Counter Act


computer pencil poor profit corporate non profit authorized prohibition direct metaphor hippie politician love hate post-modern fossil enemy-friend trusting lies lonely support from at when standing seat sober fiend republican prostitute patriotic terrorist passive aggressive mood on your sleeve manson strolling down sesame street jewish nazi front lawn apartment stealing donation i start finished sobriety with a shot angel witch hunt stabbing comfort content madness

at the protest, sunday night…. (unfinished)


………peace keeper with cunt written
on the back of his jacket.
“we need to black out all media,
right now”
concerns follow
intensely with moving morals
making room for video space.
california walks by our bench
stoned bench, “this is sooooo
cool” we laugh, a positive acoustic
guitar line is the soundtrack
for your walk through the south block
and then across main to the northern
fading in fading out holding
your hand   new songs
introduce   leave
in history 700 people
have been arrested on
this here 2 block street
corner   some of our friends
are skiddy about coming out
i hear the authority
is coming, that authority
is amongst us that
they know what is happening
they hear every voice speak
no need for a mic check
the raid will spray the rats
in the face! versions of red rave
i smell human shit not metaphorically
someone dropped the free
lentils and rice close behind
our momentary chit chat post
i light a cigarette to quench
the stench    i see everyone
i never thought
would be here here

aspired plateaus of thought
free the compost clouds
of exceeded expectations
the rules of life
cause the sky to rain

Ten Year Old Afghan Battle Birthday


Boom went time spent away in the valleys and trigger happy fingers of my brother in the grave saved had he a hole in the earth, for him my head I shave. His death came slowly. First, he lost all hearing in one ear. A bomb blew through a letter he was writing home, “miss you, love you”, is it acceptable to silence spinning earth for a momentary month? To tell your best friend off when your face is ground in Portland puddles…

(Oh, Sarah. The look in your eyes. As love slowly composed somewhere between our breaths.

As love rolled your eyes into the back of your head, spastic eyelashes of pleasure

The time of death, the time I decide you my treasure

And I told you

Though then you needed space, my face pressed deep into a lonely pillowcase

thoughts few, I suppose of only losing you.)

14 million out of work, ironically economically not damaging the fall from employment growth in the summer. 45,000 Verizon workers said and done run to the edge and jump off onto the setting sun from a crumbling horizon.

The sidewalk does end, kiddo.

Wife lets husband be a football boner. Eddie Lear told me to say that.

The therapy I’ll need foreshadows in the ceasing shade of the trees in northwest off 23rd in between Everett and Flanders, and my heart needs a hand to hold. To protest my political poetic.

Occupy Portland


This protesters’ heaven
has signs at the gates
angels of a political spirituality
horns on the face of we the people
the 99% of wicked demand
that I ask my drunk friend to understand
the ghost of langston hughes frolics
inside the dessert of a mace can
“sexist pigs!” say the masked confusion
of lesbian anger
children are held high to sketch the future problems
more varnish shredded on the front lines
with flasks of whiskey wine and rage

hear me, you sober characteristics
punch me in the street in a puddle
of road block blood money
need i yell “america!” simply
to remind the sheriffs that
they need a bandanna
around their mouths too?
take a leave of absence, wall street
and give me a dollar
because I’m a little hungry
for your shaved pussy
let the wheels turn around
the voice of oppression
drum a beat to a CIA agent prayer
for sex from his wife’s brother
in law, shall I shed light upon
what will offend your values
on the playgrounds of Portland streets?
So much hurt in the eyes of all this anger
running deeper than money
running deeper than money
running deeper than money
my surroundings on 3rd and Main
the beliefs of these people
are
suicide
honey

this is what
democracy looks like