August 21, 2025 (Ars Punk)

For want of hole, the heart remained whole.
For want of a whole, the band remained sound.
For want of a sound, the guitar found a chord.
For want of a chord, Joe Strummer formed a world.

Mad, cracked-tooth hippy –
Angry son of diplomats –
Ignored by a father –
Deserted by a brother.

Wild poet of Ladbroke Grove,
Council house lay about,
Cortez of London who burned
His books for three-chord rock.

Clumsy guitar hero!
Crazed, stage stomper!
You did not make the Era
But you took it for your own.

For want of a record I found his words.
For want of his words, I saw a world.
For want of a world, I grabbed a pen.
For want of a pen, I learned to sing.

Joe Strummer! Enemy of gimmick-hungy yobs!
Joe Strummer! Saint of the Holy Cassette Deck!
Joe Strummer! Watcher of that great Jazz note!

For you, today, I wear blue and brown, Joe Strummer!
All days are days for you, Joe Strummer! Joe Strummer.

vagabond’s goodbye - 
she: “hope you’re sterile"
me: “hope you’re barren”

Rather Be A Fool


Don’t teach me the lessons
I don’t need to know,
the ones that require
so much pain.

I’d rather remain
an innocent fool,
angelic in outlook,
and out of touch with the world.

Peace of mind comes so easy
when your head’s full of fluff.
Wisdom can be a burden.
Knowledge can be too much.

Ever a child,
it would be better to roam,
capable of smiles,
filled with love
down to your bones.

Wolf Moon

 
Wolf Moon nips at my heels
as I dance across damp sand dunes
avoiding pratfalls induced night rhythms
portending danger or imposing
obstacles to my free form celebration
of light and renewal, prowling raw
parameters of solar sheen and shadows
renewing spent strength, clearing paths
for new beginnings placing tomorrow’s
prosperity on the horizon as I howl
in open air seeking a spiritual doppelgänger
to guide my footsteps both novel and familiar. 

THE BLACK GIRL WITH BRACES ON HER TEETH

 
The black girl with braces on her teeth,
long skinny legs ending in roller skates.
Those beautiful brown legs in blue jean shorts,
sleek torso twisting in a loose top.

She glided past me,
turned her head,
looked right into my eyes,
caught me watching her.
She held my gaze a second,
I memorized her little nose,
her full mouth.
She turned her braided head forward
as she turned the end of the block
and she was gone.

She didn’t smile at me
but she didn’t seem upset
that I was looking at her like that;
those big marble eyes of hers complacent,
without curiosity,
telling me she knew what I was thinking,
that she was used to it;
used to boys thinking about her like that.
I was helpless.
She had all the power
and no desire to use it.

I was fifteen
and she was probably about the same age.
It took me ten years to stop thinking about her,
seeing her only that one time,
for only a few seconds.

The black girl with braces on her teeth,
long skinny legs ending in roller skates –
she came rolling across my mind tonight.

 

“Irreparable”
 
There’s a mug in my cupboard
with a huge chip out of it
and its coffee stains tell tales
of Saturday morning victories
over terrible hangovers,
while my favorite whisky tumbler
is as clean as a beautiful smile
hiding the most heinous lies.

 
“I’m sad enough”
 
to hear an old friend
is doing well
in their sobriety,
only to feel like I’m a dog
that can’t help but drink
from the toilet bowl.

Against the Worms

 
Such a shame
to waste these
opposable thumbs.

I should throttle a buttercup
or thump-thump-thump
type a thesis

or finger a saxophone
while she rises from the tub
singing her siren song.

Something to show I was here,
my juices soaking the bun
between bouts of shuffling.

The whole time
birdsong bounced from the branches
as we throbbed.

This voluptuous ticking
match-by-match until
the heft and heave ceases.

Only then
does the prickling make sense, tumors
amounting to nothing

in the end.




Arranged Like May June July August

 
Thin clouds
passed through a cheese grater
and scattered overhead

An urgent yip yip
a ponderous arr arr
nothing from the koi pond

A tailless squirrel
next to my father’s coffee mug
half-full of rainwater

Our little family
lost among all the multitude of little families
at the fair

Obsequies

Now that it's done and dim, let's
smoke cigarettes and paint
my floors blue. Fire the lawyers,
hire a small plot of happy.  

Throw back the curtains
in the drive-up motel. Cracked
vinyl and an empty parking lot
and wonder how to leave next.  

O to be the desert. All sand and sweat,
stars crumbling and stumbling
from one room to another.
The past never slept. Fire the chef.  

Hire some consent. Turn out
the lights and wipe down the walls.
Take in that certain charm
of the ebbing and pocket what's left.  

Don't hold tight. Fire the trucks.
Once again we're left to empty
the ashtrays. Strays and the late,
now we see how this ends.

Opposites and Cognates

 
christmas over

all down the street and at the same time

traffic lights shift from red to green

new years gone

and walk don’t walk signs

turn from orange to white

from fire to ice

from flame to Frost

 

Me And My Depression

I can feel
its teeth
against my skin
as I am
lying on the floor
watching
as my blood
pools

There is no wolf
at my door
There are no demons
There is only me
and my depression