Archive for April, 2011

mirrors in the air…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Learning About Life, love n' luck, Loveable Losers, Poetry with tags , , , , on April 21, 2011 by Caribbean Fool


as usual we were slammed up
against the wall at daybreak.
realistic motion-action hip thrust
logic as spring stormed in through
the window & swept out harsh
winter through the open door.
no replacement for such elocution;
i heard every word, but
can’t do a damn thing about it
for now.

i’d laugh because it’s so ridiculous
but i got one of my razor blades
caught in my throat & talking
blood is getting cold. let’s put
down the knives for a sec; it gets
tiring as an anachronism even if
it is more fun most of the time.

besides, all of us are better
off as ships passing the night on
diagonal courses through a blinding
sun. free-market ready made excuses
for any kind of mistake any of us could
ever make. certainly ain’t worth
fighting over. nobody needs a beach
bum poet but desire feels so good.

we can shuck any responsibility like
clams to the slaughter. gilded
mirrors show us who we aren’t when
worn sunglass-style over wannabe
eyes; throaty gesticulation &
music for the background glare (i
hear it can soothe a savage beast
but never actually saw it.)
i can be your best-friend if you
don’t mind sharing the inspiration;
no promissory notes to get in the
way. if i break the mirrors & accept
any corresponding crumb-bum luck can
you pretend you never saw my
face or heard my voice?

words on the breeze of approaching
movements & original invitations. a
muse bats her blueberry eyes to
make a crowd appear. now i’m
left pleading my case to shards of
glass with a razor-blade throat. great
plan… when do we start?

happy holidays y’all…

Posted in Admin Announcements, Early Morning Silence, Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , , on April 20, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

a general good morning

i’m not here to compete
with anyone over anything.
why bother? i’d rather be
playing swing-set games
past my expiration date
whenever it’s time to grow
up or find something else
to do for kicks.

one too many early hour slap-
dash pinners seeking a kind
effect; pulling a knife & spiking
my own punchbowl with bad
luck & proclivities for soft
baked pretzels knotted into
unpretzel shapes already
smoldering in the oven.

aces flick-a-trick brings a
little light into the room. temper-
ate zone behavior because
everything is different when
i can see it all laid out in
front of me; a toy map to
practice on where i can
fuck it all up without any
repercussion. my eyes are
half-open & i can kinda see.

plungers already done yeoman
work pushing the night past
another day. since i’m not
wearing black until damn good
& ready, i can pretend master
peri-sensibility like i had class,
like i was going to rick’s to
drink with sasha, dreaming of
a future whose most notable
quality is recognizability to
the past. everyone lives here

we don’t always throw
bricks at windows &
each other; ya
gotta save something
for special occasions.


Inspired by my poet friends. I’d list out y’all but there are too many, and besides, who inspired what line matters only to the rail-thin set of razor’s darlings. We, not being they, do not concern ourselves with such things. I’ve been missing in action for a while, for which I apologize to anyone who has read this poetry blog & deserves a visit back. I’d make a claim of irresponsibility, but you knew that already.

Special thanks to the 10th Muse (way better of a poet than #’s 9 or 11) for my first opportunity to read live (in public no less) Friday, April 22nd in Richmond. Go read her kick ass poetry @ Arspoetica and if you find yourself in Richmond, VA this Friday, look it up. I guess I should get new earrings.

of course you’ve seen a fool…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Learning About Life, Marisol, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

low dollar dreams

ambrosial taste oncoming
momentary amnesia sets
in. everything will surface
sooner or later; drawn
deeply into a ten finger-
hug laminated with skin
cream smelling like kiwi-
almond texture spread
with the same care with
which one would assign
seats at an office get-

whatever is forgotten
won’t be the more im-
portent fixtures of day
to day living or even
subsistence level farming.
instead we’ll lay down
& compare stars, moons,
planets & asteroids from
the comfort of our bed.

i’m not asking if you see
your beauty reflected in
every photon dashing
around the room; i’m just
sayin’ i can see it clearly &
know those stars & planets
& moons are only background.
from where i sit, i can watch
you lay back to wish on a star,
faintly glowing from todays
light, double-sided stuck to
the ceiling, it’s only waiting on


Inspired by plastic glow-in-the-dark stars & the girls who wish on them.

