for new orleans

brothers rappin
tappin the beat
with tapped sneakers
stompin the beat
watching people
out in the street
workin rythmn
so the can eat
and in nightfall
slowly retreat
to courtyards

pork lard and beans
clean wooden floors
protect secret
shared garden lore
and the wind blows
while children snore
breathin heavy
while out their door
drunk tourists shout
and riots soar
like Bourbon

urban mornings
mourning the night
locals awake
early to fight
the heat to sell
tourist delights
and earn freedom
from the dark plight
of condemned slums
with all their might
and Voodoo

true to haitians
nations rely
on the sacred herbs
that mamas dry
making potions
from bones and eyes
with blue balls and ritual cries
'tween the Earth and Sky
so don't spread

sacred stories
glories untold
you'll catch a glimpse
buy what is sold
local paintings
may reveal gold
pay attention
to what is told
every whisper
may soon unfold

history seams
dreams in a bow
infinite paths
and fields to sow
with cotton sores
cleansed by the flow
waters don't slow
setting the pace
for jazz to grow
like Taro

automatic new orleans 1

cafe of the world
trellised curls
fall from triangular hats
over the ears of fast moving waitresses
who will retire to trellising balconies
and brood up potions
to bring enough money
to pay the bills
cults of dark night walkers
purse the streets looking for vicitms
worthy of violent carnage
unsuspecting drunks
pan out
lost from the heat of night
and too many hand grenades
strange run arounds
and circles spun by voodoo priestesses
in attempt to keep the mystery
in line and in time with the history
while small shops sell
tastes of religion
for three times the price
thrice you may pass the same place
only to find that it never existed
in haste you run to the river
bounding over train tracks
while mississippi smells tingle
your senses mingle with the thick moist air
not a care in the world
as everyone celebrates
eatin' crawdads and gumbo with cornbread on the side later
eatin' po'boys on decater
staring at waiters as their faces begin to shine
from persperation and trepidation
wondering why they don't play sax in the street
to earn their eats
ants crawl over feet
in retreat of larger bugs in the kitchen
and i'm itchin' to see joe
he's an artist that i know
he paint's the world through bottle bottom lenses
and questioned the millenium for the sake of young travellers
street dwellers
turn to stone after 2am
avoid arrest
is this a test
can dreams come true with a little voodoo
hoodoo in time with ritual chants
drummers prance out into the street
keeping the beat
rat ta do do ta bat bidat ti do
and the sax screams through the night
drudging souls
out of the cemetary
to do their dance
in a trance
and the colors are streaming out of bead stores
and the tourist bars move quicker
as the air gets thicker
and my movements get slower
and the river is flowing
out into the gulf i gulp
close my eyes
but the beat is too strong
rat ta doo do ta bat bidat ti doo do
and the tones piercing
boo doo do wa ah ooh bododoowa ah oh
and the chants too true
and there are spirits in my shoes
morning comes and only the memory of drums remain

automatic new orleans 2

i stroll down the french quarter
admiring the trellesed balconies
old time jazz music gently drifts out of store fronts
mixing and mingling tones in a barrage of rythmn
bod doo do wa ah oh bododoowa ah oh
saxaphones hum out licks and artists fill the streets
taking in the sounds and the heat
sticky humidity that can be cut through
by tourists and business men
then coffee
fast moving waitreses in triangular hats and white medical shoes
glide through the busy cafe du monde

automatic new orleans 3

the morning came un-expected
with screaming sirens and local bustle.
not tired i stroll the balcony lined streets
now quieted for a brief moment as the day dwellers softly awaken
and the night crawlers crawl into bed.
i find a lone mother of thousands lieing beside a potted tree.
i sigh reclining myself to the sidewalk.
it is refreshing to see plants in this city; so old and material.
life is shaded here.
even the homes are hidden amongst courtyards with storefront facades
and no invitations.

