Needles Highway

also tabloid, a driving range’s plaque as when sandbars drop-off, this question mark over time’s oriflamme─to this─ I’ve no quarter given but taking needles highway, granite narrowing each side owing the road their explanation each tunnel knowing sirens to satiety a rain tent folded right, this day, blinders off in the look of a just-broken mare

i wanna

i wanna fill yr brain with my brain
bring some sort of a substance to the tangible
when you hear how i hear
who cares if you hear it, you're not hearing it if you're hearing like i'm hearing it

so who the fuck even wants to be a disk jockey
is this guy really the king? or is he more comparable to a drug dealer
or is he like k. reeves in point break
i wanna be a drug dealer

UTAH GIMME 2

i've never had a meatball sandwich and immediately wanted another one
but that's g. busey for ya i guess
he'd be the best drug dealer
he'd be the best disk jockey
he'd be the most interesting father
he'd be the least likely to tell ya what he really, really wants

i wanna watch you watch point break

CUTLASS VII

1. tom
2. ruth
3. jason
4. paul
5. kyle
6. alisa
7. jessica
8. josh
9. rachael
10. joy
11. jerod
12. kelsey
13. mike
14. joel
15. erica
16. matt
17. justin
18. sarah
19. amanda

Emmisionary

I don't drink every night anyevermore
In the proper sense of belief I have none at all
Still I believe that now I can at least equal
the dead men of my line at early eighty something or so
as they did.

For the medics in Reykjavik or Nome
the first rule of thumb
is 'Not dead until Warm and Dead'
The Frozen Brain does not starve for blood
Some have been restored in full hours after falling through the ice and becoming it.
Children in particular can be salvaged
A small Ultimate Truth buried with Han Solo
Or any number of dimebacks with diminishing returns
Full Hefner Sauna in Trauma one

On Labor Day I discovered a flask abandoned

by a Husker fan for fear of police
By A clean person from West Center Rd
Somewhere between 72nd Street and Gering
who hates deviance and told his son to look out for his sister
When he saw Kevin Running Bear passed out on the Mall
This is what I inferred and what I know

 A furious mob dragged her to the Pretorium before an imperial magistrate. The Christian virgin laughed at the stone and wood gods, and glorified the true God she adored. In loud, eloquent words, she praised Him there in the Pretorium. The pagan judge handed her over to the gladiators to be infamously abused at their pleasure. Marciana remained fearless and serene. For three hours the gladiators were rendered immobile by an unknown terror, and were unable to touch the virgin.


There's an Arabesque wrapping around my new flask
Like Wallpaper from the Seventies that is still very common
in Dive Houses; Dive Hotels, converted Rentals
I remember that Nicole thought I was more skillful with my fingers than with myself
I was dizzy and crooked in the legs
I had the first case of Ethanol heartburn I'd ever had
In return I bought her cheese fries on her request
Then we ignored her bed to deliberately mock the celibate
in the Church across the road

 Mostly I only drink on the weekends anymore /Socially mostly anymore
Though I have a flask now and this compels hard liquor
At Ivan Beran's funeral I learned that Grandfather had a 64
oz good customer cup from Kwik Shop
That into his seventies he would fill it to the top 
with four parts cheap bourbon and two parts seven up.  
I remember he would mostly nap in the afternoons
sometimes be a dick in the mornings
If the kids touched his flat year-old 7-Up he would be enraged

"O Christ, I adore and love Thee. Thou wert with me in the prison and kept me pure. Now Thou dost call me – O my Divine Master – and I go happily to Thee. Receive my soul."
After she spoke these words, a ferocious leopard tore her apart, opening the road of Heaven to her. 

On Saturdays I might sleep to eleven o'clock or one.
Then I have chicken and eggs both together generally.   

