Bank Robbery.
Bankshot off the bank. Jimmy and his gang.
All a bunch of out-a-townies not a clue ya know?
What a ruckus bunch a monkey bandits
Bunch a bubbly headed so and so’s
Thinkin’ they gonna knock over the Tower Bank
downtown so easy smoking cigars…..
I don’t know how many of ‘em they was,
maybe five of ‘em run into the lobby
One does a handstand right off….attracts attention.
The other holds up a coupla coconuts
anybody could see they was coconuts
but he says nobody move because these here are bombs…
You know the cameras is filming all this
the whole time piped into security
piped into the police station and
30 seconds later the place is surrounded
crimson lights flashing like electric cherries
the crooks turning crimson with embarrassment
and then it’s over.
It ain’t the same like it used ta be
ya can’t just go in and steal the money like that anymore.
Maybe they’d been locked up somewhere the past 40 years…..
hell, I don’t know.
Spacesuit in hand
jumping from the aircraft
sideswiped by logic
can’t ever get enough
can’t ever get enough
throw in the stove pipe
roll out the big gripe
let pity have it’s way
sunburn your fiasco
slice up your habits on the couch
with your exacto
don’t know what it is I say
That’s when I buy a map and go
the space map is so pretty full of diamonds and ink
supernovas blowing up and
red giants on the brink
Oh man start the Ferrari
let’s get weightless and have dinner on Solari
Find us another planet
this one’s a disgrace
all rocks and poison gasses
gots to wear oxygen masks
Full throttle on the zero g
kick it high above the knee
10.9.8.7 and so on down
we’re going up up up
into the great beyond….
Sparky Racehorse ran in the fields all day feeling free and alive.
He loved to run. Around in circles. In long straight lines.
Through the woods and over heavy obstacles. Sparky was
a runner and that’s what Sparky was here for.
>>>>>>>>>>
Quantum Poetry (how fast but not where or where but not how fast)
Sunday afternoon hurry festival
time lapse of 100 flowers in a big field
opening and closing at simultaneously
it’s all the same moment
disjointed acrobats dividing their daze
out on the highway running from the house
lost in the desert hiding from the airplanes
stranded in the ocean saving a bowl of gold fish
little belly on the starlet with the haircut of a
mannequin and eyes like waterfalls
falling out of the airplane while trying to tie your shoes
sunset arriving in the 1st class mail
medication modification parade module
verbalization words are not pronounced
quite the way zub bur zlub bub blahb bla
where are we in the arc of beginning to end
every picture tells a story don’t it
every picture is something that’s happening right now
it’s all the same moment
inside the big top
crazy spacemen hanging upside down
in the cargo lounge
haircut of a mannequin
out on the highway
watching the moments appear and vanish
absolute in consequence of electrolytes
trapped behind the counter by
an unusually verbose alcoholic but
most alcoholics are unusually verbose
upside down at the swimming pool walking
all around peeking at the bikinis
wait for the scuba divers avoid the avalanche
the martini vixen with the black dress and high heels
spilling her name into your ears her perfume
like a cloud oblivious making you disappear
like a bunch of moisture molecules of nothingness
everyone assumes the Roswell thing isn’t really real….
but….something happened….and well….what if it is real…
were they from outer space
or are they us from the future….
motorcycle gang called Sons of Silence
I don’t like the sound of that
tenuous and temporary
father horse mother horse baby horse
huddled against the fence
by the side of the road
time body of a motel room
abandoned hotels by the side of the road
office boarded up
back when it was Highways instead of Interstates
skinny coyote running across road on way to Temple
right in front of my car
picked up speed
disappeared into a cornfrield
raw animal nature confronting
man––nature vs. technology etc.
>>>>>>>>>
Spaceman was looking everywhere for the woman of his dreams, Starwoman,
who was lost in the vortex of time.
Spaceman was sent to find a new planet. Ever since time quit being linear.
