for the whole world to see

sun falls on the
filthy porch on the 
first day of spring

DEATH plays through 
Some newfangled boombox
and i can hear the whole thing

4 or 5 components 
so finely tuned
lighting so much truth 
with their slum fire poems 

screaming just to shake 
someone awake 
and into unity

well, i'm up

sharp range

cowboy don't belong in a pen
you see one stuck there
steer clear

because the range will grow
sharp inside
split out his head

and fly fast in all directions 
like the hundred million native arrows

that should've stopped america
in the first place

steppenwolf flux

so sick of trying to explain.
see or don't.
my move
to vacate
i guess.

onto the steppes.

porter

read your face when we meet

talk about our clothes 

and maybe we can trade some

but i am not your porter

and i am not your mover

give you the shirt off my back

but i can't take yours

if it doesn't fit

only need one anyway

fox tv

every hour spent
watching x-files 
is an hour subtracted 
from time alloted
to solve self's mysteries
the truth is in there 

these red-haired damsels
and greek-nosed heroes
can go fuck themselves
in their hotel rooms 
like they do anyway

their script falls so false 
as my abdomen's burning
is no longer veiled

frontier

one by one

i will remove these items

which I care about 

not at all

from the pockets of my life

and litter them

onto the shitty sidewalk 

of this shitty slum

and walk until concrete becomes

an earthen frontier road

i can bear to see beneath

and then I'll rest awhile

and carry on

sunday bath

i'll spend this afternoon
my life 
in a bath half-filled
the water swimming

with my colored dreams of
all the ancient buried instruments
when bubbles drift up
into this room, earth

burst their progressions
i'll lift my head
sing at sunbeams
falling in
to warm earth's walls

0

the dozen or so 
swinging doors in your
old hometown 
can act as paddles 
that knock a heart around
like it's the frowning pinball
that never scores

white blanket

as the white blanket
grows thicker on the pine out there
i pine for ATX, big bend sun
and my sunny girl

let the car be buried
won't turn over anyway

flip honky tonk heroes
tiny swig of jim
like a whiskey kiss
another cup of joe
and get insular
with some pictures and songs

whole arc

at johnson city
on our way to luckenbach
this stonewall and live oak town
breaks up the hill country clouds
for a moment
through the bright mist
a low rainbow appears
you say look baby
and we see the whole
arc of it
it's down in johnson city
like it's part of the earth
and we're taking 290
straight into it's end

charles

full of kind love
till the end
so quietly proud 
of your years of work
of your gloria
and your other gloria
getting ready to join her

always needed words repeated
but you knew what was happening
in your chaise lounge with your little gray max
sleeping 
then reading 
then sleeping
barely eating
waiting 
patiently

you told me 
you didn't want to go
off in the ambulance with those men
why can't i die here you said
i don't think you're quite ready yet i said
i was kind of right, it wasn't that day

and all your sons and daughters came
in time to say goodbye
and you left
from your loving home
like you wanted

here's to you charles 
thanks for the shirts
and for turning me on to martinis

outskirts

galaxy of birdshit
against the space sidewalk on soco
walk an endless street of
marts and megastores 
everyone's down and out
at the bus stop

where is the weird?
this is it.
guess it got romanced and 
glitter-coated
before it reached me
like everything else

but i'm only on austin's outskirts yet

bird's eye

groups of gold lights on
black blanket of land

people gather there 
clustered 

orion above
brighter and sharper

bandits

i'll stroke your cheek and hair 
"lost at the bottom of the world"
plays
as we speed away
from the site of a ticket
we'll never pay

you are my love 
your touch trumps 
their violations
and fans their fees away
onto the wind to settle 
on their cold file cabinet
somewhere in this cold city
we're driving out of