Drexler McStyles

April 02, 2006

holding cell

Im not sure
if this house is made
of cards
or of glass
but either way
the structure is not quite
sound

the calendar is filled
with repeats
and only the wind
passes through
with any sort of
purpose

rapping on keys
and losing myself in
the flashing lights
of Interville
the days leave no
markings
upon my impression
they look embarrassed
to be here

I know the feeling

from one extreme
to the other
is my calling card
but perhaps I should
have the number disconnected
or find a longer bridge
to place between the segue
from flight
to collapse

Posted by Drexler at 01:13 PM

March 30, 2006

Day 5

Ive got my checks
and balances
on replay
because I cant believe
how somberly it goes
all we must endure
is the tenure
of crabs who click
at the uttermost sound
whether it be a turnover
or an offensive rebound

I had no illusions
when I stepped into the showcase
but the opinions of the lacking
are like mirrors with a preface

and burning notes by the roadside
isnt exactly what I had in mind
but I had to flee from a country
pegged upon such a vulgar design

none of this
was meant to print
I would be happy
to bury it under this glass
but what hovers over us
is unlikely to be an overpass

we've all been here
for a thousand years
though the reasons why
arent discussed among my peers
who poke out
at the moment of neccesity
and try to convince me
of my hipocrisy

Ive seen a good many
things in my path
but nothing harder
than at which I can laugh
than the fools and the pharoahs
who havent a clue
about the global integrity
of which I pursue
upon my departure
from any given dock
that rises to the seems
of the level at which I
disembark

Posted by Drexler at 08:21 AM

March 22, 2006

inside the invisible room
monkeys slobber gibberish
behind their adult masks
they can dot their I's
and cross their T's
but the strands they sew
from the common room
read like the want ads
or like gold font on recycled ribbons
worn by those to whom
such things matter

sometimes you must scratch
beaneath the surface
below the usual nickel plating
to gather an understanding
of a collage of images
not everything need be
bold faced and elementary
except perhaps for those
who can create nothing more
and therefore cannot accept
anything else

the opinions of ghosts on the internet
who hide behind monitors
and spew banality
about things they dont understand
while clapping one another on the back
for accomplishments that dont exist
except for in the hope chests of their minds
are a great way to prepare myself
for my return to a country
that is overpopulated
with such stunted growth
a people who trample
what they do not recognize
and write off
what they do not have the imagination
to comprehend

Posted by Drexler at 02:22 PM

March 21, 2006

cost of thoughtlessness

she dreams to spend her sleep
on star crossed episodes
drawn blindly from a gunney sack
wild patches sewn together
baffled bloodlines and timelines
she relays them in amused bewilderment
horizontally

sheets tortilla thin
she lies beneath
sad almond accusations
burn holes in my smokescreen
she turns curves
draws upon sunlight
barking behind the drapes
to silhouette her movements
I am nowhere
lost in empty thoughts
unreceptive to the murmur of my libido
elsewhere is the moment
peeling paint
a dangling chandelier
silver bedframes
empty bottles
I am at the bottom of the sea
she is lying on shore
her dreams are wild and colorized
while mine are pitched in obscurity

church bells ring
the ring slow and hollow
I need a ground so firm
that I am a part of it
I need a slap to the face
to lift the fog I am breathing
sedated on monotony
there is no view from the road
just eyefulls of torn earth
faces that repeat themselves
dialog that has no dimensions

I am waiting incoherently
for a wake up call

Posted by Drexler at 03:35 PM

March 19, 2006

rental car blues

I went from third in my class
to a snake in the grass
waiting on the ribbons to bow
and the sounder the skirt
the more that it hurt
my chances of landing a blow

the latest in calibrators
were the alligator haters
lighting torches just outside the mine
and I sat like a bearskin rug
ready to pull out the plug
if the take out didnt come on time

in Miami I ran into some trouble
when my credit didnt double
for the platinum all american sign
I was meditating on a train
on a platform for the inane
but I was really hung out to vine

sanskrit is the language that I hear
whenever an inquisitive national comes near
passing nails across the chalkboard within
and Im just hoping for the chance
to pull on my departure pants
and make getaway in a long capsule of tin

