged last breath.

December 6, 2011