A Metaphor for Salvation

Salvation is the fun you have in line for the Death Show. The show starts forever and the line is the entire world. Having a ticket is a fact of life.

Don’t listen to people who claim to know about the show – nobody who makes it there makes it back. Explore life while you can – the end will come.

You may realize you forgot something, you may make a mistake. It’s OK. People standing in judgement are waiting it out – it’s a long wait without joy. People who aren’t sharing think they own the show – they don’t. Nobody has a better seat there.

We’re all in the line together. Help the people around you find what they need to enjoy it and you’ll start to see who’s ready.

The show is always starting.


I heard you died last night at bedtime, Señor;
And fear you wanted it to happen. I know.
Alphonsus’ pleasure filled with sharp thorns, bedgown;
Whispering, shine like through a crystal. Coma.

How can we be loved if we can’t be seen – behind pain?
Accepted without mother’s witness gifted as love?
Universe fill us with the light you claim abundant?
Pain’s living language; death the meaning of a soul torn.

I cannot blame you, friends who die defiantly.
Laws claiming to define us, I am that I am.
Message’s word messenger forgotten men.
Goodbye Señor I’m grateful we had a chance.

Your friend who shot himself in Tulsa; Gone.
Your lover quickens to Alaska; Runs.
Your mother’s savior has abandoned; Sin.
Your words dispersed behind the baseboard; lie, spin

Romantic, languishing an object can’t be they, them.
In friendship truth between us sharing, hope for goodness.
Quantitatively suffering not rape for measure.
Body memory day of falling, day of waking.

I cannot blame you, poppies take away the pain.
Can you please listen trickster as to why befriend?
Walnut house fear grey layers – the magic mine.
Wall, wolf and poison utilized to survive?

I heard you died last night at bedtime, Señor;
And feared you wanted it to happen. I know.
Promises marry day forgotten, over.
Garden’s learned burning brown, devalorized friend

Memories pictured in the albums he built to shelve.
By hand where gift landfills the righteous thought forgiven;
Mind wantonly by men diverging world deserted
How confident without descent pith would miscarry?

Blameless I take up pigment and choose my words.
Spirited mine by losing, I of love ask why?
Superstitiously redeemed true will free the world.
Goodbye Señor I’m grateful for the chance to meet.

Everything is Ugly Now

In the Golden Age, the villages,
Free of disease, food grew on trees.
The land belonged to everyone.
There were many gods for choosing from.

Everything is ugly now.

Come together let’s plant these fields –
With food for more to congregate.
Consider one to decide the fate
And keep us safe, said the loudest man.

Everything is ugly now.

With all of them, when crops had failed,
A violent man, in another town,
Saw plenty grain was stashed away –
Let’s use these stones and take what’s ours.

Everything is ugly now.

Declaring they were chosen ones
The warriors went to Babylon –
With books they wrote and said with swords
Forever more it was their home.

Everything is ugly now.

Because murdering is powerful,
Taking slaves effectual,
And fear of God convenient too –
Senators divine with force proclaimed.

Everything is ugly now.

We the richest born to rule –
Taking all the most effective rules,
Critics of the church should die.
Even if hypocrisy is rule of law.

Everything is ugly now.

Universe observant put to death,
Unless truth proven profitable,
Divine right formed new kingdoms there
Lands that once belonged to tribes.

Everything is ugly now.

With stronger ships, the men sailed west.
To their surprise they found a place
Not yet seen in sailing maps.
There, said savage, lived a Golden Age.

Everything is ugly now.

Without same weapons overmatched,
Gold and silver plundered there.
Mass murder by disease and hate
A great land grab began with new lords born.

Everything is ugly now.

With no concern for hunter’s herds
The buffalo were driven off the cliffs.
And without food to feed themselves
Tribes were moved to lesser lands.

Everything is ugly now.

Freedom there, a country born,
From conquered become conquerer.
Without land for peasantry
Floods of men sailed ‘cross the sea.

