Archive for Insomnia

atrocious gambles on short odds…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Ha Ha Funny, Insomnia, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on August 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

fat chance

thinking back & imagining
what it looked like from the
other side of the ocular divide
brought circumscribed attraction
to the fore.

mighta been an atrocious collapse,
barely prevented by slight
variations of entropy rippling out
from anthropocentric principalities,
a lidocaine memory smeared onto
temporal after-effects so
the whole thing lingers
on past closing time & coin

i’m playing my part with resig-
nation; there is no other
choice. hassling the victorious
would defy terms of peace,
regardless any competing desire
to reassure the faithless.
last of the first hours slip by
between shallow breath &
deep dreams. temporary exhaustion
finds long sought relief from
open eye syndrome between pillow
top mattresses & blankets.

all will move with local-photon
8 minute re-arrival. vitamin d
hangs in the air amongst amended taxes
& remains of mistakes that seemed
partly right at discovery. money-
good doesn’t getcha what it
used to, but it’ll get you enough
as long as a skosh is enough
for a life of plenty.


Dedicated to the missing. Dependability is important, but it ain’t the only thing.

the music is playing & i’m not going to bed…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Insomnia, Marisol, sex with tags , , , , on July 9, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

forever & three days

slip-walking’ those
leveraged steps along
the path through the park
leading to sweat falling from
a neck tracing a spine above
beauty. we walked
the long way home holding
hands while gradients of darkness
admitted more & less shadow
until the sun rose to flick
insolent patches of grass
into the light.

me & my ladyfriend attack
masquerading sunlight attacking
our headquarters built of pillows
& sheets. all the shades
drawn in preparation for combat-
napping. there’s no war among
comrades fighting battles together
as old wounds show up hurting,
punctual s’ever. her smile quiets
my exhaustion while i try
to comfort the source of her

as i wipe away her tears i feel
my cheeks drying.


Because it’s easier to write than say.


enter the fool (part 2)…

Posted in Enter The Fool, Fear, Insomnia, Laughter, Monday Poetry Potluck, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on February 7, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

Part 2

no more apologies

first timer tricks are hiding up sleeves,
or sharin’ pockets with aces n’ deuces.
outside, muffled voices lose themselves
in discussion. talk falls back on current
events; irreducible complexity & six day
exhaustion. in temporary unity raw fear
is surreptitiously replaced with transient
faith in vagabond ponytail philosophy.

days later n; heard i’d been missin’ a while.
only thing i remember are insistent sunset
binges though sunrise turns me on as much
as that beautiful dancer. received wisdom
taken home in a spare pocket highlights
lessons to be learned. even under daytime
starlight i mistake change for progress.

still not sure ’bout what’s lost.


Feels like forever. TWTC & exhausted to boot. That was really bad news yesterday. Guess they can’t all be winners Billy Bob…

agonizingly obnoxious boys from mars…

Posted in Insomnia, Intervention, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Poetry with tags , , , , on January 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

late nights & empty pockets with a cigarette

don’t fall for your first impression;
if you can read me like a book just
imagine what i can do to you.
that ain’t a fair fight;
i’ll scratch, claw, stab & bleed,
but only when provoked by
more passion than hips ever
saw or tongues ever licked.

if you want to work up a good
sweat before fucking it out
between appointments & sheets,
there’s no better way. but me?
i can’t live frightened of every
raised voice or unknown
substance thrown down
a hole in the face.
where’s your

before you get disgusted,
you should know i’ve
stopped blinking when i
shave my face. still
funny how every colloquial
expression you agonize over
screams of desperation;
no matter your choice,
its has to find approval

have you ever considered
coloring outside the lines?
it’s optional, not mandatory; just
like marriage, except with crayons,
minus the sex & repercussions.
wanna try?


An old love poem I found on the bottom of a flip flop I wore to Sanibel Island while hunting shells & Island Cows. Doesn’t quite compete with this for vile imagery and absolute humor, but the point is worth thinking about. (Ain’t that gross? How’d they think of that? Somehow I think I might be able to guess, but not publicly.)

Inspired by an ‘Intervention’ episode (thanks a lot A & E…) again. I have really gotta stop watching that fucking show.

one more time…

Posted in Insomnia, Late Night Silence, Poetry with tags , , , on January 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool


played around with
everything i could find to
make me forget the phone
wasn’t ringing. involved
in steps toward higher speed
with a book of matches, i
got lost in the passing hours
& let go of whatever it was
that’d been bothering me.

slipped through a crack in
the door to the porch perched
above the asphalt; another
cigarette salutation waved
towards the frozen parking lot
passing another night by sticking
out an asphalt tongue trying
to catch snowflakes that haven’t
started falling. the asphalt stares
me down while i shiver & smoke.
half a cigarette is enough to
convince me to retreat towards
indoor warmth.

back inside, bright light-bulbs
shoot photons around the room
while warm air gets a push
from vents scattered around
ceiling & floor. unsure of what is
supposed to come next,
i turned out most of the lights
& imagined falling into bed next to
a pair of eyes & hands & feet;
it ain’t the real mccoy but it’s
readily available. there’s time
later to invent meaning out of
whole-cloth; applied to the
never ending evening, how can
any of us be sure who came out


Dedicated to the insomniacs. It will pass. Keep that in mind before you do anything crazy.

gray dome first…

Posted in afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, Poetry, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on January 1, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

gray dome first

this new year ain’t
figured out how to rain
yet, & i’m tired of
waiting. sky-way
conveyor belts don’t
need my kinda help.
best i could
do is shower & shave &
hope the lesson
rubs off.

cut myself shaving
three minutes to midnight.
one handed, thinkin’ i
should cry then laughing
about the same shit
that yesterday pissed me
off & before that didn’t

one last tiparillo
sugared on one end,
waiting for a flame. i
got what little bleeding
i’d done cleaned up;
claimed my cheap cigar
to chew on while
debating possibilities for

call it 50/50. incidental
confidence along with
exculpatory logic. we
should be fine as long
as total collapse of
faith is avoided; but
not the god kinda faith.

more the kind where
we can move or talk
on an almost rainy-
day without screaming &
not laughin’ when
some happy asshole says
“better later” & writes
it off to some vague
notion of progress.

damn those rotten fuckers;
i hear rain.