Posted by Drexler at 08:07 AM

the circus mold

a higher flame
beneath the kettle
produces nothing brighter
than similar results
I can fumigate the toxicity
from a nylon screen of blurred transparancies
with the sweep of an atlas

yet
the blade gleams in the sheeth
the cross has been hammered onto the bullet
the ax has found the grindstone
and every doorway is either locked
or lurking

the candlemakers
left my face to mold in the wax
we all know
nothing shall be carved
in stone

wooden sprockets in the merry go round
slop grease and tears
onto trampled bags of popcorn
after the last horse on a pole
abandoned the missionary position

overspray scratches tumbled stucko
every third light and his brother
is burned or blowed out
and the morning only produces sunlight
that paints wheat the shade of tanned hides
ashtray have been overthrown
and returned unwhole
the canvas awning sags
stoops to the level of the hamburger cart
black kittens climb urinated stairwells
serching for their echo
succumbing to the shadows

nothing grows
in places where the dying
are encouraged to do just that

Posted by Drexler at 07:51 AM

March 16, 2006

jesuit missions

beneath the arches
between the pillars
meditating on the sounds
of the static beyond the piano
virgins and martyrs
bring occasion
to deviant cross references
linking the ironic similarities

another city
another mission
floor of inverted stone
mineral murals
horses are heads
and ducks are tails
on the staircase
leading to the sideshow
and all the while
a viola plays on speakers unseen
until I discovered a dimly lit chamber
containing a youth with a bow
and a means
of filling the acoustics
with light
it swims through the damp
a champion of sound
soothing the sweat
that trickled down my neck
to the dust

the rest was just decay
and warm beer
limping dogs
competing with raggedy annes and andys
for table scraps and the bad pieces

the rest was just
mosquitos and torn screens
absent fans
and foam mattresses
that had no appreciation
for the situation

Posted by Drexler at 05:15 PM

March 13, 2006

rain drops in the holdup hotel

rusted threads fail the patio furniture
and the roof moonlights as a sundial
all the gelatine hair schemes
rattle off idiocyracies
about pay per view bedmates
and the inflated prices of bottled spirits
not that they minded
the mothers milk is still warm and flowing

on the windshield were the fly by nights
they hadnt moved too quickly
and the front row overture
afforded us a view
of the motley crew
that held the keys to the cabin, motor
and coffins
for those of us who were confined
to the dragons den

pure alcohol was spun
into a botlle of pomelo
and they all slugged away
swerving at dogs on the roadside
dodging landslides in the twilight
sidewinding rugrats that crawled the highway
overstepping the skidmarks
like the steeples of antiquities

Part Duex

the heavens are converging on the mauve
over the palate of santa cruz
im hittin k-mines
and the dropouts are nothin to lose

in this drizzle and innuendo
ive got all my tiles marbled
fifteen year old rum swellin in the vat
mother nature and the plaster
are keepin my skullflap skinned

she would turn to interpol
for the inner light
but the electricity went out
and we were bequeathed with a candle
it fluttered
it littered the airwaves
our spackled
concumbine set
with waterfalls
keying on my doorstep
the lightning lent me
spectacles
for clarification
the fan is in park but running
so as not to dash the nasal decongestants
lying on a tin in the drawer
molding

fractured shadows
burst from the deformation
of the headphones
all and all
we're just
the pitter patter
the seepage
that we try to avoid
in the overpour

Posted by Drexler at 09:26 AM

March 09, 2006

rhyming is timing

I was born on a pay phone
under the oily sign of macrame
I toss smoke through the turnstiles
on the fourth block of Carondelet

braids as long as the welfare
toil in the execution line
we all pass around the box
of Better Times wine

opening biscuits with a spoon
under the swoon of a fan
but without the gravy
its like eating out of a can

the colonial chophouse
where all the duplicates sat
left me out in the cold
no place to hang my hat

seen half of the world
through the bottom of a glass
but I still take the time
to wrap and tap that ass

they say I have talent
they say I have no shame
but as far as I can see
Im still at the top of my game

Posted by Drexler at 08:43 AM

March 08, 2006

snowflakes

and what do you know
about the lyrics
to a song
that I am yet to sing?

the fountainhead struck the mullet
like a sack of snow
the cultural embrace
like the diverted angle
of a fallen eskimo

you have suitors
knocking on your door
Ive seen them here
knocking all before
should I wait
for a light to flicker
or should I make hesitate
a memory of yesterdate?

Posted by Drexler at 01:24 PM

the salt flats

residential avenida
where all the flies gather
stuck a rifle in the snow
and shot the corpus christi
straight back to the chrysanthenums
five cans of warm beer
damaged and delivered
as we crooned to the expulsion
of the baying sheep
and the tomatoes and vinegar
that stung the nerves
below my molars

the mouth of the straw lay closed
like the offices that tender the checks
and my porcelain spitoon lies as empty
as the spirit of a destitute wallet

lingering behind the stained glass
delivering the goods
but their aint no handle on my locket
just a bowl
that doesnt smoke
and the rattlesnake cancer
coiled up in my mucus membrane
playing singalong
with all the hits you've taken

riding the mule
alongside the geyser brigade
salt flat pupils
shielded by antiquated Varnets
as cracks in the octagons
fill the shovels towed
by the little men who drive bicycles
across the salton sea

the indian parade
ashambles in the road
an assortment of teeth and frontal lobes
that never formed
linger in purgatory
as the detachment of the lackees
makes the oblivious seem degenerated

in the jeep they took us
out to the ruby lake
my camera made sounds
and the wind stung my face
the wife took all the pleasure
in the view from the shore
as I coughed up stones
and cursed the flamingos for their candor

for the finale
my knees held up the scaffolding
of the dashboard
and the llamas
were left with the noise
and debris
generated by foreign interests
and overpaid folklorists