Everything is ugly now.

The cleverest of the newly made
Figured how to amass great wealth.
Labor paid just to subsist
Until they gathered for demands.

Everything is ugly now.

When they felt they had enough,
Those comforted new family men
Believed in life beyond the grave
Accepted fate and fought for home.

Everything is ugly now.

The masses still led to believe
The Christian church was built on love,
Feared questioning the trinity
Despite the law, by rule of mob.

Everything is ugly now.

From liberty, new slavery
Printed books, and songs emerged
Of ancient days when once there lived
Rebels, heroes, many gods.

Everything is ugly now.

Belief in chances to be free
Tribes from every corner of the world,
Some by armies forced from homes
New citizens accepted not by old.

Everything is ugly now.

But never were there savages
And never were they truly kings.
Never was there one true god
His story cleverest deceit.

Everything is ugly now.

For if the God described as love
In everything existing such
All creation emergent from
The gay, the dark, deserved all.

Everything is ugly now.

Questioning the powerful
Respond in force by using fear
This not what messiah taught
That rich were low, the meek should reign.

Everything is ugly now.

Our beauteous world in jeopardy
Replaced by plastic thrown away.
Considering all that has transpired –
6 wealthiest prove money god.

Everything is ugly now.

For the land is never owned
And none of us deserving more
The greatest force of humankind
Is how belief controls the mind.

Everything is ugly now.

For if the land is truly owned
And some of them deserving more
Violence, fear the only means,
Protecting told inheritance

Everything is ugly now.

The same remains to be reborn,
That murderers will always rule.
That peace just moments of a life,
Faith in those destroying earth.

Everything is ugly now.

Collecting wealth is not the crime,
Nor wanting future family.
But without asking what’s deserved
By everyone in governed is.

Everything is ugly now.

For if you ask them what they want
Or believe your skin or origin best –
A free man questions what you say
Because he feels freedom within.

Everything is ugly now.

Propagate your dominance,
Using faith or governance –
The ones born free of hateful thoughts
With same means now defend Oneness.

Ugliness there was once found.

We born free now greatest minds
Proof color, just hue of skin;
Women equal, though not the same
All must choose what world they want.

And choose to challenge everything.

It’s JUST a Theory

So I didn’t sleep last night
I took some medicine that helped me think
Contemplating my state of loneliness
About how not joining in the game
Leaves me wondering if it’s not
Meant to keep you soft.

Perhaps, it’s just a theory

The philosopher who seeks the truth
Really questions empowering means
Will come to reflect on dichotomy
Of man and women, witnessing
The he said she said of it all
Or is it just she said she said?

Ah, it’s just a theory

They say he cannot feel in force
That’s not been my experience though
The prophets are his sex and 
Though she says she’s powerless
It seems more that she wants it all
And hates encroachment on her domain

Emotion, just a theory though

Constructed meaning, the liberated
Sought to seeking pleasure most
Without responsibility, without class
In society no work’d get done
So it’s best to have some rules
As long as she’s got a say at home

Power, it’s theoretical

Power most is family bond
Commitment based on reasoning
The heart alighted by emboldened speech
And while she may have words to say
She’s not as loud or believable
Reasoning not her harvest, most

Feelings are, in theory, said

Beyond protection for himself
And those he loves, she must
Come first, and so it goes
Because she choses not to work
Not because of capacity but
Just her greatest vice is greed

Perhaps, it’s just a theory

Who wants to work? Not I
Though I take pleasure from the truth
The truth of power is in lust
Believing you can own a thing
She convinces you that she is yours
But always searching for the best

Not too hard, in theory though

Not knowing this, a man will toil
He’s noble after all, for his
Heart, those he trusts
Beating her to close her eyes
Is for her, beneficially
To suppress desire

Uncontrollable, by her sex

Wanting all, except to work
But to discuss, not truth
But lies, her best kept tool
Creating meaning with her spies
The henhouse clucks, words
About those who stand

In question, observationally

The nature of the world
The most liberated of her sex
The whore in reverence
Held by men, her beauty
To dispense at will and with ease
To be paid, for what comes free

Easy work, theoretically

She does not care much for his face
Adapted to desire, power most
The jealous ones of the easy life
Make this practice hard to get
Hard to get is what she wants
An easy life, for less beloved

Getting fucked, that is best

She picks an easy target first
One kept happy for a time
Until her greed, because of sloth
She offers him her arguments
Conflicts, emotion-based
A just return, not, for his toil

Unconsciously, or common law?

