Archive for the Unanswered Questions Category

marisol goes to the beach…

Posted in Early Morning Silence, Hysterical Romance, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry, sex, travel, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , on June 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

shadows on the sand

shadow photograph

quick serve pink-berry smoothie
on a spring evening trying
like hell to be summer afternoon.
speedball winds blow hair past
eyes until the sky cleared in a
equatorial tribute to
blue crystalline.

it ain’t exactly our secret if
everybody knows; pushing past
your front gate while you claw
at my back only gets us so far.
pushed forward by every
treasured gust of breath leaking
pressure from under the sky;
lack of laid path doesn’t still
our footsteps, four across.

shadows result from interception
of sunlight by the mass of
our bodies. on sand pictures
won’t give up any ghostly
figures traced on shore; it will
catch them in the shutter
speed of a certain instant when
our hands touched while walking
dunes under the clearest
of skies.


For Marisol. Thinking back to the beach will always be where you can find me.

marisol reviews the attendent literature…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, Marisol, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travel, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on May 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool


expressively styled by time spent
& a little excess.
no plan to follow
& never too many mornings
waking up to your alarm.

one invitation
was enough to get you here;
looking past unexplainable miracles,
fate or destiny, etc.
that kind of thing
never was my specialty,
even in the years
when nothing was as
probable as everything.

there isn’t any rationale: i
forgot to read your words & licking
the hand holding the pen is my
way of speaking to you while
you move around the room.

everything in time. three minutes
after forever, who will know the
prescience of momentary stillness
just before you take me home?
as you assure me you’ll stay
another night we admire
the inside view from the others
mask. even a kiss that
trumps zirconium conversations.
all questions will arrive;
how & when
is anybody’s guess.

quizzical reflections on
pirate princess radio
with just enough static
to remind us of summer trips.
climbing from bed after
a five year daydream with
frequent pause for
cigarette fantasy-fulfillment
moments; the last of the
immortals reminds us that
sometimes forever is just
a really long time.


Nice flip-flops. We know the ending already. The fun part is finding out how we get there. So… how do we get there?.

where’s your head?.?.?.

Posted in afternoon requiem, Philosophy, Poetry, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on May 26, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

i didn’t ask

sometimes the answer comes
before the question hits music
& clothes drop off. by now all
the words are scrambled with
clean laundry challenges to
direct the action ever farther
down from intelligent creation
to intelligent usage. i have seen
a face.

but i can’t
find my head. i was arguing with
theophiles & guitarists over some
missed string here or there, a
leibnitzian nightmare to jump from
that precipice because our hero
might be down there & i’ve got
questions for him.

unless spinoza is looking to advise
re: harder, stronger, longer,
it’ll have to wait. abstract discussion
being more my style; i’ll give it to the
junkies to play with while i attend to
something more corporeal. (see,
i can get my head out of the clouds
every once in a while.)


Penny ante psychology. You get what you pay for, but assuming you know this at the outset, it isn’t that important. Next time you’re arguing over the meaning of life, spend some time asking why life needs meaning. Just a thought.

more than 48…

Posted in Cigarette, Descartes, Hysterical Romance, Insomnia, Late Night Silence, love n' luck, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on May 21, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

more than 48

it was only our 56th day & i knew
i’d hurt her by chance as well
as i knew she’d never admit feeling any
pain. we’re too far gone for any kindness
to soften the harder edges of what
used to be; i’m already bleeding
at the edge of tears knowing i let
a princess down.

i couldn’t take her where we shoulda
been; my car wouldn’t start & i for-
got my wallet in the coldest bedroom,
collecting silence like souvenirs,
(poems are free to the public)
i can’t sleep on this lonely night.

i told the mirror it was bad luck &
piss-poor timing. i shaved off more
than 48 hours of stubble at 3 a.m.
lookin’ for a smile that had disappeared
hoping it would dramatically reveal itself.
i ain’t angry, just disappointed in a
smile i couldn’t coax out of hiding.
been more than 48 hours on high alert,

she has no interest in Cartesian
dilemmas, even if she worries about
it without knowing what she’s worried
about. forget that fucking Gordian
knot; whether alex cut through it
or not, 56 days have passed & the sun
shines down as the earth rotates. all
that’s wrecked will be fixed with
sleep & the days last cigarette
smoked down to the nub.


