another baltimore

looking for

another baltimore

or other baltimores

this one

the first one

is infused

with so many

ghosts

the subterranean sacred

the subterranean sacred

forces like

love & lust

or money

push us into

cities that

were briefly

fierce industrial

dragons blowing

fire and copper

flecked air

into the streets

but are now

sites of abandonment

or sacrifice

daydreams perhaps

& will -

at 45

after no guitar

for 15 years

hands were weak

i came here

playing again

like a singing

lazarus and

tried to melt

into a scene

of house shows

run by people

who could be

my children

i didn't care

i think they did

care that is

or notice

but you

can never

be sure

to be rejected

at 50

by young people

hosting basement

shows at say

the subterranean

sacred is odd

it cannot

be resolved

in the mind

only borne

packed into

a banjo case

like a brightly

feathered bird

and carried down

a street

once shimmering

with iron toxins

and now fading

into wildflower 

lots and

released

chocolate, klonopin & coffee

for years

i ate chocolate

took klonopin

drank coffee

and rage

rattled

within me

with the force

of the chicago el

arriving

in station

spitting sparks

like a diving

bird of fire

& on the train

i entered into

loud arguments

with strangers

who ambled the aisles

mumbling & glaring

cursing & accusing

& i was threatened

with murder

and all this because

i took klonopin

to slow the rising

dark thoughts

that had bloomed

like blood flowers

starting in ‘92

after my friend

drowned himself

himself in a tidal river

and the chocolate

and coffee

elevated a pulse

deadened by

the klonopin

everything

reacted coalesced

moving to

a smaller city

saved me from

an encounter

with death

that would not

have been

restless sleep

in a tidal river

traitors

i just watched 
a movie

about a punk rock

girl in tangier

who must drive

a car carrying drugs

from a small village

in the green

magrheb hills

back down

to tangier

cuz her band

“traitors”

has to buy

studio time

even music time

is money

sometimes

and opium

is a flight

from time

and the car

she drives

moves across

landscapes

that really

encompass centuries

of distance

from fast tangier

to the tall

swaying plant

lands of the

interior

the punk rock girl’s

family's time

in their apartment

is threatened

because they lack

money and her father

spends his time

and loses their money

playing dominoes

in a tin-shuttered room

the punk rock

girl robs a french

man of the money

he gave her for

time in bed

the film is her

gradually

mastering control

of her own mortal

time and when

explorers arrived to

a distant pacific island

and explained

to the native

people what their

pocket watches do

measuring

the divided up portions

of the day and night

the natives laughed

so hard that

they began to cry

the alphabet of notes

i'm 50 now

and i sing in C

i used to sing in D

the line of song

travels through flats

and sharps and takes

decades to reach

the final horizon

a pine cross planted

on a distant

dirt mound

a hawk tracing

sky arcs above

i’ll know

i’ve reached

the sun drop

endpoint

when i arrive at

the start of

the alphabet

of notes

where i’ll

sing in A

from the other side

with a hawk’s
sun voice

The Infinity of Funhouse Mirrors & the Preservation of The Sacred

I find myself having to avoid news about Drumpf for two reasons related to self-preservation...
1. As with all toxic narcissists and sociopaths, engagement with Drumpf projects one into the role of a bit player in a demented drama. People like Drumpf are, by definition, not inter-relational beings. To Drumpf and his ilk, other humans exist for one reason and one reason only: to be conned, exploited and manipulated -- to be gamed. When I follow the minutia of Drumpflandia, I begin to feel like a mark. Having said this, I recognize that as a citizen of this country (and of this planet), I am subject to the consequences of DumpfBannon's actions, and I will remain active in resisting the the ecocidal agenda and the rising fascist tide. However, I plan to avoid becoming a prisoner of the infinity of funhouse mirrors that constitute Drumpf's mind and his projected reality.

2. For those of us who have long been repulsed by and have rejected the American doctrine of the pursuit of one's own personal greed as the path to happiness and social harmony, what Drumpf is doing is particularly depressing. It is so not because it is something new, but rather, because it is the more naked, extreme and vulgar version of what has defined our political culture since its inception: sacrifice all – wilderness, human health and spirit, ancient cultures, everything – to allow for corporate plunder (euphemistically referred to as "economic growth"). With a double-talking Democrat as president, I was able to occasionally forget that this is the vapid and destructive agenda of the political culture I was born into. Drumpf allows for no such illusions. Thus, I avert my gaze in order to preserve what of the sacred remains in my soul. I must maintain my strength and my clarity of thought because the changes we must make run deeper than we can imagine.

PK Dick Said (poem)

Time out of joint

PK Dick said

He was talking

About a fold

Of the waveforce

Passage forward

The slipped joint

I saw today

On 33^rd st.

Was a tulip

Who bloomed

In Feb and got

Clobbered by hail

In March

The final scene

In Do Androids

Is when the guy

Feels affection

For a gently 

Hopping bird

Then he’s not

Sure if it’s

Real or mechanical

Can they

Blur the seasons

Or erase them?

PK Dick saw

This mad spring

In his cold fevers

When his mind

Untethered

After all the speed