The Pocketed Napkin of An Exploding Star

The Pocketed Napkin of an Exploding Star


I’m not reckless

I’ve wrecked four cars

driving home from

the floors of closed bars.

I’m unafraid, I’m afraid,

as long as I live to see

another day of getting paid.

but every mistake I make

gets put up on the fuckin’ TV

every intimate detail

under microscope scrutiny

and people wonder why I say


Untitled No. 18

this ain’t no contract for all the autodidacts

this ain’t no country club

it’s the last dance

only chance to make time

fade the fuck away

into the ashtrays,

buy a coke, a six-pack and nicotine of some kind,

and wash yourself knowing

just as you pay

it’s just a liars last dream with truth in mind

holding ice in my hand

waiting for the whiskey,


hand me my medicines, man.

I can’t stay waiting for the policeman,

all the things that he can


and stay true

to his badge,

and his zoo.


so they say my breath smells like whiskey

but my breath doesn’t drink, I do.

I’m just rhyming consistently,

doesn’t mean anything

alright, maybe it does occasionally.





An Exercise In Perspective

The reason I chose St. Anthony’s was because it was too sleazy for any pig to patrol.  Plus, even if they had it in mind, their squad car could only be parked in the alley out back.  I knew it’d be easy.  I done small jobs here and small jobs there, but with Jimmy about to cut my throat over 5 grand, I knew I needed somethin bit bigger.  So I chose St. Anthony’s, because it was to be so expected that no one would guess.  That schmuck that runs it has no clue either.  Doesn’t even have the mind to know what his shit is worth.

I’d stopped by there once before.  My girl wanted something to flash around in front of her ladies, so I figured I’d get a necklace – so long as it was cheap.  I hustled the sucker, convinced his ass to sell that shit half price.  Shit, so I knew it was the place to go.  The guy was a moron, but I knew he had enough mind to keep a loaded gun in the place.  So I rolled in with my .45, but with no intention of bloodying up those walls.  Just for protection, you know?  In case shit got uglier than it was supposed to.

So I stroll in and the old fool’s doing a crossword, and I think shit, I got this made.  And he’s got this smile, like this is the best shit he’s ever done.  Didn’t even look up when I walked in.  So I start strolling around, you know, looking half interested and shit, not attracting attention.  And this guy only looks up once.  The whole time.  Shit!  I walked out 2 minutes later with this ring, a 4 karat, right on my fucking hand!  I walk down to the pawnshop a block away, and sell that shit right then and there.  The little fucker tried to give me less than that shit was worth.  But I got him up to where it was supposed to be.  Easiest money I ever made.


Started like a normal day.  Washed some punk’s puke off the sidewalk before I could even unlock the place.  I looked at the crumbling bricks seasoned in graffiti and prepared myself for another day.  And it was just another day, though it coulda been different if I had tried to be the big man.  Put up the open sign and just sat, waiting for a con.  You know, if I had just stuck to the right hustles, it woulda been different.  Never shoulda learned to bet on those horses.  And I’d never have met the whiskey if I hadn’t lost so much on those damned tracks.  Coulda got out of this shit hole.  The only good thing about the jewelry shop was the profits.  People don’t know nothing about jewelry.  They know as much as I know bout the horses.

This tough looking thug walks in about 9 o’clock, and I think, this hood aint buying jewelry at this hour.  I seen him before too.  Sold him a necklace for two bills and it wasn’t worth ten bucks.  Put a smile on my face, remembering that easy money.  This time, he wasn’t buying nothing.  Thieves, they all got the same tell.  They stand there looking at a piece, but they’re not looking at it.  They’re looking through it.

He thought he was smooth.  Picked up two rings, put em on the same hand, then only took one em off.  I’da said something – made him pay, but he had a gun.  Got a bookie after me, so I been keeping the gun at home, for protection.  So I was sitting there like some chump, figuring out what to do.  So I decided not to be a hero today, cause the hero always dies at the end, you know?  I asked myself, your life worth risking over that 5 dollar ring?  Probably isn’t, but at the time it felt like it.  Plus, I’d already swindled him for two hundred.


Twisted Game.

This twisted game,
has no rules,
no guides,
no cause in life.

It leaves you hanging out to dry,
It could change you overtime
Creating other lives,

It will hurt you and leave you up to dry,

Sure a game or two
is fine,

Don’t think much of it there is no time,
You’ll be stuck in it the second time,
Oblivious of your time
The game will never leave you-in your time,
It will hold you ripping your mind,
Thinking, Wishing, Dreaming through your time
Oblivious of your time

Thinking, Thinking, Thinking, your losing time,
Thoughts consume you in your body and mind,
Holding you, twisting you, playing you over time,
No rules, no guides, no more time.

