Category Archives: #mental health

Gonzo Poetry

I had run out of it i’m out of it
mind you my mind that ran away
first by feet then by train
paxil was her name a rotundish
hard skinned pink pill of a pimp
so sleeping a tossing flipping
dreaming dream i witnessed a mess
messing up a dream:

this slot of sliced land jutting
with clapboard housing a shouting
with roaches a toasting the best
of a meal they boasted
the strangest of stranglets in
a land of stranger piglets;

two step eddie backed up to a window
owned by a rider, says he with
back to a drive-thru widow, ‘take
this shotgun, won’t need it, take
this broad sword too, and take this
forty-four again won’t need it,
i’ll keep this grenade cause it
needs me more — see that man there
, snagged my lawn cutting his own
, watch me walk over there.

Two-step walks over there and pulls
the pin and once again they do like
they do the owner of that window
was a copy-cop over 44 and says
to eddie, ‘don’t pull that pin you
sons of guns, sons of burning suns!”
Pin pulled, trigger pressed two slugs
in the valley of the deepest cracks
of two buns and all is done.

And the female dog under the oak
toking-tree says to her male friend,
‘your banging will wake up the
recently dead if you don’t stop
banging and start more slapping instead;
no-step eddie tells the devil he
needs to brush his tooth but forgot
his teeth brush under the bush.

Never cold turkey Paroxetine
and slip to sleep on a Monday.

:: 06-26-2018 ::


Lust Our Kicks

It’s a sun-drenched thought
riding in a dream like me
in the backseat of a
Buick rumble seat

We love our kicks
it’s our treat
being crazy ain’t enough
unless your tough
we love our kicks

There’s a question
on the plastic streets
one that drives me hazy
am I or the others crazy?

We gobblefunk in the trunk
licking the razor’s edge
all in the backseat of my
Buick rumble seat

And we lust for our kicks
a psychedelic moment
in a psychiatric ward
where the monkeys smoke
it ain’t no joke

We lust for our kicks

:: 02-12-2018 ::


PLASTIC CHOCOLATE CLOUDS

Oh Mary is a little lamb
she bled where she lay
and the dead cried “me!”
On a wondrous sea,
saline sailing,
silently Ho! Pilot,ho!
I never knew plastic
chocolate clouds
could ever taste
this — so good
riddance my lamb
She bleats me badly
a blue-yellow bruise
crushed my heart
and we sang,
“Oh, Mary is a little
bitch and bled where
she lay — they shout,
“Me!”
And the silent Southern
moss-grown streets
like a New Orleans
sweet drinking all of me

:: 11-30-2014 ::


SCHIZOPHRENIC PROSE (The Secret Society of Hidden People)

My soul is lost
upon ice-blue crevasses so deeply!
help me my blue elephant
that lettuce is brave
like electrons always saying hello
and never goodbyes!
You slip on lice and break your arms
it’s all so SCHIZOPHRENIC: tangentiality!
stilted speech and phonemic paraphasia
are mainly broken-minded poets
who use both sides of a pencil
-+95% of black eyes kill 5% of rabbits
and the bird whistles in Japaneses:
“sei shin bun retsu byo”
( mind split disease)
where logic and proportion falls
between the King & Queen
AND ALL ANGELS go to 7-Eleven
in their heavenly garments to buy
hot dogs and slur-pees
and writing is a socially acceptable
form of schizophrenia…hmm….
such is the paradox of delusion
and how are you? When you walk down
a sidewalk to the abuse of verbally
abusive birds chirping loudly how
dull and stupid you are. So you move into
a homeless shelter and make new friends!

:: 10242015 ::