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.

My Voodoo

trespasses strangle me
go bump in the night

guts bubble and howl
bitch's brew

little dolls
stuck with pins
I held them all

it's true
your voodoo
comes back to you

flowers and music

it's sway
eloquent movement
her small back
crescendo hips
dogwood silhouette
the blossom blooms
and the Cello plays for me

Magic City Blues

Sugar daddy asphalt sweats
thunderbird saxophone grunts and rust.
Rumble jukes hustle up steam ghosts
from rituals of the night.
never forgetting,
keeping score,
in street lights, dirty fingernails, cigarette ash
65 south is bleeding Chicago
all over Birmingham.

Two Drunks

Have you heard this one?
two drunks sit in a bar
one says,
" I've got a soft spot for whores."
"I wish it was between my legs instead of in my heart."
" I would be a healthier and richer man."
the other says
"your soft in the head."
"women scare the shit out of you.

Games End Now

Yahtzee
The wind refused to blow
and said, "The corn is the windmills problem."
Bingo
The worker bee buzzed the queen
ate her honey and left the hive
Check Mate
The chosen worshiped one god
and said, "Pharaoh can build this pyramid himself!"
Uno
The ass dropped the yoke
chasing carrots no more
Domino
The stream changed direction
and left the wheelhouse dry.

Thermal Friction Breakdown

30 weight blood
black and crude
thermal friction breakdown
the barrel is blued

aim to the east
the heart is pumping hot
thermal friction breakdown
taking what they got

sludge clots the vein
injection bleeding dry
thermal friction breakdown
the price is way too high

The Shit Box

I drive a shit box Honda
It never fails to go
With locomotion on my windshield
and green onions on the radio.

Past the pushers and the pimps
Stops where I can make some dough
With locomotion on my windshield
and green onions on the radio.

Under the highway to a dive
Where I can see a show
With locomotion on my windshield
and green onions on the radio.

When I lose direction
The shit box seems to know
With locomotion my windshield
and green onions on the radio.

Pinging and knocking
A rod it may throw
With locomotion on my windshield
and green onions on the radio.

If it can't make it home
I'll just get a tow
With locomotion on my windshield
and green onions on the radio.

She's Like Me

She's difficult
like scotch tape that sticks to itself.
She's crass
like toast crumbs in the butter
She's unnerving
like short curly hairs on the soap
She's menacing
like gnats on a scraped knee
She's alarming
like shampoo in the eyes
She's condemning
like a Sunday morning hangover
She's
Like
Me.

Winter with You

Sweet winter chimes
ring icicles and peppermint blossoms.
Moon drop glitterings
dance across sugar bellows
and star kissed dreams.
Glowing firefly embers
throw night rainbows
and a joyful sound.
All this I find...
in your eyes and behind your smile

Awake

Breathing Deceit
Yarns of manipulation
Democracy
the air in a potato chip bag
a half truth
American dreams, dream you.

Shitty Poem for Charles

I'd like to shit where Bukowski shat
I bet his best works are there
On the wall of a bathroom stall
Stripped to the bone and bare
In a bar filled with tar
Black lung smokey air
Where people sit
and seem to forget
that "Hank" is still living there

Ungainfully Employed

Working a slow death
I no longer feel my face
I must get away

Just a Reminder

Hi! How ya do'in?
Remember me? I'm no mark!
I'm the one you love

Near Sighted

Smokey eyes mirrored
She sees nothing past her face
Beauty is blunted

Hiking the walls of Jericho

Step by burdened step
It ain't easy livin free
But it's worth the walk