c list

been thinking
about the overlooked pear

getting short shrift
compared to the more
popularly consumed fruits 

the banana orange
famous
household apple
exotic mango 

but at times the
apple is too tart 

the pear can work
better
in a cake or pie
cobbler

appreciated
sustenance
like the siblings of a more
well-known celebrity 

tom hanks’s brother jim
ron howard’s brother clint
chad lowe maybe preferable
to rob

the poor pear doesn’t
get the press
barely a mention in
the magazines
but where would we
be without
someone
like clint howard?
who would die in all
the movies?
who would take
the bullets
for the more
glamorous fruit
the ones
responsible for
the posters on
your bedroom
walls the ones
you get naked
to in your minds

your dreams
with few shapes
like pears?

 

my rent is stuck to the ceiling

on the ceiling
of the comet tavern
is about 800 dollars
worth of bills
just stuck there
some crumpled
some nearly
hovering just below
the tiles

the fans blow on
them shifting
them subtly like
sunflowers
in a field
somewhere else
somewhere i
can’t afford
to travel to

 

today: to do

i could go to the grocery store
shower
i could
fill out the form
to consolidate my debt
mail it in

i could work on a job application for
subway sandwiches
pack for the road-trip
few days away
make phone calls
work on crap novel
read
meditate
simplify my life
i could put a bullet through my temple
maybe the back of my throat 

i could do all of it
just check them off
one by one

 

neighborhood

smoking cigarette front porch before noon monday. i see hear young couple cross way front of small apartment complex. she: "i'm tired of you talking to me like that. tired of this shit." he: "you ain't should be talking to me like that" she: "you fucking yelling at me for smoking cigarettes. you smoked all the damn cigarettes. that cigarette is the first one i got." he: "bitch, shut the fuck up." he throws something small in the direction of her back. they both walk inside the apartment, shut their door, i yell: “i have cigarettes! you can have some of my cigarettes!” they don’t hear me because they are inside and i am outside. maybe i should go knock on their door, offer my cigarettes. i imagine the possible responses: (1) “thank you, that was nice of you to come over here and offer your cigarettes.” or (2) “bitch! we don’t want your cigarettes. put a shirt on motherfucker!” as a neighborhood compromise, i throw a cigarette into the middle of the street, roughly equidistant from my front door and their front door. i wonder which one of us will smoke that cigarette later? maybe the 15-year-old lawn boy who injects heroin before he mows my lawn will pick it up, smoke it before starting the mower but after he has injected heroin. my community is very important to me.

 

jo h: part 2

my 15-year-old lawn boy johnathan or jo h nathan as i call him consumes heroin. no joke nor exaggeration. a person might write “my 15-year-old lawn boy injects heroin” when they mean “my 15-year-old lawn boy (here in the suburbs, for example) is complicated.” my lawn boy jo h does heroin. on a regular basis. we have fun conversations about it. i give him the warnings you would expect though: i warn him it is not a good idea to do heroin and then mow the lawn unless he has a quality mower. a poor-quality mower can potentially detract from the experience of a good heroin high. regardless, this is all very curious. my lawn boy also looks like a young leonardo decaprio. that is, if decaprio were from north central indiana and intermittently did heroin. i suppose the yard boy jo h could resemble decaprio in the basketball diaries, though that film depicts new york in the 1990s. jo h and i also have a very rare exchange worked out. he showed up to my house last week, my girlfriend opened the door, and jo h asked, “is he here?” jo h does not know my name i don’t think. he calls me “he,” which pleases me. on this occasion, jo h asked if he could borrow my mower to mow another house. i said “fine,” and i did not see my mower nor jo h for three days, which is also fine. jo h left his blue cruiser bicycle on my front lawn, and i enjoyed riding the cruiser. three days later i was driving my car, and i noticed jo h mowing another person’s lawn. jo h: “i will drop your mower off later.” me: “okay, you know you left your bicycle at my house?” jo h: “i did? which one?” me: “the blue one.” after running errands i returned to my place of residence. my lawn mower was in the middle of my lawn, the blue cruiser bicycle gone, and in its place a skateboard. jo h only utilizes one vehicle at a time, which i admire. the other day i asked jo h how much heroin he likes to do at one time, and he replied “as much as it takes.” “fair enough,” i said. lately, i’ve been riding the skateboard around the neighborhood and to work. i am getting pretty good at it. my lawn is due for another trimming. i wonder if jo h will bring over rollerblades.