Posted by Drexler at 12:48 PM

March 07, 2006

mined in silver

the spanish painted the murals
blood lapping dogs
death from the bow
crowned from the whip
the indians traded their barter
for slavery coins
the negroes fed the furnaces
while the mules worked the wheels
all for the spanish crown

the more history speaks
the less I wish to hear
how we can look at ourselves
in the mirror each day
is a lesson in the art of
thoughlessness

Posted by Drexler at 10:30 AM

February 24, 2006

latin quarter

the spanish candles
wicks unlit
gather moss in the chamberpot

crossing themselves
in front of cathedrals
built by their conquerors
who have long gone
leaving them
to their mixed blood
their arrested progress
the legacy of culture
they can never match

thousands of years
and the ruins still stand
mocking them
mocking us all
for my people too
are just mice in the turnstile
praying to a plaster fairytale
when it is necessary
or when reality
supplies them with there mortality
they turn to him
open their hearts
so desperate
to him
because what is death
if one cannot come through it
unscathed
these daytrippers
part time volunteers
in the houses of the holy
need an afterlife
but I only need
what is front of me
my eyes see clearly
I hear the discrepancies
they put blinders to

crossing themselves
in front of the cathedral
on the way
to the daily thieveries
they commit
in their shops
a framed print
of the sacred heart
overlooking the tables
in the restaurants
where menus with no prices
await their victims

all those holy souls
both here
and abroad
can have the clouds
they covet and invent
to themselves
as I shun them in this world
I certainly have no desire
to see them
anywhere else

the world
is a tragic comedy
a setting
for delusions
more than miracles
and among the disorder
the confusion
sometimes there is a window
a doorway
a place outside the area
we fashion our lives
some need shutters
other deaden the bolt
but I
I step outside
while the light
is still young
and the truth
while so cold
is none the less
reality

Posted by Drexler at 08:47 AM

February 15, 2006

the center of La Paz

the captains of the new burger king
didnt give me a crown
they gave me back my bolivianos
after the hot fudge meltdown

I broke apart some spanish
in an attempt to train the crew
but with my majors being vodka and english
we parted like a failure in glue

and all the god damn stairs I stumble
just to get back up to the top
while riot gear junkies
congregate in doorways they don't shop
discussing asassinations they wish to provoke
behind the polished shields they cop

we went to see king kong
and my tank was overloaded
naomi's nipples were taped down
and the backlighting was corroded

outside the theatre
rats were racing through the maze
shoe shine boys in ski masks
were doing what only pays

grubby hands grasp for a jangle
with the faces perfectly trained
and you argue with yourself
about the reality of their pain

an accordion without eyes
a voice thats missing a hand
the only thing thats lacking
is a reason for this band

I found some old currency
the wife; an antique doll
and a few other items
for friends I cannot recall

I saw the old train station
from the taxi window to our hotel
imagined carriages departing
at the strike of a brass bell
and wished I were on one
instead of litigating visions of hell

Posted by Drexler at 02:17 PM

February 14, 2006

the spirits

california is peeling
into the size of mexico
and even I
am having trouble
my lips
flaking off

you see
I wouldnt pay the indians beneath the felt hats
a fee
for wearing out my soles
and the spirits were taking notes
they were dredging the lake
for repercussions
and so
we were ultra violated
the sun dial was set to 375 degrees
the lakefront breeze turned to gravel
and six hours later
we were
non refundable

even the mosquitos had their way
once they found us
a few days later
wandering inside the graveyard
peering into open caskets
and soda can vases
filled with dying stalks

a couple days
after the boat
the bus
and the mudslides
we put some gunk on my lip
that reminded me of
conductant
it helped the soup go down
without any additional scarring
and left me feeling
mentholated

there was a cat
crying inside a locked sack
and french magazines
lingering from the 70's
in a mansion off the plaza

we had pizza and chocolate bars
in the torture chamber cum tv room
on couches that moaned and maintained
while we watched a 50 centavo film
that I couldnt translate
back into its native tongue

the indians wouldnt sell me the answer
in the markets that they store
so I climbed up to the virgin territories
and slowly speak and spelled
my way
into a large bottle of Singani

back in front of the backgammon board
I was pitching dice into the fireplace
pouring glass after glass
between my charred lips
wishing well to the spirits
that burn a different torch
that those on the island
of the sun