rainy day ebullience…

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Laughter, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , on April 16, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“rainy day ebullience”

whacked past morning stems
as my most acute limitations
become self-aware. an entire
setup laid out, ready for guests
soon-to-arrive & shred evenings

knives & forks like all good folk;
really too many sharp objects
for anyone’s comfort; if you don’t
like to bleed, it can be a vicious
place. not a tourniquet in sight.

little cuts spaced perfectly against
ankles & biceps; there are always
places to go where the last of you
& what’s left of me can dance &
sweat & stomp tiny chocolates into
the linoleum floor. pass me a drink;
my throat is dry, i can’t see straight
& i mighta broken another bone.

my smile would break the mirror if
it wasn’t lying in pieces on the
floor. implements of destruction
spread out ’cause i like to watch &
lick my lips right before glass shatters.

i am impervious to luck & maybe
i’ll live forever; i’m an alligator smile
& my teeth are bared for all to see.
claws are over-rated when tail-whip
gyration cause deviations in air-flow.
it’ll rip skin right off bone.

it’s okay though; i’m always careful &
real experienced. you can trust me…

marisol makes her first appearance…

Posted in Early Morning Silence, Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, Marisol, Philosophy, Poetry, Reader Requests, sex, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on April 15, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

pink flip-flops

i’d always help you tie your shoes;
anyway i was looking for someone
who’d hold my hand during the
scary parts & i don’t mind being that
close. sometimes it’s all i want.

maybe i’d heard it said by a stranger
someone among everyone was
moving faster than me & seemed
pretty sure (more-or-less) what
was going on. all i knew was
i like girls wearing baseball hats
backwards & laughing at every
bad joke that’s ever been told.

it always never makes sense
that marisol sits on the back porch
while interminable distance fills
the closeness between there &
here. so what if i know about
limitations? impermanence is a
bitch,” i told marisol.

her smile arrives on time,
though not related to any
discussion at hand. nothing
moves in a straight line for
more than a few feet; root
beer barrels are as close to root beer
as we’re likely to get in an age
of rice crispie treats.

all of this is insanity & i want all of it.

hard earned nicknames like flower
petals sit on the floor of a church.
quick cuts to places you never see
& we can stamp this union in blood
smeared on windows.

i don’t really bruise these days.
had it kicked out of me for awhile
& started doing it on my own for
kicks. most of the time i can see
things in this whole new light;
sometimes i’m wrong but at least
i’ll figure it out later.

how the fuck are we gonna put
fucking laces on pink flip-flops?
marisol laughs crystal pure,
& the sun stops in the sky
to listen & look.

elena wishes on a star…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Cigarette, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, sex with tags , , , , on April 14, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

elena wishes on a star

first arrival in
goose-flesh heat.
shaking & wet to touch,
elena hasn’t read whats
writlicked in spit inside
her left thigh
& is sure there
are places too far to go
for her smile.
i smile ’cause
she’s wrong & miles
are footsteps under
elena’s smile.

my daydream explication;
she laughs when
i joke. desire stiffens
& i wanna eye-lick
elena’s mystery tattoo.
selfish helix-desire
to see more than
elena’s smile leads me
past her teeth
on the way to
her tongue.

constellations sly skip-twist
at night through easy
aperture of an open window.
elena wishes on the first star
as swiftly darkening sky
is overtaken by streaks of
purple finger-clouds.
disfigured atmospheric
behemoths race through
un-reconnoitered sky
before starlight makes that
first tentative lick
from sky to ground.

a short-timer’s game
plays out; i wait on
the arrival of rapid cycle
logic to clarify why
we need to breathe
together because there
is no other way. matte
tongues against green-
eyed smiles over kiss/bite
goodbyes. nobody moves
when elena wishes on
a star.