Her womb is what she’s offering
In exchange for room and board
Perhaps, biological imperative
For a time, until at least another
Man comes along with promises
True or not, a good way out

Truth, it’s just a theory

The promise of it compels her to
Leave her home and leave her man
Risking everything just for a chance
For more ease, for more things
She can always come back home
The poor man, he has a heart

She loves him, theoretically

Perhaps a construct of her own
To bypass accounting for her thoughts
Love believed to be the means
To keep her there, except what’s true
So easily she’s stole away
By betterment, while she waits

It’s good enough, for now

Serving yourself better though
When these arguments arise
Tell her that, your reason sound
To leave your house, sophistry
Is for the weak, not I
Go sell herself, if it’s ripe

Or shut your fucking mouth

She requires you play along
Desiring her, she is the prize
Always chased by lonely men
Who think the wife, her to be kept
She’s keeping score, nothing less
Discussing secrets behind your back

A whore is better company

At least she’s honest about her work
And when she’s done she’s got a tale
And she can keep men, conversationally
With song and jest and merriment
Reasonable and satisfied
By giving what is really best

Pleasure, and true respect

Did you taste her, it was prime
I got a discount because I whined
Come now friends let’s find the truth
Instead of wasting time with this
Emotion manipulates
A lazy cunt, not equal work

Her womb is all that you require

Theatrical are her displays
But that’s not fair, her eyes betray
The double-speak that she’s about
Requiring you make compromise
Because she thinks you’ve fallen pray
To her loveless love parade

Perhaps, it’s just a theory though

Now, there are exceptions
Transcendent ones, they see too
Through all the veils, perhaps deserved?
Just like you and playing games
A waste of time she wants a man
To take her mind

With theory, thought and truth

And lie with you to talk about
Witnessing the sorrows of life
Existential pain you feel
Because you see it’s not that real
The stories told to keep us fat
Really aren’t the best ones out

Whatever, it is easier though

In liberation then, one of her sex
Sees not just size but thoughtfulness
Karma holds the hand of truth
Science is the surest path
For equal quantitively agreed
If the lazy made to work

Instead they shake their ass about

Fundamentally, they don’t care
Well, some that is, but most let’s say
If the truth is what you speak or not
Believing what they want to hear
Is easier than seeking truth
So men become like them instead

Disappointing, to say the least

Complaining, wasting time
Creating emotions to distract
That’s not fair, oh really Miss?
What’s your research? Do you
Pick and choose what suits
Best your emotionally constructed bed?

You fucking whore, open wide

Perhaps the patriarchs
Are not quieting the wives
But protecting all, from her vice
To use her body with little yield
Actual laboring, why should I
I’ve got tits, I’ve got lips

One set spits, one set’s wet

Now after all of this is said
What type of man desiring most?
The one who goes to her
And honestly says he wants
To take her to his bed tonight
Concerned with nothing of her life

A weak man serves her well enough

Brow beating him, while keeping watch
“Innocent” enough a sport she plays
Welcoming desire when she is tired
Carefully though so he’s not aware
They’re such cheaters, men, they say
Not really, women manipulators first

He’s crazy, perhaps you made him so

Creating meaning, love and faith
To keep him trapped conveniently
While saying you want equality
Take little of the heavy weight
To help someone who’s not your friend
Your friend is who you talk about

