Candy Rock Mountain

Sweet queens knock craddles and large boulder lice
police rap murder and act play-pen nice
Shock and disorder and stuff mounted mice
vegas tune neon the chip tripping dice
I-Jacal blue highway quick utah heist
now with full moon all hip happy iced
praying to sun burned right handed christ

Moving Suck Blues

JesterHound plays harmonica for the risen
he lies of the relics he has collected
he scrapes the lamp for pollen resin
and stamps the papers of the forgiven
He looks for ghost towns of the west
in the picture houses of new orleans
he plays harmonica for the risen
and can adjust pitch for cause of death
he can negotiate surrender
he has seen the chariots on I-95
he plays harmonica for the risen

Jack it Up

Where have all the beanstalks gone?
Fiddy and Fie couldn't eat all the pie
so the sky on the pie it has fallen
It was swollen with english muffins
it was stuffed with black birds
and shoes and ovens and wolves
happily ever.......
What
No it never happens like that
the cow dies
it never rains

Lake Front Blues

Plants and Phantoms sing:
"it was never sex only golden armadillo rods
basement smoke and moon rings
good and evil as a context for the fall
chaos guarded blind gates
it was and ever only will be
naked bulbs and pictures and fingers
lost on the edge of the great gorge
TV track lines on the forearm
between the toes and ear lobes and ass crack
lost and sin and misunderstood perceptions of both."
Join the chorus like a greek revival
new england winters in floridian dreams
only islands.

Once Upon a Time

It's a fine time for beer and wine
on 22nd and pine
squeeze your sleeze and upper please
on whiz and cottage cheese

stun the cum on uppity nun
and eat the hot dog bun
It's nice for lice at this price
roll the sopping dice
Sartre was tart on top of dart
make the french riot fart
you're wet and set and I bet
it was before I left
try whore folklore and like before
you naked on the floor
drunk like skunk on silly funk
you end up in a truck
neglect respect and for effect
I leave you in the net

Spacing Problem Blues

I am an equitorial cowboy

the one thought of at night

I turn tiny heat moaning

into circles of flight

I smoke three cigars in the morning

& then dress like a saint

I make the girls by the river

feel all wet and faint

I ramble out by the town line

but I can never go in

I am destined for fire

unlock the fish from its fin

I take pains to be noticed

by the wolves in their prime

Axe carrying weirdos

& the hall spit blind

Pentacostal Blues

Fire on wenesday on friday again
tongue speak and lick and do it again
the gnostic in drag speaks of lovers and friends
"What of this silence that's sung of in song
what of the rightness that comes out of wrong
what of the hillbilly drag office thong?"
What of the what and it's whatness again?
nothing be nothing and then nothing again?

knock out raw fire and mountains and gloat
the mountain that's mother in space will still float
build not your shuttle or hyper non-boat

end is end fire or otherwise

From Logos with Love

Dear Minister,

It has recently come to my attention that the rugs are flaming and may soon begin to burn like a flag at a protest. This does not surprise me considering that you are the Cabinet Minister for flaming rugs but I would like to voice some concerns on behalf of my people. First off we would like you to develop a concrete exit strategy and system of allocation of resources in the event that the rugs should become too flaming and people from the country have to walk on bare floors. Second, we question the intelligence reports blaming the flaming on groups of ant-rug insurgents infiltrating the regime. I would like to formally inform you that our Cabinet Committee Representative will be introducing a resolution to create an external and bi-partisan review committee to be placed under the House and Ways sub-Committee for True Oversight at the next meeting in six weeks. Consider yourself warned.

Sincerely,

Bubba McMurphy

Cat Stuck Orgy

Betsy Ross and Atlas in a sideways wind game
for the sake of fire and freedoom and shame
who knew the players would all end up lame
some of'em not even knowing their name

Crossing the Delaware on a mare with no steam

expecting something better from a corn-cob dream

stealing and ringing the locks of the scheme

seeing what others thought they had seen

who knows and who cares a line with no end

take all your pictures but none of'em send

no one wants to hear from you again

you stoned out drunk once son of a friend

Tables turn out from the curtain behind

fuck what you wish and leper be blind

no one is left to raise you this time

the age of foul whispers and writing and crime

Quote Blues

"I got my black dog barking
yes he is now
yes he is
outside my yard.
Well I'll tell you what he means if I just didn't have to try so hard."
- B. Dylan
"The messiah will come when he is no longer needed."
- F. Kafka

One Page Story

It was that last great season before the end – it was fire brimstone and blues. Malynda left her head in the basement and Jackson was left in the garden proper surrounded by weeds and a deep penetrating feeling of doom. When he thought of things he had murderous premonitions but looking in the mirror he was surrounded by weakness casting his eyes down at his shoes. Malynda felt beautiful in her sun-suits pacing back and forth the concrete floors of the basement. She sang her own songs cast to music in her head. Night would come and night would go – nothing ever happened and it never got any better or any worse. They grew old and they died and they only saw each other once in all the time spent so close.

Jackson born of Midwest dust grew from Kansas vines and left like a graveyard when he sun was going down. He picked apples and sheared sheep, ate beans from a can and tried to be the new hobo folk hero but never made any friends. He had a hair lip and a short temper. He smoked cigarettes backwards and always tried to quit. He settled down in Memphis where he did men favors and sucked on lima beans soaked in gasoline. He had a garden on his head that he never trimmed and soon the sun scorched the grass away. He was lonely and stuck in the back gutter of some dream he never shared. He had no opinions about anything except himself and those were ill formed diatribes about poker hands. He could treat no woman like a queen for he was never a king.

Malynda was raised as a queen in south Savannah where the ghosts of slaves haunt the old trees and play things. She grew under a great sun hat made of wicker white and pale as her skin. She learned to paint her fingernails black and drink gin from the bottle. She never ate pie. She was scared of the ringing of phones and walked in the middle of the street even when there was a sidewalk. She was always chewing gum. She left when her parents were arrested for sodomy and caught a train to New York City. She prayed for scales and fins and eyes to see the depth of the Hudson. She thought up-state was the part of the park she had never seen. She was a belle with no knocker never aware of the war.

The war had raged for years in sand pits they had never heard of. The powerful told the papers it wasn’t important, the papers told the people the same, the people told each other it was for the best, the best was redefined, meanings of things were switched back and forth in confusion until everyone thought nothing was going on. And at that point whatever it was was nothing and nothing had no mind to pay.

Malynda threw-up on Jackson at a bust stop in Iowa City. She ate some bad mushrooms trying to flee the dust of New York City.
“I grew up in dust.” Said Jackson lighting a backward smoke
“I grew up with ghosts” Said Malynda with wide eyes.
They knew somewhere that they would miss each other. They rode the bus to Denver and found a home in a salvage lot by a low rolling river. She went down to the basement to think things over and never came out. He wanted to start a garden but couldn’t find any seeds.

Not of My Own

Dubber in the cascade of falling wheat and charcoal took the hammer to the coutyard and dressed in coke sheets for the coke lady was to be in the next town over and he wanted her to pick up his scent. He was addict and she was a door to door woman.