Archive for the Uncategorized Category

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…

sounds like fun…

Posted in Late Night Silence, Opinion, Poetry, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on February 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

a rapaciously good natured villain

no answer once again; why not spend
this night disarticulating exchanges &
trying to pinpoint everything wrong
with this picture? hearts have fractured,
healed, broken & healed again. junkies
learn faster than this.

all this time looking across the table at
no one, i’ve been conversing with walls,
ceiling, getting opinion from the floor
(stepped on repeatedly, last i’d heard.)
they all got real fuckin’ problems & told me
to piss off.

a few surviving members in the last box of
condoms say everything anyone needs to
know about sudden changes in my station
& title. your villain never flies a false flag,
preferring negotiation to bloodshed. i’d let
you invade whenever the mood struck but
didn’t reach out until just after too late.

whatever prompted you to call out to
remind the captain of his freshest defeat,
even demure in tone & word, drove him
up the mainmast. scanning the horizon for
your shadow, issuing orders to the crew
“we move into open visual contact at first
light so that the scientists can study this
most curious situation.”

i’ll be here at the fort practicing my just
right smile & graciousness in temporary
defeat. all the same, if i’m stepping
back, it’s only to take a bigger step in
another direction. they don’t call me
‘fool’ because i’m afraid to be wrong in


Ever stop to wonder if being yourself is everything everyone told you it would be? At least the snozzberries taste like snozzberries. (hahaha. Rotten vermicious knids.) Laughter; the 2nd best medicine.

from the terrace of a palatial estate…

Posted in Cigarette, Friendship, JL Stories, love n' luck, Poetry, Reader Requests, Sir Marshmellow Trowell, the lost children of the bokonists, TWTC, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on January 25, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

pterodactyls in the sky

ex post facto success & a 3 night score.
only after straightening out came my usual
liberation. dumb-fuck luck seein’ it doled
out liberally & applied fast enough to make
a difference in the dark. got something to
crow about here; if that ain’t worth a few
minutes of prepwork to get makin’s right,
what is? don’t worry about it my friend.
here; lemme get that fer ya.

i need counsel. seemingly none to be found
among oldies from The Leftover Gang; better
luck somewhere else. a voice i’m sure wasn’t
mine narrowed what’d been an abundance of
possibilities into fractional remains. no shot
at help tonight, no matter how badly needed
or honestly expressed.

blame is mine to keep as a signature souvenir
of choices made & fate challenged. it’s my
responsibility to ensure nobody knows the
real name or face of the man in charge. i
change it as often as i can since new names
are free with receipt & 5 proof of purchases
of extra strength bath salts. faces are much
more expensive.

this one way conversation goin’ back & forth
with paint stuck to the walls says only “it’s
your mess, you hafta clean it up.” how the
paint knew about the malfracted Peter Pan
side of me, i couldn’t tell you. the longer i
hashed it out with the paint, less interest
i had findin’ out why the walls were talkin’
tse tse flies while pterodactyls fill the sky.


Inspired by three comments and a facebook message that all pointed in the same direction. Dedicated to a hero from my youth whose name is as immaterial as my own.

back to menechino for reasons unknown…

Posted in Friendship, Hysterical Romance, love n' luck, Poetry, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on January 15, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

the end

tectonics aside, this
is another farcical
short sale longtime
all-nighter brought on
binging on amphetamines
found inside the couch
cushions while i was
sharpening my claws.

i’m perfectly spiced,
calmly dejected &
up to speed doing lines
made from voices of
old friends telling old
stories mixed into a
vintage far older than
the year listed on
the label. imbibing
quantity for effect;
chase ’em off with
music or impossible
to decipher codes &

when the music
started the volume
had to be low enough
to raise when i
needed it to get loud;
you can figure
out the rest;
cape cod potato chips
n’ all the other snacks
& beverages & bullshit.
i knew we would figger
it out.

smile with me;
those eyes of yours
get so cold without
that beautiful twinkle.