prove me wrong

if i were to commit myself to writing
it would take me 2,085 days of writing one worthy idea a minute
for eight hours a day
to compile a body of 1,000,000 worthy ideas


we must forge towards higher elevation

the old days

it's that sound
that makes the sun spin
radiating my skin
i turn within
my thoughts
begin to spin like ink drops
my heart stops
skips beats
to a blue monkey rythm
as i stomps my feets
to Chuen my meditation
communication my motivaton
and also my methods of creation

a pound

i was pounding
silencing the pounding
that was going on
around me i was pounding
to quiet my mind
but my mind was pounding
pounding the sound of
quiet all around me
pounding me
a pound a pound
a pound

prayer to a false guru

fon woman with one long tail
of hair that draped like a tapestry veil
hear my call and do me well
and i promise not to tell

skat attack

rat a batidote
ti bopdop doo
dwadote ti skeet dat
opibat ti dat ti dat
ti batdatdodat
ooh bow dote
di skeedat
ti dat ti dat
ti dat ti dat

nursery rhyme

"who do you know?
so why you here?
don't ask questions
and answer clear
listen careful
and don't show fear
they'll spin circles around you, hear?
and for lost time you'll shed a tear
of dread"

how the rain came

the first women ripped the flesh from her body to skin a drum
so that millions of hands could send messages through her skin
to the feet of dancers dropping beats
and she floated above them through unified conciousness
until one day the clouds fell in love with her and enveloped her
sending their children back to the earth in raindrops
-now when you beat a drum the music arouses the clouds and births the rain again

repetition of space

space is important
is space important
space is important
is space important
space is important
don't be ignorant
ignorant don't be
open your eyes to see
your eyes open
have i spoken
your eyes open
open your eyes to see
ignorant don't be
don't be ignorant
space is important
is space important
space is important
is space important
space is important

I have never been worried about safety in numbers

Palm fronds abscond safe conversation, pleasantly distancing lives confused by a momentary weakness. A flow of energy escapes conversation, leaving one speechless in a search of solidarity. Amazing how love can leave one without history as synapses delve into spaces yet to be filled. Vices leave me sitting still. I like that we don’t need to speak or fuck or relate to love each other. Worlds set apart by distance can be pulled closer, imagining nothing, while life takes its course. A rhyme like mélange of other psyches are dressed in a reality another can never know, and so, acquaintance seeks friendship elsewhere. I promise I can relate to any situation as I’ve rolled with the fucking and the punching of the ages. Distance can be timeless as evolution continually takes course. Forced conversation seeks like-minded thoughts. So what do you do? It’s the question of the hour. Empowerment comes from relinquishing ownership. Pages are never wasted to the thoughts of a moment. Japanese stars will be ours. Money has corrupted our artistic value in a positive light. Discomfort is reminiscent of the pulsating that erupts out of the depths where the heart holds light. I sit watching mother and child in sequence. They are developing a new speech. The love of multiple generations is extracted from the moment. To seek and find a time of happiness in a fleeting sun can be undone by nothing. Circumstance is set into motion by salted nuts and small pants crab walking backwards into memories of innocence. We are constantly creating a second of realness.

for love and money

$700 don’t just buy shoes girl
it buys piece of mind
inspired by a life of have and have nots
thoughts manifest into afternoons shopping
dropping dollars justified by helping the economy
Dramamine to ease the nausea of poverty
a full moons light shines upon karma
darkness is lifted from tear swooning eyes
deriving pleasure from wax smoothed thighs
dripping with a longing desire to be cared for
emulating waves sounds through peppered vernacular

and more and more

fortified laughter
awakes to mornings after
words hurt
cutting actions
pass to dreaming
scheming plans
for a future built on good intentions
built upon a future of good intentions
I can’t remember which

drudging memories
lost to bloody maria’s
poetically conversing
in fantasies passing
coercing the convalescence of youth
in a purging of energy
inspired by music