I really wish people would understand that you can be cynical and happy at the same time. They are not, as you’ve been taught, mutually exclusive.


Posted in Extreme Spinal Pain, Insomnia, JL Stories, Late Night Silence, Opinion, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , on January 1, 2011 by Caribbean Fool


lost in something close to
jerkin’ off while fantasizing
’bout it bein’ a good idea.
lifelike, waiting near windows
on sun-lines to approach
n’ gut the dark surrounding
lips & eyes & noses & ears
without saying a word.

it’s all nightmares & i still lose
sight when a star says daydreams
should take their place.
all of me is bare-bone
eyes colored as coffee spots;
a decent rationale for
waiting without a clue
why. nothing like getting
something for nothing
we already know
somethin’ is nothin’.

winter-time dead trees
make better deals without
the sun. beautifully
incandescent from my
balcony, thrown shadows get
dragged across asphalt
as a planet rotates underfoot.
gasps of empty dark take off for
somewhere else where-
ever light touches down.

when the sun’s up everything
will seem better; even now,
darkness desperate to
hold fast has to be pried off
the grass &
the curb &
the cars & the people
& me.


It was not a great end of the year, and a total shit of a first night. The next 364 will just have to get better, by hook or by crook. Dedicated to anyone else ditched on New Years Eve. (I’m starting to understand why poets who don’t make a mistress of poetry usually go to bed unfulfilled or crazy.) Shit, I even left my fingernails long. At least it was warm. And soon, it will be sun-up. That always seems to help, even when it just lets you get a better look at the damage done.

black smoke chronicles part three…

Posted in BSC, De Quincey, Insomnia, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , on December 29, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

gimme light

black coffee sits with
a burning cigarette, both
desperate for attention,
silently competing over
who’ll be drank or smoked

my tiny space expands &
contracts as i play with
my heartbeat; watching
ice melt in an abandoned
cup next to my computer.
takes more than you’d
think to push words
around & i can’t tell
if the ice is watching
me try to write
or i’m watching it

it says right on the
packaging y’ain’t
s’poseda do this. well?
let’s do this. now.
only thing more fun than
not following instructions
is coloring outside the
lines (go ahead &
trust me on this subject,
if nothing else.) coffee’s
pretty good. serious.


Ever write a poem feeling like a total prick & then realizing it about halfway through only to apply slapdash editing to quickly take out that pinch of vitriolic distemper? Yeah, me either. Thanks BMS. Seriously? “okay, Eddie.” Goddamit.

no right answer…

Posted in Learning About Life, love n' luck, Poetry with tags , , , , , on December 8, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

better luck next time

awful far away for
words needing proximity
to be closely spoken.
no chance playing
possum, hoping like
hell for reprieve, or
warmth on a
cold night.

cold bed-sheets taunt
a tired body with silence;
mirror-like response to
desire for a partner in crime
who’ll stare at the same
ceiling & see the same show.
i’ve had it explained
hundreds of times; i
still don’t understand.

trying to talk but words
are ice & shatter before
they do any good.
would it matter?
distances heavy enough
are impermeable to language.
cold-sheet messages,
ice-words spelling out
indecipherable clarity,
& nothing desired except
shared HEAT.

for now, it’s just me;
overlapping silence, darkness
& sub-freezing winds
beating on window seals
n’ waiting for morning.
easier to check for damage
& make any needed repairs
in fresh morning light.

nothing yet…

Posted in Friendship, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on December 3, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

waitin’ on morning

i keep forgetting
if it’s a.m.
or p.m., though
it sure seems
not to matter.

i ate;
somewhere a while
back, but who can
remember what. kinda
hungry still. need a shower,
a shave, the whole
fucking routine would
do me right even
if it wouldn’t answer
an questions or concerns.

all the hours are smeared
with numbers
& there’s no mention
of continuity
between exhaustion,
hunger & the rationale
behind such a facade.
i can’t remember, so
better not try
too hard
(never been a problem

it hasn’t
been promethean
but it wouldn’t be tough
to get there. ain’t
that a bitch?
i’m tired & not thinkin’
straight. out for hand-
rolled cigarettes
listening to ‘Evangeline’
play while shivering
in the cold. if i lay
down the night will
end & i’m not
ready yet.

has to get
here soon, right?. it would
be so much
easier to satisfy curiosity
in the light of day.
i wanna fight my
eyes open,
brown hair turtling
under my shell
warming off the
cold graveyard

no threat to security &
no anger, just
disappointment the sun
still ain’t shinin’
anywhere except
redemptive fields where
we’ve passed on as
eyes walk
bye. still waiting.

i’m looking to
listen & talk, maybe lie
down, stare at
passing clouds with
fingers curling together
with everything still
to come.

everything still to come &
light can’t break
soon enough.
breakfast cereal logic
at its finest.