"Altered peach"

The hot dog’s wrapper is also eaten

by the newly-outposted alien,

while a real gnome sobs openly on

an ornamented lawn.

How many people is it get buried in, 

you know, a flying Superman pose?

And does Coors really kill a werewolf?  

—there are some things here we just need to know.

Microwave-unsafe things admit their

weakness and then move on.

The new underground baby-fighting ring

almost always ends in a draw.

The poor synesthete’s sense of smell

went deaf about four years ago –

the ensuing confusion was something

strange, not seen before.

A test frog just got eaten by an altered 

peach bred for aggression.

Afghanistan’s tiny leap forward, smuggling intel

on the space program out of Suriname.

Secrets survive to keep the peace

that they kill when they die.

Still, when the sins on earth change, turns out hell’s gotta free

the poor bastards who were paying the price.

"Marooned in realtime"

Today I planned out a ground-level hide –

banking on homelessness that's to come –

that the DNR, State Po-lice & the oil guys won't find:

'cause bad luck puts its pants on 2 or 3 legs at a time.

I just had to turn into the skid, 

but then the skid turned into me and mine.

You'll want the poison in your mouth –

it's just so much worse in the eyes.

I’m marooned, I'm marooned in realtime.

The TV from the future 

tells everyone the next things to get scared about.

..So we're not quite sure

how much it is we all want the then to be now.

Because the what & the how’s not the why,

and the seed is just not the root; 

and Grandma only taught me manners & Manhattans,

and that most folks' hair needs cut.

I'm marooned, I'm marooned in realtime.

—Anything can be bruised so

don't say "sorry" if you just mean "no".

Guess I've found myself some days where

time's gonna take longer than usual...

"Things, how and when"

Hello, old tree – my truest friend 

of this best hour of the day;

hello, old tree – you might recall me,

and might-not is also okay.

A washboard road can’t get you if you weave;

but the police couldn't care less, emphatically —

the machine of problems and solutions

aches for the nearest soft things.

A bit windward of the label “44”

there’s a smiling man’s face down in the road, low,

greeting folks he can’t much hope to see

–they don’t stop, none do, and why would who?

Things are forgotten, lost, and sworn about;

choking to death on applesauce froth —

the scariest things aren’t at all to other things,

but are anyways still scary enough.

Everyone in the world stomps hard at once

and the world breaks apart in-place —

the test scores don’t matter any more and

everything’s just worth as long as it takes.

"Cooking for murderers"

Cooking for murderers and their friends,

but none of the lives they’ve touched; 

I’m living my life upside-down

serving lunch.

I’m away, we won’t see each other again.

I’m sad right now but know come to-morrow

I’ll find myself more and more elsewhere

and later cleared and clean, too.

   Blooded veins and dollar bills —

   they can both burn with fire;

   at least everyone gets nothing

   when they die.

Don’t gnash your teeth on a bumpy road,

gotta take care, little things still show;

black-hat woodpeckers keep coming back,

soon you don’t even have a door.

In another room there’s laughing

but that’s not where you're at..

Bitterness finds you when it wants,

and you’re the inside man, oh

   Blooded veins…

The hawks are giving hell to field mice,

my fuckin fan-belt just won’t shut up

and I’m breathing in splinters –

oh save us, save us.. oh

   Blooded veins…

"Looking past"

    I stopped a wallclock with my heart today –

    a neat trick I

    cannot recommend.

    The “looking past” at what lies beyond

    comes natural,

    but only at the end.

    Makes no difference to the insurgents

    that the government

    makes in my name,

    still I try to make a new friend for each one of them;

    though, of course, I can’t

    but I’m improved all the same.

    I’m sure my team won’t come out ahead in the end,

    but then war’s not

    the way that I like to win –

    you can’t add up losses to find what anything cost when

    you can’t measure

    how much things were meaning…

"The rusty staple"

There’s a lone telephone pole in America

that always stands in full sunlight,

but those who know never speak of it –

just another stray unknown miracle.

Deadfall ain’t done by a longshot, 

and a poisoned well’s still good for some things;

there ain’t a spare part been made yet –

everything can’t help but be in the final will-was.

   How often is the seeming what the meaning is?

   When is the whereat just near enough?

   Watch out, we might get what we want.

No gift forgives a theft,

nothing known can untrespass;

nobody can feel when their last chance

to be forgiven slips, falls, and breaks its back.

   How often is the seeming what the meaning is?

   How often were the reasons when we needed them?

   Watch out when we get what we want.

If it's coming, it’s never too-late –

and it’s on you if you’re in the middle-of.

Some things shouldn’t go unspoken;

even if, back then, you had to do it

"There is no enemy"

A grilled reuben cures many ills,
and I like it better if the locals built where I’m at.
Since the trusty Chevy truck got old, now his
lettering says we can just call him Chet.

Guess I could use a little more nothing,
got too much cluttering built into life —
busy representing ourselves with things that we keep,
tipping scales, keeping now off-balance.

Stripped books get judged by their covers
and come to be kind and say hi to each other and
sound-off like the mirthful sarcastic brilliant loving windbag Jews
my rented flat was under, but over here we learn slow.

Guess the opposite of something ain’t nothing, it’s something-else,
and don’t you dare try to change that again;
even if I wasn’t much scared of anything bad
until someone told me I could be.

"Advices"

Don’t need to own a pickup truck yourself but

best that you have a friend who do, & you

should know accidents leaving the strip club

tend to involve a bigger tip with the tow.

The word ‘widdershins’ still means something

if you know the right nerd to ask;

and out of all of them, glaucoma sure is

a better kind of coma to have.