Spaceman was more or less an average guy in extraordinary circumstances. He had a slight drinking problem and smoked cigarettes on rare occasions.
still absent still vacant
space empty full of room
wanting to add
or keep letting go
wordless with words
things to say not meaning
it can be said
if I knew the language
these feelings
travel through time
are quantum
non-linear
restless
but always returning
Spaceman felt the pressure building
as he knew he would having already
lived this moment infinite times
in infinite variations--all the universes forming
and splitting and combining
with each variation.
Ned Speed ground the camel non-filter beneath
the heel of his jet black beatle boot--exhaling a cumulous cloud
of smoke.
Spaceman felt himself becoming weightless
floating in the capsule.
It was sort of sick and helpless feeling at first.
When he moved his arm to the right his body
would float to the left--when he tried to go left he drifted right.
trying to walk he might suddenly be upside down with
very little warning.
What he hated most was trying to eat––
trying to swallow while he spun around.
Your lost teeth in that dream you had would never
plant themselves like seeds
to sprout all the lost words
you could never say to yourself
in a moments notice with the sun an octopus glaring in the sky
water all around you but you aren't dressed to dive in
you crave the silence if only you could submerge and be finished
with land and all its gravity.
Leroy stared at the fountain. The one in the middle of the city and figured if he was quick about it he could be clean and all cooled off before the cops arrived. He had to do it. 110 degree days were too much. So what if he worked in a bank.
Walking all the way to his car made him crazy––
and he just had that need to do something spontaneous.
Isn’t that what his horoscope said? Do something spontaneous today. So, here he was doing it. And it felt great. So what if he was ruining his 300 dollar suit, or his 400 dollar Italian leather shoes. Or, on second thought, maybe he’d take his shoes off, and his socks, and his suit. So, he was standing in the fountain
stark naked and splashing around. A crowd was starting to gather, and some guy from the newspaper was snapping photos, but by the time he saw the police car pull up he was on his way to his car––somewhat refreshed and giddy as all get out.
Hello it is hot. I am hot. You are hot. We sit hot looking each other over again and again over and over getting hotter staring heated into our heated eyes each returning and receiving and sending heat and it is hot and it is too bad we are strangers just met want to explore each other like vampires who have eternity to fill with hot sensations hot blood beating pounding rib against rib we scream.
A few moments in the desert around 3 a.m.
Hundreds of jackrabbits along the road freeze like
little statues instantly
when the headlights hit them.
The sky is the sort of dusty pink you find only on the cheeks of
a 60 year old Parisian prostitute––but the prostitute,
like the sky, is beautiful and radiant––after going through
the long darkness.
The air is crisp and full of oxygen, and the silence is like
an alpha wave. Nothing is moving except a few small
critters looking for breakfast.
It is the sort of moment
that contains the whole dimension of time––
and it is gone the instant you get back in the car
and head down the empty road
towards the sleeping circus.
Martian Fantasy
When the Martians land they will be carrying bread and cheese
and wine to have a picnic here, and when they leave they will
take me with them, and I’ll try to teach them the concept of
living in the moment.
The night sky will look stunning from their magical spaceship,
and all my tax worries will dissolve without a trace––
which will make some the the tension in my muscles evaporate––and I will fall on the floor in spasms of laughter.
At first the Martians will be
very concerned, having never seen laughter before,
but I will assure them I am fine,
and after some hi-jinx and practical jokes,
will gradually teach the Martians how to laugh.
The thing about Martians is––every last one of them will look
like a movie star––not a famous movie star––
but quite human and very beautiful.
I will wonder if the Martians are altering my perceptions to make me think they are gorgeous, when they are actually six legged hairy toad-like creatures––but, I will be assured––through various secret spy missions––this is not the case.
Mars itself will be––otherworldly, of course.
They will let me photograph anywhere I want––
the pictures will be breathtaking––
and when I send them back to earth, everyone
will want to know if I altered them on Photoshop,
and I’ll say no, I was shooting slide film.
The Martians will all really, really like me.
They’ll entertain me, take me to art galleries,
and they’ll arrange to publish and exhibit all my work.
They’ll be so excited about it all the time that I’ll really
want to do good stuff.
Well, it just sort of goes on from there. . .
The Cadillac was like a quantum particle along the Arizona Highway.