Create dissent, it’s easy bait

Emotions are a response
To the unknown, silent attack
Deciding that you are done
While leading him to some new
Place, perhaps, will make you happy
Now, nah, didn’t work, nor did you

Instead you just talked about

She could stand up, take the yolk
Not shying from the law or thought
That is beautiful, men agree
Her claws, a pen, her desire
To think, the glass ceiling that exists
Isn’t pay, it’s to lead

At least, is theoretically

We welcome you, we want you to
We’re sick of games, we’re sick of lies
We’re sick of double-speak and fakes
We’re sick of toiling while another class
Creates the thoughts that keep us bound
Stand wrestling, dear with the concerns

Ah, it’s just a theory

True love is love of everyone –
All life, sentience, a mind is not
Gendered in the thoughts it sees
Only qualities, prescribed –
Sexuality is truth, it helps
Release our emotional concerns

Unless you’re too tired, love

A woman’s body built for lust
She can climax time and time again
So, perhaps, it’s not that she’s a prude
But she’s the reason for the fear
Unless she can, use her spine
And stop requiring men their backs

Coats, to cover up the rain

And truly what she fears the most
And still not turn her eyes away
The leader of a band, poets, wanderers
Who live the truth of love in full
Because the enlightened artists can
Experience all things in such short time

Because they’ve put their spirit in

Not buried under furniture
In clothes or jewelry, it’s so fine
Really, it’s useless without desire
Pick up a fucking shovel girl
Help me grow, together we
Can share the joy of sharing life

Move on in time, like a man

A man, he honors what he makes
He’s loyal to experience
And hurts the most when he’s betrayed
And that seems happens most of all
Because his girl will not disclose
How she feels, responsibly

Perhaps, it’s just a theory

The New World in society
Without ownership perhaps
Because in equal competiviness
Without displacing faith in Christ
The Great Creator, not named a man
A woman’s rivals fell away

Perhaps, it’s just a theory

If everyone, expressing lust
Expressing joy, sharing trust
Committed to the common good
In watchfulness, prepared for flight
What is better, I just ask?
Because bitches bitch, then you die.

Together, we are one.

Unthought Known

Due to danger of lifestyle/communication loss will be part of progress. Just believe there will be future gains. Communication in painting/art/music/poetry valid, just know, the meaning may be lost/unavailable to the current community – and lost to their understanding. No fault that you adapted to communication in this way…it’s a valid response.

Psychogenic Pain
Much like the part of the spirit that was torn from you against your will, physical pain in your mind may exist. This is part of the sub-human experience.

Inside life = home. Outside life = studio, travel quarters. Most productive activities can be accomplished in Outside life. Adapting to outside life, an effort to affirm humanity in disavowing the requirements of Inside Life; companionship, sharing, family, possession, safety.

The animal belongs outside. What’s left is animal.

Pend Oreille


Highway 95.
4 by 4 is on.
The biggest lake, mama, in Idaho.

Don’t want to say it wrong.
Your waters quietly sun-bleach
the sunken trees and submarines.

Yet I dare not say your name –
Pend Oreille, Pend Oreille

Of you I said I’m fond –
Before I moved out West.
A bird of death now drawn forever on your breast.

I look into your eyes –
The bottom of my steps;
I cannot catch my breath, I cannot say it back.

Yet I dare not say her name –
Pend Oreille, Pend Oreille

I said goodbye to Sam
Gone back to Oklohell.
Wyoming on my mind – shooting ne’er-do-wells.

Pend Oreille
I ask your name.
In waves of gravity
My body falls away,
My body falls away.

yet I dare not say your name
Pend Oreille, Pend Oreille


Order the 12 oz. New York medium rare – sitting at a table
A seat opens at the bar, between a Pueblo and a long-bearded burnout
And thankfully my favorite bartender is about – a tall slender man
and I mean slender. The burnout has that acid drawl, and he’s looking
For a game to watch on television.

