sittin on the mirror

cushion is just a mirror
reflecting the ass upon it
see straight up there
into all the shit
where you keep your head
sit and sit some more
drop your contents 

grow lighter
then one moment, one morning
by one star
deduce you are translucent
view anew a dawn sky unobscured
there below as always

now get up and walk

honey for the cat

in a rest stop cafe
see spiral in my tea 
two dollar mandala
like a feral cat
lick spilled honey from my finger
back aching and hardly register 
repressed & fearful glances
from norman and norma normies nearby
who don’t keep wild animals 
or wild acquaintances 
and want it to stay that way

i put two bags in
is this theft?
to the register, two dollars ready
to find its two seventy-five
two stray quarters in my back pocket
i offer to chase down jen for the third
but michelle tells me i’m set
today willingness is worth something 

new blue paint pen

out back for a smoke 
wind with me then against
push and pull pictures of he and she 
to ride the sun beams 
through my head 
then empty me 

not to be caught today 
as my back aches 
shoulders wound up 
peace in the belly already dispersed
by the back door creak
one minute from now 
and whos evers fucking needs
talked at me and stealing the sun

so back in the dim bar
where ventura highway plays
and i’m easy drawing rorschach blotter
with my new blue paint pen
that asks not for eloquence

googoo gaga town

there are men painting in the entryway
blocking the door, but they are nice to us
and open it

while you do your banking
i go through all the stickers
and find the best one
can i take two?

i don’t want a lollipop
there’s pain in my chest
i need lunch but i try not to whine

the more i learn the less i know
as the years pass, i move backwards 
i’ll soon be a baby
ideally still able 
to wash and dress and stuff
but i don’t really care 

another sunday

where is my mind plays
but it's too bright and I'm not asking

we've left the day and paused the night
here in holding

in billiard clack and neon din
pixies, tom waits, steely dan

whatever, keep em coming
seated but still running
drown today
in scrapping and laughs
until tomorrow
if the dawn insists
as it always does

king of the highlands

slant sun slats on dying snow
thawed air pungent over mud and grasses 
where five big highlands gnaw a stack of hay
one golden outlier 50 paces off looks on

Janet leads us over 
to Cinnamon Bear 
king of the hill 
and he rises slow and heavy 
like a mountain grows 
looks at me with his bronze eye
framed by prize-winning horn 
holding the whole twentieth century 
in tranquility 

atop his hill he’ll tell it all with a glance
if you pay a visit
saturday i’ll thank him and his family
for a dear friend's slow roast