Posted by Drexler at 01:01 PM

February 03, 2006

the coffin monkey

the chain mail aspects
of this alpaca poncho
slung like a hamlet over a body in motion
is all switchblades and switch backs
confering between layers

brass bands and candlelabras
tow the line down main st.
copper coins mingle amongst seashells
and serpentine
being tarnished enough
to apply glitter
inside a satchel of phosphoresce

even the coffin monkey
shakes off the dust
and puts on his best scarlet vestige
his cymbals only need a few cranks
to team him up with the circus

wholesome looking characters
pass around bottles of Pisco
like a covent of witches
inside the darkened doorways
littered with the remains
of the day

granite archways
lean towards the receding shadows
as dimestore cowboys
target ziplocked jeans
and the hints of soft laughter

a barrel of chifa
and a mug of jasmine tea
defy the bombardments of song
spread thin
behind a cellophane windshield
it carousels this house of mirrors
until fireflies
swim beneath the hammock of the moon

small change has risen
from the tomb
we all tread on baroque lanscapes
carving figure eights
on the landfills that can afford us
keeping a razors edge,
a fine and brilliant line
between life
and the living

Posted by Drexler at 09:57 AM

January 25, 2006

the dimly lit

christmas lights el blanco
highlight the smudges and smears
without and within
the drinking vessels that hang
reverse negative
from the lattice work over the bar

the armrest is cracked and bulging
leaving patches of artwork
on my forearms
and the barman is devouring cigarettes
like the desert takes rain

black denim asphalt
a sable mane
whips around between the tatters of light
keeping the high definition
low
she brings us incentives
to remain
on plates and heels
to each
their own
I with my liters of beer
and comtemplative eye
the wife with her vodka bottle
and elbow to my ribs

we meet the family
that lives behind the partition
beyond the dressed tables
and arm wrestle each other
for kicks and kudos

the hits from the 80's
that you'd like to forget
keep working the repeat button
as we speak between broken language barriers
and pace the disco ball
with the clanging of salutations
the cd tray
finally finds a more suitable barritone
and I engage the golden blowpipe
in spite of a few flakes of rust,
a few dropouts in the high season
I managed to carry the tunes
to a pleasent crescendo
near the bottom of my glass

three liters into it
and the wife now on rum
we biodegrade the dialog
as we go
giving notice
that we shall return
in the morrow
once our train comes
full swing
be it noon
or night
just leave the door ajar
and the barker
barking

D.

Posted by Drexler at 01:56 PM

January 19, 2006

riding the ormena expressed

it certainly seems
that brains cells dont grow on trees
in a city that has
crossed eyes
and four toes on each hand

level my head on a paint peel
watch the static grow
and flush away the sunspots
before they carry me to rest
beneath the empty fountain

grubby hands with empty bottles
link park benches to roadmaps
pond scum crawls out of the lake
and leads tours into the sea
picking pockets like spots

the candelabro lies poolside
something made in china
carved its all together
dime store history
is all they have to go on

rain does not electrify
the rubber soul jaywalkers
we need cool white wine
and a little sonic friction
to get the job done

they turned the saints into door knockers
and put all the authors in the inferno
just my wet clothes
and beaten shoes
know
who tells the story better

D.

Posted by Drexler at 02:26 PM

January 09, 2006

The 9:22 to Puno

thread by thread
the coagulated pocket
dissolves

its twenty minutes past the 9:22
of which the express to Puno
was to have arrived
the undercarriage of the glowering sky
is merciless
sheets of hail striking the platform
with an obvious contempt
or perhaps hatred
for anything or one
above or below

finally
in the distance
a pulsation of light
slurred by the storm
grows
from the dim of a torch
into the face of a cyclops
and the trailing body
that is to carry me
east

the station shudders
beneath the force of its arrival
porters move about like army ants
shuffling the luggage of confused arrivals
into the safety of the depot
as I hurry myself on and in
to the shelter of the third carriage
down the littered aisle
until I find my torn and withered seat
and stow my suitcase
on the chainlink
overhead

finally seated
and yet still waiting
I loosen my tie and adjust myself
to the discomfort of the electric heating
pouring out of the ducts like halitosis
I scan the car
and realize
that there are very few of us
going the distance
tonight

across the aisle
facing opposite me
are the ruins of a man in a tattered grey suit
the suit being of a style made popular
during the days of a youth
that was not my own
I register his chin
lying idle against his sunken breast
the angle exposing a barren crown
garnished with liverspots
dully illuminated by the crude lights overhead
a thin rail of drool
runs from the underscore of his cracked lip
onto the pinstriped face of his blazer
his exhausted hands
rest
one on each knee
a widowers ring
in the appropriate place

turning away
and to the window beside me
I find nothing
other than the brutal reflection
of my own self
asking a question
I leave to no one

outside
the onslaught continues
hail pelting the steel chasis of the car
like pebbles on aluminum

the moon has given up
the sky
and I draw from my flask
the only comfort to be found
on this night

D.