Dedicated to the most wonderful woman I have ever met who wishes on the first star she see’s but never tells me what she’s wishing for. My wishes are somewhat more obvious, but then, they always are.

enter the fool (part idfk+1)…

Posted in Enter The Fool, Poetry, Series, TWTC with tags , , , on April 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

wait for it

plying a fragment of
brick around the glazed trays’
glossy finish during another
transitional morning glory. i
sought my comfort in the
speed of light, same as
always & ever.

jitterbug nerves command
games with fingertips that
shake just enough to
disturb tired eyes. water
gurgles in the reed choked
pond; it’s anaerobic
everywhere lately.

adherent sensorialists…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Descartes, Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, One Shot Wednesday, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 6, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

adherent sensorialists

cigarette smoke with my
benzinated morning coffee over
linoleum lined floors good for
pacing feet. deep thought in
the kitchen while around me only
asinine reality; isaak’s balloons
carried on the wind across the
window over the parking lot
while barking dogs sing the
breeze to sleep.

i’ve got it on the good authority
of a fanciful ground based sky-pilot
there’s a reason for everything
but my faith wanes. an apolitical
sensorialist leads morning congre-
gents in something resembling
prayer without any appeal to
divinity. they’re all dancing similar
steps, echoing the sensorialist
pleading for help from anyone that
might be listening to the gathered

nothing happens. always maybe
later but my faith wanes. after
my cigarette is crushed into the
ashtray & the last dregs of coffee
mix with in an acidified stomach,
skunk plant imprints impose their
own additional demands. thought
drifts from familiar sensorialist
congregations to the sensorialist
himself & the magic he weaves.

she’s felt my tongue…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, love n' luck, Poetry, sex with tags , , , , , on April 4, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

she felt my tongue

darkness of predawn hours; i’m
waiting for the sun to illuminate
& warm a world outside my win-
dow. monday morning ticks by &
all i can do is wonder when you’ll
be back. i saw you close my bedroom
door to disappear into the world
of carnivore’s delight. i ain’t
worried about your clean claws;
won’t be easy but you already
know how to fight & win.

you already know we ain’t gonna
fight. my razor blade arms & 9
finger grip seem mostly for show,
a rubber ball bouncing along to a
rhythm nobody but us can hear.
when a shudder hits our horizontal
bodies you gasp & breathe deeply.
our tongues & bodies press together
until i can feel you relax around me.

countdown 96 hours. you like my
hair falling into your eyes so i
untie my pony-tail to let my hair
slide free. we’re sweating in the
late-night heat, moving together,
bedroom grins spread out on our
faces & tongues whispering those
forgotten promise nobody ever
keeps. you talk solemnly & i lick
beaded sweat off of your skin. our
afterglow shows in the dark.

bite, scratch & claw.
i’ve got red marks to stare at while
laying in bed naked & alone.
steam turns skin slick & drips onto
sheets pulled in every direction.
blankets & pillows kicked off the
bed wait to be returned to heaven
above. she felt my tongue wet & dry.

for now, i’m waiting for my
fingernails to grow, drinking iced-
tea in bed & smiling. the ceiling can
see sunlight glinting through
windows, warm & bright. iced-tea
ice melts in the glass. sucking
chips through a straw, tongue
lolling around the cold water.
she’s felt my tongue & i felt hers.
across midriff & tracing down
my busted spine.


For someone who deserves better & might even get it. I live to please. Customer service is really important to the boys back at the home office. You know how all that bureaucratic nonsense goes. Can’t walk two steps without dodging piles of dogshit & red tape. Well, every so often things work out. I can live with that. Like Billy Bragg said, “The boy done good, the girl done better / the season’s turn, we’re still together / the sky is still blue & tomorrow is another day” (TBDG by billy bragg) I just don’t do a very good Brit accent, so use your fucking imagination or youtube the fucker. But seriously, the boy done good…

watermelons in a kiwi world…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Friendship, Poetry, travel, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , on April 3, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

something about friendship

a transition from late morning
to early afternoon in record time.
semantics taken care of,
memory was quick to follow. my
method follows a bird in the bush,
but not like a nut in the hand.
much as the dancing bears are
used to all of these shenanigans;
there’s forever
time for something new.

later, they’ll show the
video to all top brains of the
organization on top of the
flowchart from whence ALL the
good ideas come from. those
fuckers stole all of the
quote unquote
intellectual property.

my other crimes were minor
by comparison, if slightly
more subtle & more varied.
stuck to the same spot, fighting
the usual battles, hope comes
in pill form & side effects
are negligible, if a skosh vicious.
costs are atrocious of course,
but nobody ever notices that
part. co-pays cover a good 75%
of the population you know…

that’s 3 out of 4,
which makes me 1 of a kind
at your average tee time;
if i could golf, which i can’t,
making it all somewhat academic.

much like
everything else
in life,
everywhere i
look &
everytime i

that said,
it’s good to be
among friends at the
really crucial moments;