The nice thing about all the difficult decisions in life is that once it is made, things get much easier. Like I said, I knew we’d get it figured out. (lol, I’ll do the same!)

mirabile dictu…

Posted in Friendship, Poetry, Uncategorized with tags on December 23, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

mirabile dictu

i quit the full-time scholarship
of blueberry buttercup after-effects,
presently unexplained,
after one too many
frustrating scuffles with the
department head. after a while,
i forgot what had pissed me off
& gave way to scrambled lethargy.

symptomatic of gravitation: eggshell
orbit & gradual acceptance
of what was heard & seen
about impossible recovery,
mirabile dictu, that kind of thing.

shrewd cats see the show…

Posted in Poetry, The Marquessa, Unanswered Questions, Uncategorized with tags , , on December 10, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


ain’t it all ancient history?
step-sly talk in the after-
noon, lookin’ at me with
everything i wanted,
tripping my switch one
more time. i’ve got insomnia
on my side; plenty of time
to think. how much is
too much?

desultory imagination after
too much honesty in a kiss
ducked off with grace & beauty.
perplexed from the hip, i’m
not talking ’cause i
don’t know what to say.
after midnight everything
gets stuck on repeat,.

punctuated equilibrium
is no way to live. raw
Krueger scars are still
red, but the serious moments
are packed in boxes,
left for another time.
apologies for going
red-alert; i’m
late to the party.

friends forever. smiles
cloth naked fear of
the unknown & wrapped
tight. finding peace
amongst the left-overs
i never gave away is
just one more stop
along the way. for once
i can smile at the kid
in the mirror; could be
he ain’t so bad after all.


Been an odd set of days. Now that I’ve made it to Friday things seem so distant. Can’t escape the feeling I will be rereading this later trying like hell to imagine certain other people reading it and wondering why I’d ask now. I can always use the support, but other than that, well, guess whatever happens next is gonna to happen either way. Off to figure out if I’m the good, bad, or ugly. I’ll let you know tomorrow. Or today. Dedicated to a mover & shaker who shall remain nameless to respect their privacy.


Posted in Music, Poetry, Uncategorized with tags , , on October 7, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


aesthetic melody;
metastasizing rhythm. call it
what it is;
the best of
what’s available.

saxophone gasoline &
oxygen guitars
hiss & crackle.
vocal harmony,
classic snap.

fire pot
circle music;
i can’t sing
or dance
i’ve come for the show.


last of what i have to say tonight…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, JL Stories, Late Night Silence, Poetry, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on September 22, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

obsequious remoulade

i started moving early, dull with
no reason to parse detail;
it’s early &
whatever burnt remnants remain
are holding back ash-gray guts,
even with sunlight through windows
turned all the way up.

it’s boots the whole morning
through. it’s fantasy of movement;
supple solids.
i know all about
the taste of honey,
here i am all salt.

i stopped moving sometime
later; thinking back
too long & putting too much
effort into talking
to all the wrong people.
tied back into eyelash-rationale
& such common fantasy was
exhaustion. satisfaction with
my utilitarian effort was enough;
i don’t always need to win.

having run off of ‘pheta-mean-adrenaline
just long enough to get home,
eggs & sausage was more than
enough to sate any leftover urges
to stymie world peace. every-
one on earth is safe,
for another night; or at least,
exactly as i found ’em.


Dedicated to a muse who won’t let me stop writing. She knows who she is and her magic machinations, while forever unseen by me are always appreciated. Inspired by a fuck-ton of well wishes and greetings as well as a past muse’s odd question on the first night of Fall.

familiar celestial panorama…

Posted in Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Uncategorized with tags , , on August 7, 2010 by Caribbean Fool


i slowed down,
choosing to spend the day
down bullet proof jackets,
or something like that,
normalize the breathing,
bring down the pulse.

what weren’t quite gunshots
echoed off what wasn’t
quite the door. nobody
should ever be knocking like

quick & dirty
clean-up tends to follow;
pressure cooker philosophy
due to the manner of arrival.
i don’t set the rules,
just tryin’ to evade them.

admin bullshit & hearty thanks…

Posted in Uncategorized on March 9, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

To all who have sent me awards or visitors, let me just say thanks. I should also warn you I don’t know a damn thing about making images appear here, or really anything else that ain’t poetry or philosophy. I heartily thank all of you, and hope that you don’t think less of me for failing to post the awards. There are plenty of other good reasons for you to think less of me. At any rate, thanks for all hits and kind words, if I haven’t gotten around to visiting your site ad reading your words, elt me know. I’ll soon add a blogroll of all my favorite poets and hopefully all those fine poets out there will get another drop of the adoration they so surely deserve. Until then, thanks and keep writing.