Posted by Drexler at 09:13 AM

January 07, 2006

bedstead

some people break bread
but I
have broken a bed
again
not in the act of galloping
atop some trollop
but simply with my bedside manner
in the early hours of a fog
reciting a phrase of genuis
to my timber eyed beauty
from one of our great latin american novelists
when the sudden cry of the ply
against the protest from the tiles beneath
droopped my ass a few inches closer
to the earth

shocked into action
we rise
assess the fallen parts
the assortment of dust and sand
and place blame
with the carpenter
for yet another episode
of embarrassment

it is not the first time for everything
but the third or fourth on this journey
frame giving way to floor

once or twice
the tweaking of joints
from the action of the old ceremony
was the cause
but my innocence
in another case or so
is known only to myself
and the female party present

the proprietors of the affected establishments
never again greet you
with the same kindness of eyes
and it is usually best
to move your belonging
down and out
whatever way leads elsewhere

on to stronger frames
and softer minded sheets
or impotent nights of rum
and the sunset siesta

I leave a different type of notch
than others
when it comes to my proficiency
in the sack

D.

Posted by Drexler at 12:47 PM

cornucopia

scissoring the bronze pillars
with an arrangement of opium and lavender
tactical fittings of scar tissue and succulents
lay nestled inside a valley,
beneath the cardinal plumes of an acacia
we spill wine from the cornucopia
onto virgin sheets
tender in the grass

the delicate harvesting of chords
intertwined within mahogany shadowboxes
render the sea
obsolete
and tears from candles build fortresses
that jostle sand from the altar

outside
they wane
softening the blow
lingering on the crest

arresting all progress
of a moment
outside of time

D.

Posted by Drexler at 12:01 PM

January 04, 2006

La Garua

someone keeps moving the hands
of the clock on the patio
still, they don't appear to be
going anywhere
and in the distance I can hear
a bird of prey
menacing the airwaves with a hunger
that I cannot relay
in words
or relate to
in rhyme

It seems everyone thinks
my songs
are like a razor at my throat
but sorrow and I
have a great many ways
of deluding
one another
to achieve our own
seperate ends
a division of the songwriter
from the singer
achieves a partnership

la garua
drudges along the waterfront
while children stash seaweed
in potato sacks
and bunnies darken their hides
in observatude
the clamor of the ice cream bell
spilling down from the promenade
and frisbees
kicking sand onto my sarong
these things are reality

all the dark corners,
the film noirs
that I show
to my guests
both near and far
are just a way of sustaining
the gap

Posted by Drexler at 11:09 AM

January 02, 2006

the tin machine

of wicker and tin
we boast
laying down the heavy hand
an iron fist
on a podium of tinfoil

gazes drift like ashes
as the undetrow pulls from the bottle
the remains of civility
draw back the heavy lilac curtains
reveal a simple and crippled machine
no whitewashing can cover the corrosion
tha flakes to the touch
no golden breastplate can conceal the ruins
tha lie beneath the facade

mist and fog are the seasons
over which I preside
groping for nothing, pleading with no one
in the silence that hangs; forsaken
sunspots and chasers
fill the areas abandoned by sensation

comedy is as simple as an injection
nothing comes easier
or is more welcome
than a good show
given for those who know nothing
and have no interest in understanding
the plateaus of pain
that command this shadow
I cast
over myself

Posted by Drexler at 10:40 AM

December 27, 2005

Left Luggage Department

The wife tried to quote me into a misquotation, her words; as follows:

In regards to the clothing I left in New Orleans- "oh, my wedding dress was left behind" dear husband replies, "I left it becasue it was falling apart, like our marriage".

How it really went down (or should have been relayed, not just for a more comical reaction from the empty seats, but also to convey my (in)sincerity. Is as follows:

In regards to her bitching and whining over my choice to leave her wedding dress to rot in New Orleans, I said "It was falling apart, just like our marriage"

see the difference?

We take showers to wash away our mistakes

I try to cajole her into sucking my dick and she procedes with an inquest: "How can I? When YOU spend so much time sucking it yourself?"
Its true. I had spent a rather large portion of the latter hours of the afternoon praising highly, not just my prowess in photography, but my accomplishments with the written word as well.
Fuck, I though, even Hemingway and Ed Weston had had their critics and detractors. Shit, even Jesus Christ couldnt please everyone. (As that quartet of driven nails could attest to, had they tongues with which to spark a testimony from.....)

My wife is reading a dictionary. I told her "You're lucky we're staying in hotels, when you finish with that dictionary you can start reading the phonebook or one of the menus in the nightstand drawer."
No, she is not big on the classics, but she has a huge appetite. Not just for epics, but for chinese delivery as well...

Confused by all this?

