I spent most of the nineties collecting college degrees. I never used them in any career-oriented capacity. However, the
diplomas make good conversation pieces. Or they would if they weren’t gathering dust in my closet. I also did a five year gig as a substitute teacher. I currently rest on my laurels as a hobo poet and
raconteur to a select audience of very gracious and forbearing people. C’est la vie.
Literary excavations:
Afton Gardens:
Bluebonnet Swamp Reflections:
Reflections 1
Reflections 2
Reflections 3 Reflections 4 
Longleaf Panorama:
Longleaf Vista
King of Carnival
Car engines sputtering fumes
of vintage gas
3 million year old carbonized vegis
In the phantom night of the apocalypse
Coming in technicolor to a theater near you
Soon, soon, but not soon enough
To stave off the vermin of Gotham
Crawling out of sewage pipes
into the kitchen
Laying satanic eggs across the linoleum
Hatching little antichrists
In the long count down to Armageddon
Need Jesus the exterminator
to drive down from Jersey
In a brand new Lincoln Continental
Straight out of Detroit with gold fenders
Horn blowing like angel's trumpets
Escorted by the secret service
Across the wasteland of Tennessee
All the way down to funky Louieeyesanna
Only to get stuck in swamp mud
Outside of Morganza
But Jesus bein the cool God he is
Just mumbles a few Hebrew spells
An that ole car
just floats right outta that muck
Rollin down the river to New Orleans
Where the Dukes of Dixieland welcome him
Blowin that sax
with hymns of golden eternity
As he takes up his lordly role
As the king of carnival!
Wearin a tuxedo and lookin Mr. Cool
An man he's just the hottest act
since the pope came
Hair combed back in a pompadour
Leather slacks and a look
that Mel Gibson would envy
He's sittin up on top of that float
like the pharaoh
Throwin beads and doubloons all blessed
Guaranteed as a miracle cure
For any sickness you care to imagine
He looks down from the throne
And his body starts glowin
like one of those 60 watt bulbs
The crowd gets all quiet like
They just stand there
staring at this cool cat
Wondering what other tricks
he's gonna pull
Jesus decides it's time to split this scene
He's done enough shows
and's ready to retire
But he wants to go out in style
So right before he splits the scene
He ends poverty and hunger
An even abolishes death
Then he takes a bow
An poof he's gone
The coolest cat ever
Ruins
The lark sings a sad song
As December wind whistles over volcanic ash
Dreams come fleetingly now
A whisper, a shadow then nothing
The sun of truth is so bright my mind dilates
The barren branches reach out to comfort me
But my emptiness is complete
Swallows return to San Juan Capistrano every year
I hear they fly thousands of miles from South America
But I have never left these ghostly ruins
To hear their songs of joy
Once I set out for an endless journey of life
Now I wander in nomadic bliss
Seeking oblivion in the caverns of my mind
The corpuscles of my blood cry to heaven
For release from the cycle of death and rebirth
But their cries fall on deaf ears
Only the moaning wind is heard
And the purple sunset echoes my lost vision
Of what life could be
Tracks
Snowy Beach
Snowy Path 1
Snowy Path 2
Parade Ground Snow Man
Tiny Snow Man Tiny Snow Man 2
Bell Tower Snow Man
Bell Tower Man 2 Snowy Street
Busted Flat in New Orleans
Down and out blues
Weigh heavy as a sack of potatoes
On shoulders wearily in slump
Dow Jones fell like an old pine
Toppled like an old drunk on skid row
His heart still thumping
Like an old accordion
Played by a bowery boy
In his final gig of the year
Playing Auld Lang Syne
Whiskey hand tremors
From rocky roads
Walked with gait too proud
Fumed breath
Roaring sentimental tunes
Sung in lower keys
Gravelly voice pouring
With preacher’s fire
Wobbly feet rolling
Down wharf row
Where ship horns bleat
Old derelict depreciation
Plunging currency
Follows his wrinkled brow
His motley over coat
A royal bluff
For a folded hand
Let Freedom Ring
Oh liberty!
That doth free the hungry minds
Mired in the soot of newsprint
Whose proclamations of freedom
Ring from every mountaintop
Booming with cannon fire
In Baghdad suburbia
Where golden age apocalypse
Sings in immolated promises
Like ashes blown on the wind
Where for art thou American democracy?
Did you lose your way?
Somewhere among the huddled masses
Who stand in line in soup kitchen delirium
Hungry souls who seek salvation
In the waxing and waning dollar
Whose dilapidated derelicts
Dim in the twilight tarnish
Ancient wrecks
Who reek with fumes
Of fermented dreams
Woe betide the American way
Which Stumbles through alley ways
Where lost lambs languish
Amongst the ruins of laissez faire
Where paper plate meal tickets
Summon staggering souls
With pied piper portents
Of mashed potato hopes
Myspace
Favorite Web Sites:
Arcanumcafe
Robert Pirsig
Metaphysics of Quality
Anoushka Shankar
Noam Chomsky Page
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Last updated: December 25th, 2011
