playful dust bowls



plants a seed in your soil

and waits

she smiles at the endless dreams on which your

waking world breaks.


time and again the fuzz builds

on your living room floor

spinning in vortextural dances

trying to taste a touch of the self animate.

and there you stand

against all odds, an antagonist for the indecisive

drenched in high fructose corn sentences

you will your limbs to do the motion they’ve always done

arm swing forward, opposite foot forward,

but nothing, and nothing but dire uncertainty

turning soiled as well as unsoiled particulars

into playful dust bowls which momentarily cloud your vision.


she insists

persistence, persistence, persistance.

right, my response,

further investigatory analyses seeming utterly useless i regress.

tackle me, i scream

I have the ball of nothingness

capture my flag and follow me down the rabbit hole of eternity

the gate which, when opened creates the stream of life affirming

uncertainty that presses each of us into the perfect vessels

for human reflection.

pre-supposing, however, the dynamite laden mine fields over

which we float.




He’ll never go down, big belly and all beaming eyes

drinking Budweiser, telling tales of gratefulness for each day

on this, his seventy first birthday.

rich, in that substance which easily produces heart felt smiles

genuinely caressing with words.

solidly shaven, satisfactorily quantifying the yes moments which

the days events produce in his heart

he is a hunter

the one who pursues and unceasingly squeezes

out the glory in each ones valiant struggle

the strategist, the publisher, the drunken rebel rousing indescriminate

citizen of the underworld

the one who walks on water, who jumps from stone to stone,

up streams of memories vibrant living forests.

the questioner, the tidal riding sea monster of your eternally waking day dreams.


incalculable, the 30  second syllable who’s tone denotes the inevitable arrival of your filled pleasure craft.


the million bodied progenitor of life’s impregnating prodigy

the one

inside of each blossoming word which dances from his tongue

like fireflies.


the proof is catalyzed by the light filled caverns which implode within your minds ever expanding eye.

the matador

the purposefully uncapitalized letters of your carefully composed nightingale inspired manifesto.

he talks to much.

you dream of her.

your own personal genie, the magic queen who’s every move leaves you wondering.

how can this be? you muse.

retractable blades and long slender rectangular swaths of thick green grass

layer brick like upon the raw dusty earth

instant signs of life

hovering, wondering at such a sudden change, never the less entering the newly drawn lush green labyrinth.



The international stratosphere portal is opened to all possibilities,

so what,

you sit with nothing in your mind but the desire to connect the timeless effervescence from which you’ve come,

the little bird flies

the chirping is so delicate and precise as to arouse the suspicion as the possibility of  it being an alien impostor

improbable and yet…

the stories validity gains moment as the tip of your swinging pick axe keeps striking solid rock,

jarring, an insurmountable task, which continuously draws you back to your small carpet on which you daily meditate

wishing to untangle the knot filled ball of circumstantial elements you’ve come to know as “your life”.

and yet, there is always  a time for looney tunes.

a time to tune your channel to the stream of eternally knee jerking banter

the peanut gallery of gods delight in the uselessness of it all,

I am the revelation, I am porky pig, the road runner

i am trapped in the bottom of the well, with all the time in the world to dispel

the inadequacies which have grown as bars around my earthly cage

as restricting thought forms around this spinning turquoise sphere of life.



she’s unformalizing the structures  of this carnage happy convolution called humanity.

she’s sinking her teeth deep into the pits of your hearts calm and hungry caverns,

to give you glimpses of how good it can be to give,

as she does. the center of all grace within each being, your own personal

dragon empress.

she pushes the “sit down, shut up and listen right now button whenever your tempted

to judge, categorize or critique the essence of any other  of her children.

But herself is easy to love. as tame as a tidal wave

drunk on pirate punch her antics circulate like sirens of revolution

through the panda party palisades of yesterdays dynamic recollections.


its uncertain where to place your left hand,

on blue, right hand yellow, left foot green, right foot in mouth and munching until devouring entire self

just in time to reintegrate, to contemplate, and recreate this little light of mine.

The cohesion clouds have scattered, taken up hawking mats and strode magically across the desert floors

in all directions.



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