Then remember: Better to be electrified that electrocuted (especially by all this chinese arithmetic)

Posted by Drexler at 06:11 PM

December 26, 2005

holidays

every day only comes once a year
and so we employ nets and streamers
to dogear the festivities
shoot wildflowers and starfish into midnight
dress ourselves in fairytales and folklore
in order to split one occasion
from another

a silence
an explosion
dogs shouting from rooftops
over nothing
cats meditating beneath awnings
that trickle jazz

the breadboy pinches his bicycle horn
it marks the beginning of our day
it brings a closure to our night

the tide returns
everything
that it has taken out to sea

Posted by Drexler at 03:39 PM

December 23, 2005

the employee

deaf tones grouse and gravel
from the weasel that goes about
on two hooves
slated eyes
that lack enough gravity
to ignite a matchstick
dripping sloth into the dead ear of senility
of her employer
she cons half cent peices
from the half blind
and feels an elation in her loins
as she muses over it

she feeds on table scraps
and the film inside dirty pots
she sucks at abandoned cartons
of sour milk
with only the cockroaches
as her witness

you will not find this creature
in any zoo
or jungle
nay, such things only exist
at the circus where we reside
the Hostal Solange

Posted by Drexler at 04:35 PM

hack writer

somwhere on the western drawstring
there lies a threadbare eyelet
its run like a noose
around the medium
and my own words
or hands
are worthy of
or up to
the task

I unvail an invention
that beguiles your attention
towards false imagery
corrupted detail
spoken to the eye
by the living silence
that lies
beneath

no
the synapses fire blanks
into the literary socket
such crude tools
we are given
so few have the gift
of the gab
or the poetry
for spreading the ink
like a mosasic
across the page
no, we hunt game
with toothpicks
and pine nettle
with the abilities
of a dolt

avid minds often starve
from what we pass off
as balladry
chicken feed
and laymans dialog
pitiful attempts
to keep afloat the pungency
of the three dimensions
that encompass us

hatchets
and rocks
we furnish their imagination
with rubble and rubbish

at the coming of dusk
I expose a bundle of mangos
to a sinking falsetto
and follow the moment
and all the moments that follow it
with an insight
that will continue
to fail me

Posted by Drexler at 03:58 PM

December 21, 2005

hanging lights

living in the cuckoos nest
with a
jeckel and hyde
handling the paperwork

everything started
with a broken record, doddering
tranquilo, it scratched along
for a week or so
but then
gratuities
sparked a flickering bulb
an emulsion of illusions
lining a dark cloud
in a cracked mind

torrid dialog
in the echo chamber
commenced
turning the masthead
towards the ocean floor

good intentions
are often recieved
and mangled
like the pooling
of a human stain
we often ask for nothing
and find ourselves
stripped bare
bandaging our best intentions
with a cloth
mistaken for a cloak
by those
whose eyes reflect
nothing

a short distance
from the scene
I face a titian fixture
sliding methodically
beneath a sheath of sea

for a moment
for a lifetime
such elegance of solitude
washes the slate
the unexpected treasons
away

Posted by Drexler at 02:16 PM

December 19, 2005

eternally falling back on the undress

The second finger from the
wedding band
was sore about something
that lumbers in this fog
and after falling into
a pile of gravel, in a leisurly place
I later realized (with the one eyed jack)
that if my feet were as swift
as my hands once were
I wouldnt be in this
akward position of reflection

That paisley skinflint
that they dare address: a dress
is just a lure in the saltwater taffy
with the shifting of polka dots
atop the finest luggage
I cannot afford
afford to offer my assistance;
handling
afford to meet my resistance;
commanding
No,
we leave that to suave chaps
from the production lines
of the usual fashion
with ivory teeth
and more lines
that even my nose can handle

I sit beneath a green umbrella
and draw lines in the clouds
lingering on the pleasures
easily fashioned
Drawing lines of distinction
through the realities
never to be known

D.

Posted by Drexler at 12:10 PM

December 08, 2005

avenida jose balta

on the avenida Balta
there is an ex-man
in a beard
selling redheadead parrots
their feet twined to a twig
he is not alone
or, in any way
unique

the trade in mascots on Jose Balta
are alive and kicking
puppies cradled in
price collars
and the cooing of school girls

half armed men
vending beach balls from laundry baskets
and of course the obligatory blind man
playing the harmonica
through wooden teeth
as scarfaced ringleaders
watch for the shiny items
on the chests and breasts
of the touristas
truckloads of hombres
armed with batons
better than those
carried by the police
attack watch repairmen
to steal their BBQ lighters

I walk down the street
with my blade
exposed
to those of the disposition
that I have
something to offer

I do
un lit de fleurs

Posted by Drexler at 09:45 AM

December 03, 2005

taking a stroll throught the mine field with my parasol

Ke-ta-mine

A general anesthetic given intravenously or intramuscularly and used especially for minor surgical procedures in which muscle relaxation is not required.

