Archive for #6

he’s a scavenger but he’s really not that bad…

Posted in #6, afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, JL Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on February 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

he’s a scavenger but he’s really not that bad

Socrates is busy corrupting the youth
while i run circles around the suburbs,
debatin’ questions of considerably less
importance. we might be extemporaneous
allies but trust has always been an issue.
talking doesn’t mean much at this distance.
i’ve accepted a full-time job as an iced-tea
aficionado that’ll take me all around the

there won’t be time to talk. i’m in no shape
to watch melodrama & catch those catcall
insults. assuming finality of settlement, blame
means less than i’d assumed. besides, breaking
through defenses is a job for Edward Teach, not
Stede Bonnet. as the sunshine evaporates
from the ground up, i’m as lost as ever,
meaning i know exactly where i am. couldn’t
say that yesterday.

granted my own pardon & dreamless sleep.
found my own line in the sand, brandished
my own sword, cooked my own noodles.
seems like reputation is getting ahead of
my ponytail. really, i just like mango flavored
iced-tea. who knows where that even
came from? i don’t know if you heard; he’s
a scavenger, but he’s really not that bad.
neither am i.


Inspired by semantic misunderstandings. That wasn’t an argument, that was a discussion; & whatever happened to gamesmanship anyway? Like #6 said, “Chin up Potter.” He’s right. Joe Henry was way more explicit in ‘Progress Of Love.’ I guess you could take it in any direction you want. That’s my kind of loyalty.

accidents of elocution…

Posted in #6, Funny Morning Stories, Poetry with tags , , on December 24, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

repeat offender part 6

gotta love that timing;
mouth of the subway speaks,
& i’m the only one
who heard a damn thing.
couldabeen a motherfucking
tragedy, if it’d had anything
important to say.

even when it wasn’t
a wasn’t funny joke,
it was something along
those lines of utter
incomprehensibility spoken
durin’ a xenophobia contest
between two retards;
there’s usually a point.

instead of hanging on
’till the unveiling of king shit (of turd
mountain fame) there
comes a time to leave such
debonair affairs in the past
& move on to the next; ever
assuming next is at least different,
despite accumulating evidence
to the contrary.


There are no typo’s in this, whatever you might be thinking.


Posted in #6, afternoon requiem, Learning About Life, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , on December 7, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

the end

no way to turn around,
& backup ain’t comin’ to
save anyone. time to smile
n’ laugh like the man
you really are. it’ll be ok;
it’s everyone else
that’s needs improvement.

deeply creased paper hides
my recipe for palliative remedy
safely pocketed along with
hair ties,
& a soft spot for blueberry
eyes. (mine are brown.)
whaddya need when
shit hits the fan without
anywhere to hide?
a cigarette?

staring at everything
i’m afraid of,
wondering why
i can’t let go.
faces move too quickly;
a girl i might have married,
a friend who died in Afghanistan,
some comedian who told his
last joke on camera.
now he tells that joke
over & over,
but he’s
as dead as my soldier-friend
& that ain’t a guess;
sure as hell ain’t an answer.


Half truths abound. However, my eyes are really brown and what that means is a question with no answer. What would #6 do in such circumstances? Anyway, the struggle continues apace, because if there is one thing that is obvious, it is that #6 would not quit. (If that seems pedantic, rest assured it is only a momentary lapse of confidence on my part.)