 

jo h: part 3

was walking lloyd round the neighborhood. a man in a new-looking ocean blue toyota corolla pulled up. "you see a white car speed down here? he hit somebody down there, ran through two lights." i told him i had heard someone screeching around the corner but i had not seen the car. lloyd and i walked on. two blocks away we saw a young man in red shirt, baggy jeans, being handcuffed by a police officer. an older man, white shirt, pontificating wildly to another officer in the yard. i noticed the white car, all smashed in the front. the young man being handcuffed, his pants started to fall down below his cheeks, grey underwear exposed. funny moment: the officer grabbed the young man’s pants, pulled them up, and held them there while he pushed the young man towards the police car. the other man, the one in the white shirt, pontificated even wilder. i yelled out: “you know jo h?!” the handcuffed young man shook his headother police officer in the yard. I noticed the white car, all smashed up in the front. ut, don’t worry. i give him all of the warnings you would expect: i warn him it is not a good idea to do heroin and then mow the lawn unless he has a quality mower. a poor-quality mower can potentially detract from the experience of a good heroin high. regardless, this is all very curious. my lawn boy also looks like a young leonardo decaprio. that is, if young decaprio were a redneck from north central indiana who frequently does heroin. i suppose the yard boy, Jo H could resemble decaprio in the _basketball diaries_, though that film depicts nyc in the 1960s [1970s?]. very curious indeed. Jo H and i also have a very curious exchange worked out. he showed up to my house last week, my girlfriend opened the door, and Jo H asked, “is he here?” Jo H does not know my name i don’t think. he only calls me “he,” which pleases me. on this occasion, Jo H asked if he could borrow my mower to mow another house. i said “fine,” and i did not see Jo H nor my mower for three days. which is okay. Jo H left his blue cruiser bicycle on my front lawn, and i enjoyed riding the cruiser around. three days later i was driving my car, and i noticed Jo H, who was mowing another person’s lawn. Jo H: “i will drop your mower off later.” me: “okay, you know you left your bicycle at my house?” Jo H: “i did? which one?” me: “the blue one.” after running errands, i returned to my place of residence. my lawn mower was in the middle of my lawn. the blue cruiser bicycle was gone. in its place was a skateboard. it seems Jo H can only utilize one vehicle at a time, which i admire. the other day i asked Jo H how much heroin he likes to do at one time, and he replied: “as much as it takes.” “fair enough,” i said. lately i’ve been riding the skateboard around the neighborhood and to work. i am getting pretty good at it. my lawn is due for another trimming though. I wonder if Jo H will bring over rollerblades.. the cop told me: “sir, you need to move along.” lloyd decided to pee in the lawn. “the beast wants what the beast wants,” i said. “move along, please.” i saw the man with the corolla down the road. he had a duck dynasty-type beard and one missing front tooth. i hate to say duck dynasty. i don’t think this man watches reality television. he: “guess they got the guy.” “guess so,” i said. “can’t believe it,” he said. “can’t believe what?” “i can’t believe the cops did what they said they was gonna do.” “do they not usually?” “shit. never usually. ‘cept a couple times.”

 

jo h: part 17

jo h came over today on his blue cruiser bicycle. it did not have a chain, which i asked him about. "bike's busted." "how do you ride it?" i asked. "i ride it only downhill." "why don't you just walk?" "i hate walking." "what happened to your skateboard?" "a car busted it. snapped it in two." those dreams, it seems, are dead. i asked jo h about his heroin hobby. "trying to say 'no' to all the things i used to say 'yes' to. but, this other day i was in bed and this son-of-a-bitch put a needle in my arm.” “what did you do?” “busted him in his teeth.” “what did he do?” “i called the cops, told them what he did.” jo h bummed a cigarette off me. “just trying to say ‘no’ when i used to say ‘yes,’” he repeated. i didn’t mention the cigarette. he did a poor job on my lawn this time. a poorer job than usual. i hate to mention it, but he did a better job when he was on heroin. maybe that dream is dead too.

 

my hometown (or, the town where i pay 1/2 the rent on a home)

1

they say axl rose lived in lafayette indiana
for the first 17 years
they also say axl
is now crazy and delusional

i am not going to start a band

2

i drank a bottle of whiskey
took a bunch of pills
woke up
played tennis

3

this super tuesday
promises to be the best
super tuesday since
the last super tuesday
two weeks ago

 

hole

early morning at donut place listening to four old men shoot the breezy shit: 

“lucian there has a motorcycle with a bunch of green lights on it.” 