recreationally Ketamine belongs to a class of drugs called "dissociative anaesthetics," which separate perception from sensation. Other drugs in this category include PCP, DXM and nitrous oxide (laughing gas)

la Casa Raygada
butchered by the simpletons
painted up like an invitation to dissuasion
up close you outline the sadness of what could be
the muffled iron work
the empty layers of paint that smother history
the cement where flowers were once showered

where are the wicker table and chairs
the pisco sours and cuba libres
the continental breakfast on the wings of the terrace
the oscillating prisms of stained glass
and polished mahogany

strip the whores makeup off the face of this trampled gem
let the glass breathe
let light hit all the dimensions
refine the confinements

meanwhile

daggers in the arroyo
assassins
or strangers
lurk on the balcony
los paranoias
because I wouldnt let you take advantage of my disabilities
with your native tongue
and the hue of my skin
forced to display the traits
that precede me
and the nature of my flag
no time to differentiate
whether their shoes seem polished
or overworked
whether the cork on their wine is unzipped
or capped with an inviting finger puppet
there is only instinct and history
to overwhelm the floodgates
of my imagineering
on this veranda
overlooking crumbled sea vessels
and vultures, among the rubble

the sun falls
lividity drains from the sky and sand
into the funnel of the gloaming
the tension surrounding the handle
of my blade
grows
like the darkness

Posted by Drexler at 12:35 PM

November 06, 2005

Plato de Gato

the pillow smelled of mildew and I had tried to light it on fire earlier in the evening but the wife had warned me that we would have no pillow upon which to lie and so I let the flame dwindle...I poured the rest of my drink into the drawer of the nightstand and flipped off the light. However, sleep never quite took...if it wasnt the plotting of mosquitos and the plotting of my counterplots, it was various members or tandems of the drunken Bagota dance troupe wacking on the front gate every 15 minutes, trying for their beds or toilets, cackling at the wall or to one another in a volume that would warrant a moving violation in the suburbs of West Virginia. The last, and worst of these attacks came at 5:30 AM, and rather than drop a table of top of them (I was on the 2nd floor)I opened a bottle of warm beer and washed my face in the tiny sink...We had a bus to catch out of here at 7 and I figured better to be early than sober. I woke the woman who ran the hotel and told her that there had been no hot water for any of the 4 days that we had stayed there even though we had been assured that they had some, and that I had adjusted the room rate accordingly, then we headed for the bus stop....barefoot indians in moth eaten hats kept us company as we waited for the bus to come. It never did. Apparently you have to let the man in the office know the day before that you want to leave, then he´ll call the driver and the bus makes a detour to come and get you...so we were stuck in San Augustine another day...We checked into the last room at the Colonial, it was a festival weekend and getting a room was not easy, I did not want a room, I wanted out of this town but my fractured spanish did not translate a word of this to any effect...So I leaned on the bed and chewed my fingernails, spitting them at the mosquitos who mustve followed me from the last hotel...sitting on the balcony inhaling emmissions from the oversized school buses spilling goats and farmers from every opening, with a roof that looked like friday night on the high school bleachers, watching ...a few sharply detailed torsos and asses passed by and I counted the clacks from the horses hooves. This helped pass fifiteen minutes or so, then I opened The Old Patagonia Express and was saved until the lunch time stomach grumbling started. Downstairs in the restaurant, pleasantly enough, the waiter was able to understand my order and I got a decent chicken breast and some cracked beans. I asked for some pepper and he brought me hot sauce. the Pepsi was of course; warm. Ice was something strictly confined to the television. I spotted a vetinarian office across the street and made a mental note to go in and ask for some Ketamine after I finished my slop. I had tried sitting in a bar and getting drunk like a decent human being with the wife last night but we soon learned that the barmaids doubled as whores and every time we laughed at one of my clever commentaries they thought we were mocking their moonlighting and began to give Nicole nasty looks, thinking that perhaps she was cutting in on their action somehow...I could not bring myself to get involved in one of the coke deals that was going down in the darkness of the back bar so we left....We bought empanadas and some other deep fried shit from a street vendor and sat of a curb with the rest of the begotten, I found a nail in one of my empanadas and traded it to a boy for a chicklet...then we went back to the hotel to finish the vodka.....

Posted by Drexler at 10:48 AM

September 25, 2005

curls in the toupee

the rains have given up the goods
sporting a corduroy fleece lining
under the weight of thunder
the vodka show stoppers
speak underwater passages into a xylophone
my comprehension is prepaid
and therefore, held without bail

the ladle of moon spills light
onto the written testament
guiding the fork in the road
to a dead end sign
we bury a saint there
something for the conspiracy gurus
to augment

I don't have much;
a couple locks of hair
and an opium weight
to pad my footlocker with
and I don't plan
on ringing any doorbells
in the aftermath

it takes a great amount
of time
on the tracks
to find the road
that leads
everywhere

Posted by Drexler at 02:06 PM

September 09, 2005

scorpio e cerveza

I picked a scorpion
from the bottom of the pool
picked it up with my Frisbee
showed it to the girls
her mother said that it
wasnt the poisonous kind
and that they find them
all the time;
in the pool
in the laundry basket
in the
saltine crackers