The desert night air was like velvet, pouring through the windows,
making that sound-tunnel sound so the static and jazz from the radio
was barely there––just enough to make you want another cigarette and
tap some crazy rhythm on the steering wheel now and then.
He had to have the windows open. That lady in the backseat was
wearing some sort of perfume that made his allergies go crazy––and
when he asked her if he could put the window down, she said, sure––
and then she laughed and stuck her head out of her window and screamed
as loud as she could. Then she sat back in the seat and laughed some more
and took a swig from the little flask of something she had in her purse.
The guy with her wore a blindfold, like Zorro, except without the eyes
cut out. He said he wanted to sleep. He got in the car and put the blindfold
on and slanted his fedora down then stopped moving. Maybe he could
sleep like that, sitting straight up in the seat, silent and almost invisible,
but it was eerie.
a spike plant jabbed through his seersucker pants
sent him reeling and spinning
glowing with television waves
his eyes projector beams
each eye projecting a different station
one from moscow television
which was incredibly boring
and one from the Japanese geisha girl station
all the young hep cats gathered around
and pointed him at the double garage doors
when the sun came up he finally passed out
Get under the Big Top
get out of the rain
take out your wallet
and change your name
nobody knows who you are
so what does it matter today.
you can act out of character and no one would know.
say something you’ve never said before
do you know how random it is
that you are the way you are
leave the person
you carry around inside outside
in the trunk of the car
you got so many people in that tiny head of yours
all screaming at the top of their lungs trying to tell you
what to say and do
did you ever stop and figure out
which one is really you
which one to actually listen to
get inside the Big Top
leave your brain at home
do you remember the fall of Rome
do you remember the Getttysburg Address
forget about it and give it a rest
forget yourself forgive yourself
you’re not so important you know
well you are and you aren’t you know you know
but you might as well have fun tonight
forget about it all and watch the spot lights
I'm currently in negotiations with various physicists and cosmologists around the globe to give everyone more space. Space, after all, is full of space.
They say it will have to have something to do with dimensions. What we really need is not more space––it's more dimensions. And different currency.
Money has outlived it's usefulness. Something like love and happiness has got to take it's place.
Spaced like a Franklin like an incense smoking
raven flying to the spaceship to see the jazz band
and have some moon-glo martini's it's a busy day
and busy night and who knows what it means.
This brain a fur coat going out for an evening
not understanding how or why it
wants to be out of control.
For a few panicky seconds it thinks it is
stuck on an elevator.
The sky opens at that point and the building
disappears into micro-space––but
the door opens on an amazing party
and that's all that matters.
What is this nervous system
The wailing neurons full of chemicals made of molecules made of atoms made of electrons and protons made of neutrinos and quarks and planets and solar systems and galaxies and exploding stars, super novas, white dwarfs, red giants––
visual perception––knowledge from a book––from a telescope––what would I know without any of that.
No wonder they call it a Nervous system.
What is it in me making the same decisions over and over making me predictable and stable and someone people think they know day to day year to year
I don't change my wardrobe completely or my way of speaking or the things I talk about or am interested in
So strange not seeing someone for twenty years and finding out you are both about the same as the last time you talked
in spite of earth shaking and heart breaking and identity smashing devastation of all psychological ilk.
still basically the same two people you were twenty years ago.
How would you like to get shot out of a cannon
and land in a pool of flames
How would you like to do it three times a day
forget the pay
it’s what I live for
restless and deranged
a super high caliber bullet
flying through the air
again and again
you’d think it would stop at some point
under the big top
you’d think it would burn to the ground
but it rises from the ashes
it never quits taking chances
it wants to steal a few more glances
it wants to go down the road with a fever
and raise a little steam
it really really wants to be your
very favorite dream.
Happening in the circus tent
the popcorn was frozen
the cotton candy was broken
lipstick was calling the cops
tickets were flying
the horses were shying
away from the
lions and tigers….
you can have your cake if you bake it too
somewhere between landlockand showdown
a dime past boredom and addiction
pausing at the corner off illusion and projection
or whatever it was called.