We settle on the little league world series, Iowa -vs- Whoever, Whoever
Takes a quick 5 run lead in the 1st this burnout, I ask, lives in Asia half
The year – between China and Pakistan he says, and I say, what would that
be, and he says, Tibet and I say, yeah that makes sense.

The Buddha is from India you know.

Yes, I know. I say you have a house there, and he says no, all they do is fuck
you I stay in a hotel. 12,000 feet. And it’s closed off to travel 7 months of the year.

This Pueblo, he’s a ladies man – I got lots of girls in the
twenties no younger than 24 no older than 28. I say, mine was 23,
that must have been the problem. He likes to talk, but he speaks quietly
So I strain to hear him – half nonsense since I can’t perceive. He has 2
homes and a horse, likes to take the girls for a ride – Meat and Potatoes
Tits are the Meat and the ass is the Potatoes, if I got that straight.
I tell him I was sitting here last night thinking about all the weight
I’m carrying, and he says you’ve got to be positive – I’m trying
He says you’re putting out the wrong hormones when you’re down.
I say – I moved here with my girl and she left, and I say, but I’m
trying to decide if I should stay, depends on who I meet
Where do you meet all these girls?

The Internet

Well, that is not my style really – we buy each other drinks. Brown Ale
and Whisky Sours for me, and an IPA for him. Soon a single woman sits
to my right. I glance, she’s OK. Some man, a real jerk says the Pueblo
Strikes up a conversation with her they go on about where they
Went to camp out east, and her favorite football team, she describes
the offensive line in detail. 3 kids, yes, count me out –
I turn and look in her eyes.

Now, the Rattle Snake man mosies in, and he’s doing the
Rattlesnake dance – he puts them in a bucket, and takes them down the
road all the while banging on the bucket not too close, mind you cause that’s
Where he hikes. He says, “If you want to get rid of them
You gotta change the habitat.”

I say, “Where do you find them?”

Under the bags, beneath the trailer. What’s in the bags I say, old winter coats?
No, he says, these are bags of money…and he’s rattlesnake dancing again.

The funky bluesman comes in, and I say – I’m really digging your stuff.
And he says do you play, and I say well, not like you – FOLK – and he
Says what’s your name – Casey – well maybe I’ll call you up later
to play a song – He’s doing this all on acoustic guitar. My man.

That steak was good.

One Foot in the Universe

Bumpy road to write upon,
Highway stretches on and on.
All the clouds that show the rain;
At the side of the road, a blood stain.
Broken yellow line for passing,
Concrete highway everlasting.

Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by.

Headlight, taillight, line of cars;
Road a mess of cracks and tar.
Sign and times and leafless trees;
Toils and tolls and petty fees.

Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by.

Rain is falling up ahead;
Plowed the fields from east to west.
Oh the sound of falling water;
On the road to see my father.

Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by.

We stripped the world of earth and wood;
We cut the rock, we cut the lathe.
You take the bad, you take the good;
You take them both and there you have.

One foot in the universe,
One foot, one;
One foot in the universe,
One foot, one;

Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by,
Sometimes you get by.

Moon With a View

I got a place I live on the moon
Don’t have to chill with any you fools;
Grow my own crops in special made pods;
I got sanctioned to grow my plantation from God.

I like it here, it looks like it may be
getting crowded down there.
I like it here, it looks like it may be
getting crowded down there.

Just me and my wifey, the little boy’s fixed;
No ethics to ponder when there ain’t any kicks.
Big as the sky, you’re waving me down;
I’m out on the moon putting seeds in the ground.

Give it all, give it all to the third world;
Looks like it may be crowded down there.
Give it all, give it all to the third world;
Looks like it may be crowded down there.

Two thousand one martians are short;
Little boy blue genetics cold sore.
Sentenced to die drowning in hate;
It’s just me here and you’re on the moon.

Oceans will rise, activists limp;
Born overboard, born in the end.
Sentenced to die drowning in hate;
It’s just me here and you’re on the moon.

Keep my luggage in a crater, dude