Archive for June, 2010

reflections on disappearing …

Posted in Poetry with tags on June 30, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

thin-skin skirts

now there ain’t a word left to say.
guess we talked too fast; maybe
ran out of words. you stalk off
without a word, busted bullshit
promised sans excuses
for disappearing on me. i
don’t know where you went.

torpor on summer days,
perfect for illustration,
maybe institutional illusion;
that’s just how it has to happen,
whatever you were
trying to say is past tense said;
no call, no show;
did you notice changing themes
plastered over braille paragraphs?
was it on purpose?

truth means i played my part,
sanitoria illusion that boots & skirts
need water to swim, same
as the rest of us. i wanna be angry
instead of confused. when you
moved the curtain to practice your
coelacanth impressions,
i was blown away.

now i’ll never hear the end.
knowing for sure
you’re shaking tail-fins in
prehistory, while rod & reel & tackle
belie any sighting of your
blackened skirt; off swimming,
avoiding sharks,
eatin’ minnows,
disappearing when i’d been waiting
on you to apparate.

maybe tomorrow;
same thing i’d said yesterday,
what i’ll say later.

dedicated to the two people who decided to up and disappear. Just had to let you know I was still thinking about what you said. Hope your free time illustrated whatever it was you needed to see.


buen fortuna…

Posted in JL Stories, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , on June 15, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

lucky sob

some nights are for kings.
tracing some outline laid down
before language captured
thought; held for ransom by
becoming the means for communication,
rather than the ends they
were designed to be.

nights for kings are
different. essentially unknown makin’
stirred together with any temporary final
product unknowable. brilliant
sunlight never looked so good,
diffused through our night for kings.

our realms spread just far enough
for isolation;
kings do not reign in unison.
what might be alchemaic tendencies
supported by dumb luck,
ascensions seemingly without
origin, denying any claim
of mathematical certainty.

waking up as a king
on a night for kings means
finding fortune in tiny craters;
turning moments of prior misfortune
into gold; even better that it
all must be real, despite
circumspection that it’s
expertly faked; in itself,
that ain’t a flaw.
elmyr de hory said it;
he knew it was as true before
as it was after as it was now.

periodically arising/uprising as a
king makes up for a lot in life.
us real sob’s gotta win every
so often;
even if what we win don’t quite
make up for the cost.
when you’re the king
it doesn’t matter what anything costs;
what matters is that you
are king.

whatever fortune
this entails, some nights
are made for kings.


Dedicated to moments of inspiration, and the resultant freedom when your number comes up. Can’t argue with an invincible night. JL, as always, but when it works, it fucking works.

three rolled and one smoked…

Posted in Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , on June 12, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

“black swan”

why does it burn so much
to read things that would
make me smile if i’d
heard them spoken?

my own capricious nature
being what it is, n’
Taleb’s theory saying what
it says;
all this pattern-hunting probably
carries rewards equivalent
to a damn lottery ticket;
which is to say none.

Taleb seems to indicate
great appreciation for learning
where things aren’t.
i can only laugh, ’cause
if he’s right, it just means
he already found his black swan;
whereas i’m still looking.


Thanks for the wisdom. You’ll never read this, but I can only hope what you wrote is the signpost I think it might be. Value to the struggle, right? Between you and Mandelbodt, I’m surprised things are as they are, and not as they might be.

that felt good…

Posted in De Quincey, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , on June 10, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


i ain’t gonna spend any time
wishing there was more.
five fucking minutes
between an idea
& the cessation of clarity.
quick to the cut,
forgotten as easily
as that fella that used to hang around.
for a moment i can relax;
take in the afternoon
instead of getting chewed
up by it. feels good
to remember what it is;
feels good in powders
& pills & sidewalk chalk time-lines
hanging from the walls as decor.

grabbing an early afternoon
by the throat; insufficient desire
to leddit go. even in silence
this would be good; damn shame
nobody is looking down.
awaiting word of further adventures
with a self-assured smile.
supplication to the sun-gawds…no
contradiction; even
swampwater-eyed islanders
know the value of
a lazy afternoon.

submit to the great unknown…

Posted in Poetry with tags , on June 9, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

girl in the dark

spit-dry tongues can’t talk.
even if they could, what the fuck would
they say that hadn’t come out in
moans & sighs & gropes
in the semi-dark? seems like it
all ends so wet;
of course it’s wet &
it just ain’t the end.

now i’m feeling like a
scum-bag millionaire
(i always feel like a scum-bag millionaire)
but i tie my long-hair back anyway.
careful movements & everything like that;
almost pulled my hair out
when we flipped over too violently…
even recalling that smile
seems drenched.

you can’t be surprised
i wanna see you.
i love shadow-play in the dark.
after the fact,
rolling over to my province;
still breathing hard, retreating
as a closed-eye supplicant
once again, finding what we need
before we knew to ask for it.
there will be sunrise & light later
nobody wants clarity
in moments like this.

speaking in a draining-days
last gasp, the wet sounds
of sated tongues reassure
in ways vision can’t match.
muscles tremble as
memories fade. sleeping
off the moment, sustained
grins & foolish jokes. we’re all someone
else in the mostly dark.

not a clue; may we proceed?.?.?.

Posted in De Quincey, Poetry with tags , on June 7, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


there’s enough light to read by;
even if thats a cop-out reason to be awake.
shuffling around a proto-morning,
vaguely concerned about all kind
of dull throbs.