A 2-litre of soda-pop chilled down to 10 degrees

will freeze solid just when you open it:

like us humans, when the pressure’s released 

it becomes what it really is – and then makes a mess.

There’re so many lists you don’t want to be on,

from no-fly to alien grocery;

so out of respect I keep my shitlist blank 

using shinkicks immediately.

(sigh) Remember, the money isn’t the work you did —

it’s ship’s scrip for the crashing starship Earth:

there’s an outside to each and every thing, and

mistaking means for ends soon enough’s evil itself.

—Aw shucks now, gone done’n got windy, son, 

y’all take care now and tip well for your Miller-time Bud…

"Tricky wisdom"

Some bits of wisdom are hard to come by,

I mean they’re whizzing past us all the time:

plastic bananas help spread Lyme disease,

eat chocolate only from its starboard side.

Clark Kent needs his fiber because if he pushes too hard

his boom-boom puts a hole through toilet and floor.

There is a best way to milk a cat,

but that nugget’s not a thing to be told.

Baby telephone poles only grow in salty soil;

and here’s the straight dope: I’m afraid a jar never is the door.

Real old-fashioned homestyle meals are

traditionally cooked in diabetes shoes.

If you don’t have a jesus in your heart

you might-should wanna keep one in your shoe —

he’s small and’ll fit for sure, in case you need him

when things get tight and go to Where-They-Go-To.

The teacher’s an ass and keeps all the points

the students miss on their tests and homework,

but one day he’ll get his – and at least he taught them

that, fuck yeah, sorghum is the camel of crops.

—So to everyone out there in Radioland:

Don’t touch that dial, it’s very sensitive…

Maybe start with the treble and bass, and then

work your way over to fader and balance…

"Job Satisfaction"

Well I've been living out in rural Wyoming

doing part-time buggy whip repair and odd-jobs –

sometimes they just need you to shave and paint and milk

every last turkey that they got on the farm.

Though of course my first love will always be

the way I hope to make a name for myself:

selling high-deductible dishwasher insurance

door-to-door all up and down the Gulf Coast..

And I've had a hard time getting my message out,

playing quietly at the Orangutans' School for the Deaf.

I'm just not like Trey Anastasio – my anti-anti-stagefright

can choke me damn down near death.

You think I'm crazy, but your necktie's a weapon for

every enemy that you make and find;

and in these pants I can easily move and survive

at least a day or two, left outside.

One last thing – every asshole that calls me

or some girl a "free spirit" is damned:

the direct implication of your tone is that you're not, 

and when you speak those words your brain hears them.

So if it is all the same to you, or not

(like I care), I think I'll be on my way –

there's an arguably alcoholic old racehorse

named Stewball up for auction today…

—I just love these odd jobs, that's how I do.

"Swing low"

I know the miracles that happen to me aren't for me –

they're for the good people who're stuck in my life,

and who deserve more from this relationship that

seems always to be on the line… 

But you'd be surprised by how often bullsmurf is the

nutrient that we people need: it's 

a voodoo kind of strength we're wired to derive from

strange things like the power of belief.

—you know what I mean, it's not that uncommon:

you can't do it 'til someone lies, says you can;

and the lessons that we, of course, learn from that

only make sense if run through woman or man.

When a pope dies they bring out a special hammer

made of gold and hit his head three times,

while they speak his name and pray for him —

tradition gets arthritis (it's only human).

People pray with their hands and dogs pray with their drool,

it's really all one and the same to me:

I can respect what you're feeling, though wanting 

doesn't always get you a treat.

—but I've been so very wrong before,

I've earned history's villains' standing applause, because

for some things there's just no punch you can take

and recover from and then move on…

"Spare tears"

"I'm sorry that I can't help you, sir…

but I could loan you these spare tears I collect;

though dollars-to-donuts my own time will come –

so someday I'll be needing them back."

The future resents being used to regret 

the past, some of its very best friends:

it's like strangers came and stood on your lawn

and then shot up the whole neighborhood.

–Hey, ain't the first time I done the worst thing of my life,

gotta expect it's gonna happen again.

With so many gravities that I'm subject to

I get drawn away from good intentions.

But in my dreams, I am the therapy horse

and treated gently and with respect –

a nice wide stall and sweet grasses,

and not even a bridle or bit.

—Okay, wake up old bones!  Don't think: teeth, face, and coffee!

Trying again empowers but(ofcourse) takes a toll.

Sometimes there's just nothing much you can do

except to go and learn the bad lesson well.

At least the sun is still free, and the wind likes me,

and the trees and stuff continue to grow… 

and yeah sweet tea and ice cream ain't so good for your teeth

but we still need them sometimes to stay well.

"Humans, Being"

At least my limitations aren't unfamiliar

because I run into them all of the time.

Instead of "Best Dressed”, my high school class

all voted me "Best ..Just Left Alone".

I drive around with my headlights off

(at least it's easy to see someone well-lit oncoming);

and the biggest fraud in the legislature

is always doing something quietly with the pudding…

Tinder just sets you up with sexting text-bots –

sometimes the future isn't always that great.

Later, your self-healing phone’s electric sciatica

will flare up if you set the poor thing to vibrate;

and meat bikinis will become fashionable 

once we get the vat-grown textures just right –

plus, if they're alive they could massage you,

"Yeah that's it — no, a little more to the side…"

It's too much to expect the world to make sense,

there's no way we'll understand over time –

in Canada if the dog wants your beer 

you give it to him, the law says it's his right.