saddle up, young blood, we’re going for
a ride—the troll king lives at the ocean,
fighting each other with our broad sword,
loving a princess that remains a virgin
troll king, no doubt, wants to make me afraid
hold on to power and you will be saved,
do you think of anything but getting laid?
i suffer, so i write, eases the agony,
6.6.26: Poem Untitled 1 #67 Read more
Book-length poemsIn Going Up in Smoke, I was interested in allowing the acoustic bass to assume a leading role, carrying not only the harmonic foundation but much of the melodic material as well. The tenor saxophone and trumpet engage in a shifting contrapuntal dialogue, each taking on prominent responsibilities rather than following a traditional head-solo format. As the piece unfolds, a gradual process of transformation gathers momentum, evolving into a broader sense of expansion and crescendo. By the conclusion, the ensemble moves with considerable energy, with the saxophone emerging slightly to the foreground while remaining part of the larger musical conversation.
6.5.26: Jazz: Going up in smoke See more
Jazztackling his idiotic shame, wrangling
for a better life—believing I’ll get there
so I’m happy as shit, rolling rawhide
from orbit to orbit. Well, chaos, darkness
is all they can see, and so, I must ask
(sticking to my guns), what’s wrong friend,
with dick-less heaven? My Jesus, at one
time, loved me so, made me feel happy
6.5.26: Poem Untitled 1 #66 Read more
Book-length poemsIt had been a few days since I’d kept this appointment—talking to Ursula across time and space—basically like we’re occupying the same exact headspace—call me a negative Nancy but I was worried about her weight again—figuring if the last ten years is any indication, then, by the time she’s in the oval, well, she could gain another twenty pounds, which would have made her chunky, and then, well, if she had a baby—who ever comes back from having a baby . . . well, to be fair, some people do, but, on average, i’d say most people don’t lose half the weight they put on. Now, these imaginations indicated, I’m quite sure, that I had real feelings for Ursula and I didn’t want to get off track from my true self—a person that sleeps with people that weigh a reasonable amount, not just anybody.
6.4.26: Untitled 3 #61 Read more
Novels in real timeWell, it ain’t you, chief, that I’m
addicted to; it’s the drugs,
I think, that we used to do;
breaking up all the time
torturing myself,
mistaking His talent
with the mouths of Italy,
my drawing, says the
Florentine, looks like a pig
6.4.26: 2 Album 3: A hill of beans See more
SongsEmerging from something so show me your
gun—polite as reindeer in the afternoon
sun well, there we go, warp speed’s a no,
and I’m feeling the ache of an earthquake
rattling my bones jackhammer and sea salts,
taking a bath: I’d get off the sauce but
that wasn’t my path mystery rider
ghost rider in the azure sky—he faults
6.3.26 Poem Untitled 1 #65 Read more
Book-length poemsdiseased lightning striking me twice, don’t
know all these people, their head in a vice
so what if none of them, in my heaven,
exist—or even worse, they exist elsewhere
every bit as good as me. but i believe the
way we live our life informs us in
the life to come—to be outstanding, here,
and, therefore, there, is the favored outcome
6.2.26: Poem Untitled 1 #64 Read more
Book-length poemsI was in the middle of a mathematical jungle trying to make sense out of various things that both solve the Riemann hypothesis and explain certain physical properties in physics. All i wanted to do right now was take a breath and get back in touch with my Ursula. Her voice was coming from the center of my brain, but I was a long way off. That happens when I do math—I’m so focused on other things that I forget to project her voice. Maybe I’m doing it a little unconsciously, but she definitely gets pushed aside by unknown people that sneak in when I’m checking my email, so to speak. I’m not saying I’m not reading Ursula’s email when this happens—I think a lot of times I am, but as all this math comes out of me, pipe dreams, i know, i lose the filter. Others get in. People that would disrupt my routine, make it difficult for me to focus and get things done, and, of course, to get to sleep at night. I had no intention of living the tortured life of some archetypal artist.
6.1.26: Untitled 3 #60 Read more
Novels in real timeShiver me timbers . . . bitch is cold as hell
walking into a rainstorm hear the knell
a warning from sister time far and wide
i just want to cut my grass and drink beer,
loco—don’t know what you’re on about
transwoman living inside of my heart,
don’t know why i’m spooked, there’s no doubt
everybody here has to do their part
6.1.26: Poem Untitled 1 #63 Read more
Book-length poemsfancy dinero speak of the rising sun:
I’m coming for you angel, three cheers for
me; watching what you’re doing down there
fucking me like crazy: it’s you i adore,
making mountains out of molehills, got to
be sure; well, friend, you are handsome
enough: can’t wait to meet a woman like you,
propel me, god willing, one step closer
5.29.26: Poem Untitled 1 #62 Read more
Book-length poems