This blog, a host of other blogs, forums, message boards, internet sites where I post and my website that has been on the internet for the last six years, 2001-2008—are each and all part of a tapestry of poetry and prose that I have created across the internet. This literary creation by this self-employed individual, this retired teacher and lecturer who is now 64, attempts to endow various themes and a wide range of social science and humanities subjects with many layers of meaning. In these six years on the internet I have evoked a complex range of responses in readers who come upon my work, responses which range from lavish enthusiasm to utter indifference and quite intense criticism.

mein kompfy sweat pants and your old sweater met their match today.
they danced through our conversation, and fought the whole time I ate pancakes.
The 3 of us thought of you when I bit my lip, denounced god, went blind, and even when I typed this meaningless drab til 6 in the morning.
I think they’re going to be good (meaningless) friends. Not the kind that are nice to each others faces and then talk shit the moment the other has left the room. More like the kind that meet by fucking the same mutual friends a week apart, cause they are young and carefree and have so much in common, not cause they are roach infested whores.
They look so happy together, great things are going to come of this, I promise.

One day, Ishmael came upon three telephone poles.
They stood along the railroad tracks in line with countless others that ran away into the distance as far as the eye could see.
Ishmael had taken little notice of them as he had traveled on. They had been part of the landscape, rising like crucified trees, bent and splintered, some leaning crazily to one side or the other, black with tar, oil, and smoke, scarred by the wind, sun. rain, and ice, some strung with useless rusting wire, some not, some with cross beams, some without. They rose in the midst of the winterdead weeds that stabbed into the air like spears.

Constant cycle
Shifting, so inhibited.
No change in pace.
Striking that black
Mark on
Each
And
Every
Last
Second
And driving me
to my
Last wits.
Mocking,
long spider like digits
Chanting
in the same foreign rhythm
Over
And over
Awakening
the beast in me.

Checking back into the real world
Ever so slowly.
Making the rounds,
Looking at my watch
Twice,
It has plagued me relentlessly all night.
Trying to piece together this vast puzzle of my
Parietal and temporal lobes
So muddled
My mind wanders incessantly,
So lustful after
Reality
Yearning tastefully
For my own piece of the grand
Sanity pie.

Throwing that
Big black box
of wires
off
of the bridge
felt right.

It felt

Liberating,

Invigorating.

The pavement hugged the box,
Embraced the wires
Like a mother adores her son
Perhaps the one thing
In the past year
That I have come to
find irresistible
Or even relish in?
Destroying something.
For some reason
In that one moment of catharsis,
Each and every

Can’t even avert myself from
spitting out my sins as I
gaze ravenously
at the ambiguous, obedient, passive statuettes
that line this lump of metal.
.
The sublime foliage
moves beside me
and I’m wishing
I could just
reach out
so I could feel something
real, or tangible.
Impenetrable ramparts
line my mind’s eye
my eye’s mind.
Enter catalyst,
A bitter breeze confronts me.

Pass the conductor
and all of the submissive passengers,
Pass the numerous fever red and
suffocation blue seats,

Stand on the edge of the doorway,

I could taste all of
The branches of the
Soaring sycamore
tree as
I
hit
each
one
on
the
way
down.
So low
the blood on my lips is impenitent.
Lacking morals,
I could not even grasp on
to one last leaf,
Each slipped through my dirty fingers
like the
placebos that
rest in my
crooked palm.

To wander is to live
Each morning
The sun has risen for us
The watchers
The rays drip upon us
Running down each face
We taste the glory of
Obscurity
Without a map
The road ahead
Beckons

You take your time
Molasses.
Things are seldom just
Clear-cut.
The unvarying
Lull of the ringing chimes,
Not such a hypnotic spell as
I had hoped for.
Scattered and
Serrated minds like
Empty wine glasses in a bar.