The Belly of My Influence

this is just the fear without stop
from mindless window jumps
here 101 degree university city
this is the recovery of broken
hershey milk chocolate ’74 volare
it is a 3rd street or gentlemen’s club
we at full gallop on black horses
this is a jersey roadside stand
my first real nineties hookup
of course in plastic elephants
there are losses without oil cans
all four parents that drop phones
or matriarchy like a joke we just got
here in doogie howser’s diary

Rise

“Plastics”

what matters to this video
progress, son walks with
purpose & you understate
to fake a social utility
but they doctor addresses
priveledgeless stepchildren
we uncle sam these pieces
of dada in my apple mouth
an old greek tribe is the word
soldiers, we are spears of trust
after you is the sentencing tool
that breaks the white silence
fat men don’t grow cold
we are all in our middle ages

I Love my Crack House

I’ll see you all this coming fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountain -Harry McClintock

only hobos in our misanthropies
like the back of her business card
injury worth all of my weekends
yes, only today’s favorite victory
is mirror sunglassed suspicions
return these redisposable fears
incomplete flowers of faith
that mate in revolutions
recurring to unopened eyes
courses of automatic philosophies
retry our surgical connections
drive addictions of the young
to drivetime afterthoughts
in your mother’s travelogue

What Do You Mean We?

this is a my best smile
not beaches & kite dives
this is half-pantomime
allergic to the sun
in warriorship of afternoons
lies celluloid exposes
starting from the top
you can say this in french
like anarchy on saturn
we are hip-hop indians
lost in parlance of the dance
always called last of anybody
to spirit that is a street musician
in my letter to santa claus