“five dollars per light. spent about twelve thousand dollars on those lights.” 

“got tipped off by frank in lebanon [indiana]. he’s got a bunch of red lights on his.” 

“we knew you had lost your mind.” 

“you got a grandson?” 

“one in texas. he’s ornery, spoiled. won’t even mow the yard.” 

“my grandson is 16, his dad doesn’t let him mow the yard.” 

“kids today so lazy. ain’t doing ‘em any favors.” 

“that george bush looks the same now don’t he?” 

“same as he did when he was a kid. you know it’s him.” 

“he’s a good old boy ain’t he?” 

“better than the muslim we got now.” 

these four old men at this donut place are watching a documentary playing on an old television in the corner about the bush family dynasty. it’s six in the morning. i pay the $2.36 for my donut and coffee. 1950s prices in indiana. all else. they say the elderly are supposed to be wise. full of wisdom and all that. but these old balls here are just a bunch of . . . oh, well, you know what they say: don’t focus on the hole in the donut. maybe i’ll get some green lights for the motorcycle i can’t afford. maybe i’ll mow my yard for a change, drive to lebanon.

 

i am a texan
for allen ginsberg

i am a texan
i do not raise my lonestar to the death penalty

i am a texan
the suburbs make me puke chorizo in my mouth

i am a texan
my guns are buried 190 feet below the alamo

i throw my bullets into the gulf i am a texan my father works for big oil and gas i ride a bicycle to buy rubber bullets shoot dallas billboards in south padre island

i am a texan i am a libertarian my liberties include the right to give away my possessions expose myself at willie nelson’s picnic swim in mcconnaughey’s pool while he attends longhorn football steal lance armstrong’s expired bicycle wear rick perry’s eyeglasses at a gay bar dope my own blood with fiesta vegetables the red blood cells of capitol pacifists

i am a texan i have earned the right to steal a george w bush painting i sneak border crossers with my mind i do not apologize for eating vegan breakfast tacos at the steakhouse i am a texan i move across the regions and topography of this vast state on foot my lone star is a lotus position

my lone star is a sad meditation into my beer i am a texan my capital punishment takes place in the austin public library i am a texan i am a pacifist i am not sorry i am a texan sam houston gave me a blowjob stephen f austin gave me a rim job i am a texan i use a bowie knife to make salad i am a texan davie crockett has been reincarnated in the form of a poodle that licks the peanut butter off my taint i am a texan i am not sorry my lone star is a thousand thoughts about harming no one in the hill country my terrorists are made of wax they are in museums i am not sorry move to oklahoma if you are upset thump your bible when i put your gun up my ass pull the trigger for you to see what a texan’s brain matter looks like at your feet and yeah i’m a texan i do not apologize

 

now

trying to read eckhart tolle’s power of now
but the only powerful nowness
i feel is this cramped apartment
this depressed dog
that needs to be
walked in the rain
the constant back pain i have
the crippling astronomical debt i am hoping to avoid
the reality that the construction sounds
next door are jarring enough
to knock any diligent zen master off his mat 

(try meditating through that) 

no 

i don’t think there’s much
power of now
as you feel your leg get
blown off in the gulf war
as you stick your finger up
your dog’s ass
to secrete his anal glands 

the hot death squirting on your boot 

the only now i have
is to crack open this cheap beer
close eckhart’s book
and think about a time
i’ve never imagined
a time before anal
glands and gulf wars
before scriptures and sounds
of manmade gods

 

pacifism

at the twilight exit

bar two men who look
like offensive linemen play
shuffleboard
i can’t imagine the minor
crashes of the pucks
meet their testosterone needs
but then again in the
twilight electronic indie
music plays a petite
man in jean shorts with
a skinny mustache
carries his melon
margarita to the back
patio that is littered
with idealists

no

shuffleboard
is the most aggressive
act at this bar
a bar fight
might as well
be science fiction
or like
bigfoot
juggling human
heads that
have recently
been set
on fire

 

jo h once told me a joke tween yard spells

“hey
why did the
cow
with breast cancer
forget
your birthday?”

“why?”

“she had no
mammary

where did
you go
jo h?

where have you
been?

and lloyd

lloyd says hello
something like:

HI, HOW ARE YOU