Samsa Meets Mephistopheles

(a work in progress)

Samsa Meets Mephistopheles


lit my cigarette

stood alight


a bit


upright, just might tell myself to sit down

a sense of time, of word,

the rest

all curiously quite cued up

and fused, and of course

all maligned

by machinations of which

I now

rewind and hope

not to feel

any remorse over.

but I am not optimistic.



of all the times to ask myself that

is this then?

What faustian logic has

on my mind been impressed

attempting to express

with ink on paper pressed

or keystroke after keystroke?

my own personal

Lucifer Christ

she is undressed.


I’m reminded of a certain wave,

crashing water in a certain gaze

I stand on an entirely different

plane’s haze,

and I wish

I wish

I could keep it all

like that mindscape was.


I wish

I could

be nothing at all

just vapor



that I somehow could retain

all of those small

little memories,

that you lose because

they didn’t happen, really

there were truths still lost.


Can you pull this cotton out?

I won’t tell you what for.

until you’ve read the reason

like a Sarajevo Rose

on the ground

when I’ve left my shell

molted on the floor.


a note about doors

and holy whores

and leaving hell

how grand!

It’s too bad, really,

that falsehoods should make

the best myths, the best worlds

one can’t help but compare to

or the worst.

Which is which?

you tell me.


“I’d like to do a song of great social and political import”

Janis said softly over the clicking whir

of my fingers over the machine,

and with her singin’

I like to paint my glasses rose.


I am samsa,

little cock-a-roach

let me tell ya

I’ll cry and I’ll cry

and I’ll try and I’ll try and I’ll try.

just like any other monstrous vermin,

maybe make a baby,

most assuredly die.

at least life is not made

of maybes, in hindsight.

I am a fly,

or I’ll attempt

and get off of Kafka’s shit,

and either right my own wrongs

or get some sense of it

rank up with the crook division.

well, at least I do like to look

at the sky.



Life became clear to me in a jar of white asparagus.

Nutritionists recommend eating as many colorful foods as you can get your hands on. The more varying in color(natural colors, not soda and candy, but fruits and veggies), the wider range of vitamins contained. Example: green spinach with carrots and tomato. Those are three pretty solid colors, and a distinct set of vitamins in each vegetable. What’s interesting is that all the fruits and vegetables in the world come from the same water and sun, it’s just the variation in perspective that allows for such diverse and beneficial productions, and always maintaining the title of energy-source/life-source. A carrot sends up it’s hair to see the sun and decides to make vitamin A. Oranges mimic the sun and make C, and so on and so on.

As for the asparagus, I hadn’t heard of white asparagus until I came to spain. What they do is grow the vegetables in a sun-free atmosphere, and as a result the asparagus never gets color, I imagine that to be a result of its lack of vitamins, however good it may taste.

Regardless of the vitamins they don’t give me, I will forever be grateful to these white asparagus, they answered a question that at some point we all come to. If what some say is true, and we’re all the same person beneath it all, what’s the point in having so many lives here on earth? Why So many people and experiences? It’s enough to make one doubt. But as I looked down to fish these asparagus out of the jar, it became clear: if fruits and vegetables can perceive the sun and water in so many different ways as to come up with such a variety of flavors and vitamins, shapes and species, what can countless billions of human beings perceive in the same world, and how many ways can we see the same sun? If, to live healthy, energetic lives, we need to take in all these different fruits’ and vegetables’ perceptions of the sun and H2O, One very great and large being would live quite well with the combined perception of so many billion human beings, right? Not to mention that each of us would and do begin to mushroom in growth as we gather and share perceptions, information and experiences. 

Every vision of the sun contributes to growth. 

Our eyes are like lenses through which the sun passes before reaching the earth, and each set of lenses, constructed by the combination of history and individual–a combination that never repeats–mold, shape, color, retell, construct and word such light into a pattern that leaves its mark on the earth forever. And a thousand mirrors show you a thousand suns. With each new person on earth, a new sun is born, a sun that is like to a blank sheet of paper or lump of clay, offering the greatest gift of all: free will of creation, with which we may remake the infinite sun however we choose, each with our own, and each equally beneficial to the rest.

Written on a Monday

Last Night I Smashed My Guitar

Last night I smashed my guitar
Into little bits and pieces
Into a heap of divorced materials
Confused tree splinters
Shiny chrome of spider legs and spider breasts

I smashed you because I failed
I couldn’t play the song of my dreams
But it was my fault, not yours
I’m sorry Guitar, you didn’t deserve it
You were only capable of love
I am capable of so much more

In the morn I woke up and cried
At the sight of your devastated corpse
No longer could you produce the same beautiful tones
No longer could you provide my soul’s vehicle
No longer could you make magic
You used to make magic that was real, no tricks

Tonight I will nurse you back to life
Splinter to splinter, spider leg to spider breast
It will take all of my glue, all of my time, all of my heart
But I will do it, because I love you
Once your resurrection is complete I will caress you
And once again you will make magic, real magic
Once again I will try to play the song of my dreams