early in the a.m.
these tunes were static
on my AM
battery operated converter
modulated transmissions
diverting my attention
sending me back in time
messages from an earlier epoch
here to overwhelm
with memories
locked inside an electromagnetic realm
before the term
classic rock was coined
hearing these lyrics
unchained melodies
a little bit of history repeating
our thoughts enjoined
releasing restraints
inside my mind
we got nothing
but time
precious time
who is that?
you mean
when is that?
a rhyme
thirty years ago
I can tell you
no you can’t
you died in ’95
let me google
you are coming alive
through my devices
despite my resistance
refusing my attempts
to process you out of existence

Prime (time is numbered) Directives

Mechanical Typewriter

the equalizer balances specific frequencies within range, converting the integers , leaving the remainders of the tranquilizers buzzing around my brain, sit back, don’t touch that dial, looks like we might be here to get strange, while we ask you some questions that are out of the question, where did it begin, how do you present when they check you in? they say I had it coming, handsome and becoming and proud and don’t say this out loud they will be coming for miles around to surround my sound waves, can you see the waves, can you see the waves of the star spangled banner in a manner of speaking, we are strangling the weaklings, all equal to the sum of our parts, god bless your heart, softens the blow of insinuation in casual conversation, between the two of us, right, you just might share it with another, that’s where the teardrops start… Are you crying for your brothers and Sisters? take turns swinging the Sledge, driving a wedge, coming between us, rubbing against the grain, this virulent strain, half this shit’s gonna be puked up in the bowl, washed down the drain, by my… I… said it before, illegible, inedible, unpalatable, pablum for your babied soul, if choosers could ride, beggars would be deciding the course, of course, I’m petulant and insolent never showing respect but you got me wrong, these are just words I heard in a song, if you add it all up, I guess it could be worse, it could be rock and roll, everything’s under control, got it? get it? got me? coming and going , never knowing, who what, where, when and… can you feel my presence while remembering whence and heretofores and therefores and wherefores and whys, henceforths and hows before you understand the singularity of the now, you got to know before you die, I… I… I… can relate to these relations, the greatest generation never had two nickels to rub together, pulled us up by the bootstraps, lifted us out of depression, coming back from the sick times, we have cars not worth a dime, get back up, now, you learned your lesson, whether or not, it’s true, gotta take what you got and turn it into something, new memories are mightier than the sword, says the savant who plays with words, a harmless idiot, can’t tell he’s insidious, still the blade left hideous scars, tender care will be sent, ailing remedies for your ailments, you got it made in the shade… lying in the gutter, looking at stars

Home Remedy

Mechanical Typewriter

a factual technicality
contractual reality
conceptually inaccurate
remembering when
again and again
says she likes her men
fashionably passionate

wait a minute, there is a catch
before I strike a match

immolation reflects off her eyes
not passing through the lenses
resurrection between her thighs
driving her out of her senses

ready to please

words obeyed
but never spoken

genuflecting with ease

a promise not made
is never broken

I stop
I am not done
nor demanding
she has come
are you sure?

(tilting my head toward the door)

sitting in silence
is she taking a guess?
I acquiesced to this palliative cure

before leaving she turns
may I come back for more?

A Thousand Words

Mechanical Typewriter

What is the value of the stories I write?
Staying awake all night, I still keep talking
Telling myself
If wishes were horses, I’d still be walking
Could I borrow some paint to color my soul?
Maybe the Modern Lovers’ were right
Pablo Picasso…
Was never called an asshole

Credit Where Credit Is Due: (Below is link to live version on YouTube, the way it was meant to be heard)

Pablo Picasso (Live At Long Branch Saloon, Berkeley, CA / 1972) · The Modern Lovers

Low Interest Loan

Mechanical Typewriter

spoiling your words like you’re foiling a crime
if I were you I would drop a dime
or is it a quarter these prices won’t last
what is the cost of this two bit rhyme

you know about irrational reality
wishing for a future you lost in the past
but you made a pact
now there is skin in the game

you have some collateral
got it on the lateral
tearing up the social contract
Life will never be the same


Grandfather clock pendulum

No stopping
I should be committed for this
I had a rhyme but,
I couldn’t commit
What spell are you under?
What made you submit?
Who is in control while working from beneath?
Will I dominate or will you tear me asunder?
Should I remind, our souls are entwined
Or would I be remiss?
Were you sent from heaven?
Are you an Angel from above?
People tell me to control my emotions
Do I withhold my love?