fukit

Racetrack

He sits
watching dumb animals
run in circles
under the whip
under his burden
one race away

He sits today
just like yesterday
and tomorrow
wearing the uniform
he was defeated
tattered work clothes

but he does not work
because it doesn't work

He sits beside me
for the same reason
as I
Today he might be called a winner.

Someday

Have me
in any color
green or blue
my ocean
gold or brown
my autumn twilight
red or yellow
my sun, it shines
pink and amber
my sex and honey
black and silver
stars in the night

and when I'm gone
paint me beautiful

someday.

Bingo in the Raw (An Ode to the Beat Generation of the 50s)

This is a letter of thanks to all the peyote zap cowboys who would not stop thumbing the dial of the radio rocket station tuning the beat. Bus driving relentlessly sticky tar daddy-O thoroughfares stopping to pay no tolls just- roar!-bingo!. Flipping quarters out the window as they beat!-Bop!Rat-Ta -Tat Rat-Ta-Tat.
And Go," bingo baby bingo"
The damn fools played bingo in the raw. Swinging junk and loving where they could, there was so little time and so much to say, and so much to feel, and so much to know, and so much more to ask. So much jazz to blow, so many hustles to close,and so many minds to open.
and they did
bingo?
Who's afraid of bingo in the raw?
Sounds of mad kicks and life like blood orange juice dripping down the chest?
Go, Bump -Zap- Bingo- Rat-Ta-Tat -Crash
and things will really open up like music.
thanks guys


This is a fictional letter to Jack Kerouac, Neal Cassady and Allen Ginsburg. Also known as the "Beat Generation" It is a writing experiment where I have tried to write in the Kerouac style of rushing thoughts and images. Sorry bingo fans, its not about bingo.

The Prozac Bends

I think it's called,
the Prozac Bends.
Was down so deep,
and came up again.

Dark water held me,
chilled my core.
Buried me gently
I struggled no more.

Jellies on my stomach,
fish with no eyes.
Colors so pleasant,
could it be a lie?

Entangled in their snare,
the surface I found.
Breathing air too deeply,
my heart began to pound.

A new life was starting,
one I had to win.
But the atmosphere around me,
made me drown again.

In God We Trust

pious, concrete cathedrals
trample clouds,
afraid of the sidewalk.

making no apologies
for their promotions,
for blocking out the sun,

giving thanks
to the tenderest God of all,
Uncle Sam

Voices

Thank God
for the voices in my head.

Without them,

The people in my face
would surely drive me insane.