forgotten bondage leashed to expulsion
one last fuck to prove your manhood
stranger interest streams moments digital
forgive and forget it’s straight from the bible

libel bears consequence
to mental-logical

residence in moments flicker
convolution expands like water on the floor
a door locked hides a shadowed confusion
loves fleeting arrows flank
goddesses and whores
forever more

sign on the door

Years ago I was about to open a door. On it was a photo of a doctored street sign. It read DE END. There are some crossroads that we come to that have the same DE(AD )END message plastered to them and at each of these points we are faced with an option. What of it? What of India? What of true love? What of liars? What of drunkards? What of lost souls? What of rumors? I am not a part of your lost reality. I am strong. What choice do you make? The act of questioning creates a current to synapse. A judgement creates a transformational manifold. Within it a wormhole divined by options. Ever present to divided ideas. The inner space is the outer space. DE END.

a meditation in edition

Defined by existence aligned with lyrics
We’re reminded of a time when things were much more simple
It’s a ripple; we want to see our future as an oracle
A time-lapse miracle makes us stronger
And we hesitate to stand up
Rise up as economics tries to tie us up
Fill thy own cup relentlessly
Intellectual prosperity is our destiny
Spread the word of voices heard
Living in a time of galactic change
A derangement of values define systematic control
A shot of Hennessey… a comic trilogy
People dying; pounding the earth
Space for the rest of us
Protection given to consequential rhythm
Bouts poetic reason
Viscerally honest
Happily ironic
Time dwindles thumbs twiddle
Concepts riddle questions channeled
Handled by amassed power subliminal
In an abysmal sweat of break beats and tangled tongues
We are all the same
Fumbling frantically tantric
Silly antics uprising planetary phonetics
Dressed in fragments of Druids, Mayans, and Africans
Plummeting spherically within a spiral continuum

i wrote this while dreaming, so sue me if it's too fast

There is nothing like breaking your own heart. Fear of failure combined with a lack of trust that I will ever be satisfied has reared the gorgon’s head once again. The ironic part is that I actually could have avoided it all if I wasn’t such a pussy. True love sometimes kills the imagination leaving one speechless. I have let myself, out of a desire to be dominated and consumed by love, forget the strategy for which it is played. I have over thought and conceptualized the sensuality so puissantly that it has left me dry and smelling of an aged woman. I sometimes wish I could have the freedom and sterility of a man, that the vestal responsibility that comes from soft curves and a male dominated history would fall from my cock in a provable pleasure cream dripping down your face. I wonder if it is really the heart that breaks, rather than the psyche. Like a mental submission to the societal insecurities strapped to my sex like a cerebral chastity belt. Fondled fodder is everywhere, but to possess ones heart is like taking on the responsibility of a conjoined twin. You want to kill it off sometimes, but understand that the shared organs would no sooner take your life as well.


my gaze falls softly explicate aginst the philodendron
its curves arise within me a peace of mind
long tempered by meditation
dressed in a thought of you

pursuant thoughts
dripping with inconclusion
send chivalrous shivers
to cold hands

i dare myself to chatter
overcumb by the inability to move
solitary monotony derives power from
paralytic drifting

tonal sounds compress lingering desires
dancing conspires a late night retire
wind swirling leaf songs tranquils the evening
placidly dreaming of loving and feeling

the stuff i never want to write about

shoot me now that i've seen the polycubic boundardies of reality!
it's too funny and the laughter that wells up in my eyes could illuminate any wall.
so what are you going to do stick a clove of garlic in your ear?
let's go to the didn't forget did you?
the rain outside has me crying the way running water can make you have to pee.
the dawn is approaching.
without consistency of pattern, life has me floating through space.
yes i did realize that everyone i know will die.
it's for this exact realization that i want to ride an elephant with you.
it's why i've lived beneath fallen eaves of timber.
heated by embers flickering by day.
i love you so much, i think i forgot how to do it.
as much as i hate to admit it, i think i'm afraid.