It's almost five,
I'd love a drink—
But I'd rather be watching
Barton Venk.

Oh, walleyed
And Patmos-blistered scholar.
When you come down
The puckered macadam
Alone,
The air
All filtered ash
And humanity
Spread like bird bones
Across the western sky—
Alone
You come, and alone
What purpose drug you?
With innumerable human vectors
Arching over you,
Ballistic maps
To pore over,
Marking blemishes
On the parched…

Oh, walleyed
And Patmos-blistered scholar.
When you come down
The puckered macadam
Alone,
The air
All filtered ash
And humanity
Spread like bird bones
Across the western sky—
Alone
You come, and alone
What purpose drug you?
With innumerable human vectors
Arching over you,
Ballistic maps
To pore over,
Marking blemishes
On the parched…

In times like these,
With all things equal—
A movie landscape
Naught but sequels—
There comes a time

In times like these,
With all things equal—
A movie landscape
Naught but sequels—
There comes a time

Whether hobbit,
Director,
Scrivener,
Or saint,
It all comes down
To some kind of taint.

Whether hobbit,
Director,
Scrivener,
Or saint,
It all comes down
To some kind of taint.

Homo gigantopithecus
Died out, along the karsted hills
And deveined deltas of Southeast Asia
At the same time as silent monks
With crabbed hand and frosted breath
Wrote of the mountainside hunters.

Homo gigantopithecus
Died out, along the karsted hills
And deveined deltas of Southeast Asia
At the same time as silent monks
With crabbed hand and frosted breath
Wrote of the mountainside hunters.

On bloviating nerd Olympus
There's no one greater;
Ignatius Reilly's the original
Commentator.

On bloviating nerd Olympus
There's no one greater;
Ignatius Reilly's the original
Commentator.

They've boxed your past
And torched your heroes,
And codified your childhood
In ones and zeroes. 

I'm too upset
For circumspection,
But my first vote
Was the 04 election. 

Hurm. The suburbs. White picket. Houses like a thousand coffins made by a blind carpenter with a bleeding hand. There's blood in the red trim. Tonight, when the lights go down along La Cienaga by the pre-K art school, they'll see what their Kentucky blends and microroast coffee grounds have bred. I am the crabgrass…

Not to interrupt
Y'all's vaudeville spiel,
But this headline's just
Too damn unreal.

Holy Mary, mother of god,
Pray for us sinners,
Now and the hour of our death
By your hands. 

What with their interests
And publicized cooing,
It brings new meaning
To yr freak scene brewing.

Forget horns of Eld
And the guns of kings,
All Roland needed
Was ten gold rings. 

Oak and brick
And autumn tang
Dragon's Milk
Is just insane

My lady love has killer gams
Her hands are gemmed
Her hair is limned,
She's all-time top five boner jams,
Her figure trim,
Her visage prim,
From sculpted brow to lissome hams.