Thomas Paine once wrote “These are the times that try mens souls.” I’d always taken him at his word, but lately it would seem to be far more of a metaphysical than metaphorical comment on the trials of life. Ah well, you do the best you can & hope for the best, just like everything else in life. Off to bed; two days in a row is a real killer & tomorrow is already here…

plenty of music but nobody to dance…

Posted in Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , on May 9, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“no rescue”

a quiet room soliloquy to nobody
in particular passes the time
like you wouldn’t believe. whatever
is wrong, the solution is the
same simple answer as a
mosquito bite. invite every last
dragon back into the house &
let ’em run wild with razor teeth
& that pharyngeal fire breath. i’m not
scared; let’s find out how many
i can take & then it’s your turn.
no cheating here.

i strangled my phone line for fun
with purpose; little plastic square
wasn’t ringing anyway. i’m safe
with nobody looking for me, at
me, to me. fire & tiny specks colored
with a birds egg speckle print sit
like protective soldiers guarding my
eyes, ears, nose & throat. (if
it gets slit, it means the watchman
fell asleep.) i’m getting tired

evolving morning darkness spins
on the same spectrum as all the
other visible light. sharp as a tack
with nothing to drink but wine
from my past (they make the vino
just up the road from my semi-recent
history.) i was looking for guidance
& counted letters of words on a
warning label. ha! stupid fucks
printed everything in triplicate,
side to side with a sway like effect
when mixed into a cheap laser pointer
for effect (after all, we’re not bar-

i won’t stop you.
i won’t hurt you.
i won’t strike out
when one swallow
is all it takes to
banish an afternoon
into the evening. besides,
it’s a standing eight, tops
a ten-count? are you
as out of your fucking
mind as i am? i knew
there was a reason why
i love you.


Inspired by Sir Arthur of the polynomial table & the good folks at Carl’s Jr. ‘Carl’s Jr. FUCK YOU I’m Eating!’ (in case you haven’t seen Idiocracy in a while. If not see it. Good flick.) Anyway, the testing continues apace. No room for misinterpretation on this one. We’ll go after it like a pair of motherfucking raptors before we let a food shortage starve us out. I’m already hungry but thanks to my training I can go days without eating. Eating food at least. Ha! Enjoy you kind folk. More positive CF will be back later. Right now spins are on my mind like a cobra snake bite. Is it beach time yet? As John Locke once said on LOST, ‘Destiny is a fickle bitch.’ Truer words never spoken. Damage control is gonna be rough over the next few days, and poetry awaits. Off to greet the floor because the faster this room spins, the harder it is to write.

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.

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;


life in post-op…

Posted in Cigarette, JL Stories, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Poetry, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on April 2, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

life in post-op

cashed on the smoldering
remains of once green charcoal.
it was easy;
i spent enough to be sure,
letting a double-preen grin
disappear under rising sentiment
in fast flowing red canals
pressing gas into liquid.

mycelia post-production attracted
sticky spinal fluid, shares all
vertebral fate; mine are fucked
even without self-imposed
amnesiac realities (& no, it doesn’t
matter.) i wouldn’t
know any better even if i

i left the speedball delirium in
rapture, moving toward morning,
resolution with useless rubber legs,
tongue, fingers. my path past peak
steepens headed down. rare
mycologic power of simplicity;
red canals & alveoli are
something else entirely. still
questions get answered & jobs
get done.

her molybdenum eyes…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Laughter, Never Been, Poetry, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , on March 26, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

her molybdenum eyes

her molybdenum eyes are cubically
reflective. at peripheral angles her eyes
reveal a partial forgiveness of desire
requiring constant vigilance to keep
them from completely forgetting. faux
cupcake plans splayed out, laid down
in farcical conversations running over
several days of imagination.
i lose my place repeatedly
even though it’s easy enough
to follow along. have to fight off the
distraction of the reflection of light
off her molybdenum eyes.

she’s dangling flip-flops from both ears
but i’m seeing stiletto boots. when
she walks her heels stab at the floor.
i’d swear the floor savors the touch,
ignoring the pain of twin knives cutting
their way across the room. jokes on me
if i ever find out for sure.

questions with obvious answers ain’t
friends to anybody. curiosity slit a cats
throat & all i did was stub my toe.
i hated not knowing what those eyes
felt like set above an unforced smile.
sometimes it takes the luck of right
place & time. other times just a joke.

her molybdenum eyes split hairs with
the words she speaks; sentience in
real-time playing possum while we
stand in the rain smoking cigarettes,
debating empiricism & leaving the non-
local physics for another day. better
to leave the daydream vicar while he
sleeps. her molybdenum eyes are rare
enough. that’s a question, not
an answer.

should be…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, sex, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , on March 16, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

she has no idea he thinks she’s summer

virtuoso performance during
the daydream phenomenon
snap-fastens focus on rapidly
lengthening daylight. onset
of summer is timed out on clocks
reset months before actual
arrival. from incremental distances
beautiful eyes see through mountain
ranges & dig holes in skylights.
seeing is believing.

moving in a determined if
meandering saunter capable of
teasing psychosis from sanity &
it ain’t hot yet. still, less imagination
is required with each passing day
to feel the steady approach of
heat on the wind. light whispers
give voice to sunset visions with
bluegrass overtones. same games
as ever play on advice, restriction,
desire. eyes penetrate & probe
out of line-of-sight. results remain
unknown; how else could
daydreaming be so welcome,
or so easy
for so long?


Refusing to behave has its privileges too ya know. There’s a thin line between silly & stupid and I have no idea which side I’m on. Maybe washing my hair will help? Other than that, I’m all out of ideas; that means subterfuge. Only other way to say what can’t be said.