No Named Thing's Worth Keeping

Who's been chucking dixie cups

in the dried up tombs

and who's been swapping out

my souvenirs for slop

Every little thing I feel's 

the realest whittled spear

and every pithy phrase I fake

ties the dumb mouth that I've got

Who's been tossing rotten fruit

in my office garbage pail

as it blackened past a puckered thumb

a slivered molar caught my tongue

God someone pass me back that bottle

someone balk my drunked up grief

someone ready my old kneeling pads

I'll punch in my pink knees, say:

Our father was a flag pole

and our mother was a widow

Say we've never had a brother 

and we'll never be born

Say we've never been but wailing

towers of skidding silver tacks

Say now's the time we won't stop curling

what they razed comes sprouting back

Someone type up all the rules 

of an emotional whore 

Bawl it in the yard this time:

Home's where you know

that nothing's yours

Nameless Blues Lyric in G

This is a boy grown
up in an acre long lawn of plain.
Comb out your own beard, fellow
and float down between the grassy banks
of etymology. Boot up your
bible names and take up
an instrument for

the road. No
story seeps
tight to its
moldings
without leaving
a toll on your reception tray.

When people call me Christ,

Christ, I don’t know, I assume

Something different for him. I

Assume the absent G in Jesus.

Gsus Christ can be an ok dude

Given the right circumstances

Or weather. It’s getting cold

Outside, for instance, and the

Grass has been let go to grow

One last time before I hate my

-self and I haven’t even let my

-self float down a fucking river,

But my desire is way too deflated

After my friend Katie had to be

Taken to the emergency room

After letting herself float down

 a river too cold for her body to

not get hypothermia, and it was

like one hundred and four degrees

outside when it happened and I

think that’s pretty fucked up. Think

about it. I mean Gsus. Her experience

sounded pleasantly disorienting, a tough

ride on those roads you only ride down

in summer, like with a long tunnel or the

longest wrapping paper tube you’ve ever

seen through with mild to moderate deliria.

So maybe I will float down a river before I

Just wont or just can’t or what if I died or

Lost my ability to walk or see or smell before

I ever get a chance to. I’m going to be ok if

I don’t because I really don’t see myself

Dying or getting any sicker than I already am,

And there really isn’t any kind of scenario

I can hypothetically put my future into that

Ends with me being a quadri/paraplegic, which

Is likely what I would still think if, say, I some

-how did become paraplegic, it would be very

Difficult for me to put myself in a hypothetical

Situation where I would ever become a quadri

-plegic . I think the worst of it is, though, my

Heart would ache as much as it does now and

I can run right out of this house right this very

Moment but know I will never do that again.

I’m terrified of becoming something I know I

Could never be. But I’m already sick. I’ve always

Been sick because of my courage to know what

I know or don’t know when they’re really just

The same damn thing. Like meeting people in

New places and becoming friends with them

Only so they fill the absences your other friends

Previously held. I feel guilty for that a lot and know

I probably shouldn’t but I’m just too Paul-less and

Justin-less and Mike(y)-less to be bothered with 

Harvesting their replacements. Sometimes when

Nothing meets nothing absolutely NOTHING happens

Like right now I’m just writing in this really weird way,

I feel like this is what Paul feels like when he riffs away

For awhile. And that’s probably the completely wrong

Way to go about understanding my sickness, but some

-times it’s just stupid to be afraid to start something.

Sometimes it’s just really hard to quit what you know

You probably should like taking drugs or drinking insane

Amounts of alcohol every day or having life be just

As helpful to itself as life would be blasted from a canon

While you were in a coma. I mean, you could technically

Say you were shot out of a canon in your life, but first

Of all, no one would believe you, and second of all,

Why would you want to do that anyway if you could just

Sleep literally all the time? I write so much more poems

In my sleep. I am more or less the most famous poet

I’ve ever encountered when I’m sleeping. Not in my

Dreams, but the retrospective contentment and lack

Of desire to even know what a poem is that makes

For some of the best lines or grouping of lines I’ve

Ever thought about. I rarely care about what people

Say to me, but not because I don’t think it could be

Helpful or hurtful or pleasant or lame, but because

I’m so so tired whenever that happens, which is a lot

Of the time, that I physically cannot hear what people

Are saying. That’s only somewhat true, but you get

The idea. But here’s the most important part of my

Entire poem. It’s been asked, by my mother specifically,

If there are any poems that aren’t so sad, and the answer

Is no. But not because poems can’t not be sad, it’s because

Poems aren’t ever sad. If that’s difficult for you to understand,

Well then read sad poems a lot but when you start feeling

Yourself becoming less of yourself because you’re sad or

Lonely or just nothing, think about Paul Clark starting the

Row row row your boat song and eventually everyone

In the entire world singing row row row your boat, 

because it is all joy.