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 1^st 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.