THERE MUST BE SOMETHING ELSE OUT THERE
is it really all just sun and clouds?
fish along the sandy beaches, indifferent
to their last few breaths under the water where everything
for
them
had been fresh for so long, as humans
sought to destroy for profit
I feel better when I see the Vietnamese fishermen
collecting the fish and plopping them into their bags
which will also one day wash up along the outer edges
where humans will one day be running for their
lives
and all these towers built up into the sky with lights and air-conditioning
have a good chance to crumble, going soft with their foundations
built
into
this very sand
which had gone
unspoiled
for centuries, millennia perhaps
and with the sun rising each day in the east and setting behind
these falling strands of hair on my head, getting gray
when I get lost in there, I wonder:
will we one day be trapped in our own worlds?
and this world that we share
together,
will we be trapped
like goldfish floating
up
to the surface
of this
boiling
Earth?
there must be something else
out there, I know there
is
because I’ve been searching for it
for a very long time
and there’s one thing I know about the universe
which has always been quite
appealing to me
it’s like
smoking
an apple
tossing it
to the ground
seeds and all
(marijuana
seeds)
and one day
it’ll sprout
again
(marijuana
seeds
and
all)
green plants
stretching to the sky
anybody
gotta
match?
WEDNESDAY IN THE WORLD
looking at my watch—a blue one
I got it in Kuala Lumpur
for $25
and that seems like a lifetime ago when I was with
my girlfriend
she was a little bit
pregnant
after we separated and the tears poured out of me like a mid-Western
oil rig
I got on with my life the best I could, roaming the streets of
Penang Island—feeling the heat, sleeping in a hostel for a few nights
until a little
mouse
jumped in bed
with me
it was cold, then
in north China
and I was
all
alone
dreaming before the sun came up,
walking the streets
carrying my laptop bag—heavy
always
like Kerouac
I wasn’t thinking
about
Wednesdays in the world, in fact
I figured I’d never
escape
life often
feels that way, where one day you’re searching for
a camera on an island
because
there’s nothing else
to do
and then a few months later, she’s not
pregnant
anymore
and you won’t be speaking to each other
just greeting the day, Wednesday
with Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker
and
your new free trial
of
Final Draft
and
what else?
poetry hardly matters
when you’re all
alone, and then
it’s
everything
dark circles
under
your eyes
finishing
last night’s
beer it’s Wednesday
and I have nothing
else to
do.
COMPANY PUPPET: EVERYBODY MUST GET STONED
robot! perpetuating the company line—nothing
to say with words of
your
own
I am listening to Bob Dylan on a Friday just before noon, waking up
late
company puppet: human resources department
have you
ever
woken
up
very late?
with depression, anxiety in your dreams
opening your eyes at 3 AM, clutching a pillow
do you have any exes
with long
and beautiful
legs?
and what about their eyes?
what about your eyes?
what do you
see
when you go to bed at night?
company dreams
company eyes
company lines
company robot
company death
come on, you
can do
better
than
that
here
try this
harmonica
everybody’s
got
the
blues.
SEASHELLS ON THE BEACH
I am overshooting with poetry
aiming for the sun in the sky
hoping to be buried
in the sand
the low tides
evaporating
with the moon and the wind
I am blustering across the empty coastline
without another human being in sight
I am laughing
barefooted
there’s nothing better than coming home with sandy feet
those days are gone, for now
where I’d be taking a walk and trying to ignore
everything, including the Koreans, Chinese, Vietnamese, Americans, Germans, Dutch, Aussies, and Russians—on the beach
in bathing suits
and
sunglasses
and flowery
vacations
I left them behind
the pigeons have even now gone
the Earth stuck
in its rotation
around
the sun
and I am staring at it, staring, staring
blindly
smiling
grinning
sand
on my toes
I have life inside of me
when the rest of the city—and the beach
is
very
quiet
in the early afternoon
and it feels good to know that
I am alone and
happy
happier than usual, in fact
overshooting with this poetry in my mind
delusions
somewhat
grandiose
with a certain self-awareness, easy
and kind
as I take the bum gun in the bathroom
shooting off
the sand
covering
my
ankles
and
toes.
COFFEE CUP
with pink flamingo
yellow-and-black striped hot air balloon
green palm leaves
orange tiger
jet skis, no expression on that guy’s face
reddish sunset at the horizon
windsurfing
in the water, a couple
a waterslide too coming in from the sandy shoreline
dolphins
jumping
over
the
entire
state
of
Florida
an orchid whale smiles, pitiless white eye
in the center of silky smooth black skin built for the water
after thousands, perhaps millions of years
under
the
sea
I see a castle on the panhandle
maybe
Orlando
has shifted
due to global warming?
Disneyland dreams, arms in the sky—screaming!
seashells on the beach, a star, pink
green alligator with craggily teeth, ancient
and prehistoric
a rocket ship leaving the Earth
and a rollercoaster
heading straight for
the alligator’s
mouth
my coffee cup
hot black liquid
fades into the bloodstream
I am wide-eyed if there’s something
left
to say
you’ll be
the
first
to know
Alien Buddha Press 