/ 3 \ party animal crackers

tequila notebook {3}

i’m a party animal. a party animal is soft on the outside, with green gooey innards. party animals drink cheap beer & get sand in there toes. they hit a ball in the air & over a net with a man name gunner who gaurds docked boats.

party animals shells get hard & red in the sun. they leave the beach for the salt. they wish they had gills so they could swim to the deepest part of ocean where the sun cannot reach them.

if party animals had gills, they would swim forever. fish don’t need diesel. they just eat each other.

if party animals could be any fish, though they look most like crabs or lobsters, they would be sharks who die if they stop swimming. party animals want to live without boredom. they want to kill themselves if they are standing still.

but even party animals must hibernate. when the sun goes down. then they will notice all the pants & shattered longnecks bleeding green glass in the moonlight.

party animals will see the flaming swords being thrown like a faraway dream. they will be the fish they wanted to be & see silver hooks. they are dumb fish these party animals.

i ate a silver hook, rock hudson. i’m dead now, nanook.

dead like a buffalo.

/ 2 \ grapefruit toothpaste

tequila notebook {2}

mountains are safer than the ocean & the snow isn’t salty.

at the bottom of the ocean there is death & white pearls. at the top of the mountain there is a view & black diamonds. both lack oxygen.

they share that in common.

who would have thought that could keep me awake? after a modest cocktail of tequila, two port royals, & sudafed.

who would have thought i would think about a giraffarig? i saw one in a pokemon strategy guide once. i wanted it to have longer legs then & grapefruits for knee joints. if i ever capture one i will surgically enhance it with leg extenders & new joints. i’ll have to make sure there ripe.

but there’s something blinking, so i think i should go.

remember when you’re in the ocean that squids aren’t always friendly.

/ 1 \ garifuna who knew macumba

tequila notebook {1}

today we drove the boat through a hole in the wall.

on the other side, we tied bowlines to the cleats. i drank three rum punches & pet a galliforme.

he shook his red wattle like a maraca & danced lazy circles around the sinking dock after inhaling a dozen peyote buttons.

the smoke rose from the grill & i sliced off his head. we peeled black feathers & threw him on the fire.

bob blew a long mournful note on his conch shell when the turkey was dead. we ate like a sacrifice.

i ripped off his drumsticks & mixed them with the blood sauce of the beef tenderloin. i put the wing bones, one in each hand, by my sides & tried to fly above the ocean. i dove into the salt like a pelican & drowned.

i’m dead now.

in the afterlife, i met a garifuna who knew macumba. he had not been in brazil for many years but he spoke to me in portugese & i understood.

we pulled up our ropes & left jonesville after lunch. the wind picked up & it started to rain. i held out my tongue & washed out the salt taste.

angela & leon were skinny dipping in our pool when we got back.

i didn’t have a beak anymore. leon put on his khaki shorts & stalled us at the dock.
 she came out a few minutes later.

i wish i could have seen more than the hint of her wet tits.

-CR 16 june 02o09

33 1/3

33 1/3

vinyl winos spin

thirty three

&

one third

rounds per minute

we drink acid orange juice

on the summer solstice

&

we dance the longest day

of the year away

our neighbors

call the cops

but we don’t stop

we dance dance dance

dance dance dance

bat compactor

“bat compactor / CONCRETE&RUM, pt.1”

\\bat\                    |compactor|                 /baby//
___\bat compactor, roatan, bat compactor/
_____\hey hey, bat compactor. suntan/
__________\bat lacuna baby,/
_____________\hey hey,/
______________\bat./

the pilgrims made us a cliche

the cornucopia of disability information

why children die
why river dry
why butterfly fly
why this color god paints sky

why black, why blue why this
hue why unsuspecting christian
man asleep in my canoe

when build yr bridges pilgrims
when killed yr witches necks
when tilled yr forests less the trees
at least yr wheat mill in city streets
&
when american factories speak give thanks:

‘who me yes follow you the leader’
‘who you yes conquer me these people’

how then these savages
with minds of animals or men

how can be called native americans

where take their land for landfills
where dump sewage in their seas
where lump their fallen brass-colored
leaves against groaning plastic disease

what styrofoam moons shining down
on what new ghost town what ground
reserved what heart what soul what
skin what sound does make an indian

what mind hides
what soul shakes

what this pilgrim has come to take

-CR / 21 may 02009

dog smiles

dog smiles / (IH-35)
sound collage chronicles #[1]

riding cars back tracked stereo seats. drone guitars
eyes slack lick black leather arms. chair back, stare
sniff wag piss red barn lawns. tongue grass lift leg
airbags armed picked plaque bone tabs puppycharm
window trip. hide scars, acid road slip high sit miles
&
dog smiles.

ground bones thrown siren fur brakes. dog frowns,
car wakes, yawns, speaks, sounds phone. fake beep
seat home. leg limp, shake toy toes. shotgun winks
cars clothes wet sink. lick crotch nose run ball catch
&
dog stretch.

-CR

14 may 02009