I opened a beer
and poured it into a cold mug
I drew a chair into the shade
and watched my wife
float on a green raft
with shuttered eyes
I drifted
away
while scorpions and hurricanes
worked in whispers
poised and waiting
in the bandaged flesh
of my mind

Posted by Drexler at 02:11 PM

September 06, 2005

singin the blues

mildew snow flakes
lace the only frame of light
in the room
the scattered remains of my life
fit inside a tissue box
like the confused junk
on a clearance table
at the ninety-nine cent store
I watched the news
through a hole in the belly of my t-shirt
all they show
are the same worn images
of my dead city
they say they might have a time frame
on the resurrection
in about 6 to 8 weeks
once they drain the water
and corpses
from the streets
that gives me enough time
to sort through the illusion of options
that I lack the stupidity
to possess

Posted by Drexler at 08:14 PM

the day the monkeys ran wild

in the grocery
a flashlight might have been handy
towards the back
in the meat department
it was like getting up
in the middle of the night
to take a piss
in a strangers house
luckily the liquor
and cigarettes
were near the front with all the spilt coins
tired and dull
waiting for the stampede to
curtail
I grabbed some Pabst
and a couple boxes of something that looked edible
the wife grabbed some gourmet shit
from the pasta zone
we dumped the loot in our neighbors truck bed
and went back for more

in the strangled light
a black woman noticed my skin tone
and announced to the store
'damn, there even be some white people up in here robbin'
I smiled and grabbed some spices we couldnt afford
and a couple bottles of wine
on the next run I almost broke my ass
slipping in a pile of broken beer bottle
but managed not to drop my frozen pizza
the guy we were with began to feel
nervous
or guilty
and suggested we go

on the way home
sitting in the bed of the truck
with our liberated goods
I cracked a can open
and realized the end
was swift in coming
and wondered
where I was
one week ago
today

far from this
and that
was not far enough

Posted by Drexler at 08:13 PM

September 04, 2005

Like Pearl Jam; Im Still Alive

polka dots on my air mattress
and leonard cohen on the low-fi
I salvaged a few books
and my leather tongue
on the evacuation tip
just a few shirts
and my photo machine
in the hobo bag
my house has been
swarmed and swamped
by the brown bunnies
the couch has melted
and the books have grown fat
in my halluciantion allegations
maybe my frisbee
and spatula
have stuck around

Ive got 18 bottles of wine
sitting on the dining room floor
with 2 quarts of apple juice
I wrangled some pricey spices
from the blackened supermarket
but they lie
in the darkened cupboard
exposed to the destitute

well at least I have my
battered teeth
and my
broken sandles
to congratulate
on a well organized
flight
from the real problem

I will keep it
in my chest

Posted by Drexler at 10:20 PM

August 27, 2005

Katrina

a black waterfall
lies in my hands
or my claws, after an obvious comparison
and what am I doing here
and to whom do I owe this
pleasure?

your aztec nipples
and starving thighs
climb the sheets like raw wind
I fumble with my indecent nature
and the crushed confidence that I
gave over to disregard
long ago
I stand behead the streamers
that decorate my mind
as she lies there, coyly
investigating her torso
with curious fingers

outside I can hear the neighbors
fleeing from the danger zone
some say a hurricane is coming
in
from the haunches of Cuba
but I only know hurricanes of dialog
and despair
brewed down in
the ashes of our lust

the world outside these walls
goes by on its own time
not mine
if I am to be swept away
from this scene
from this warm, hungry body
that relies on my ignorance
for survival
well
then at least I stood in the place that I know
a place
others fled
for somewhere
remote and unfamiliar
in anticipation
of what shall probably
amount
to nothing

better to stay with what you know
and eat the neighbors chicken

Posted by Drexler at 10:58 AM

August 20, 2005

the illuminated bow

I was there
slouched on a bench
with my beers and book of negatives
when the streetcar finally closed in
upon entry I gauged a heavy burden
a fascinating little doe
planted next to some doldrum
whose melon head and polo shirt
worked to obscure my view
but I still had
the freckled crest of the shoulder blade
illuminated by a halo
trickling down her back
and the tiny laughter
spilling from those dainty lips
the inquisitive gaze
cast from seascapes
drawn from the center of the ocean
and the cusp of the neck
swept with silk
each time she dallied
those caramel tresses

I had these things
in my windshield
periodically

I had six beers
in a grocery bag
but couldnt drink
a single one
for fear of being
ejected

it was a long
ride home
but the time
moved
rather well

Posted by Drexler at 04:30 PM

August 19, 2005

stacks of two

red car
between the trees
tinted glass
plasticized metallic hubcaps
cover rims
whose tires hide
tiny frogs
fleeing from the thunder

mosquitoes ducking inside
a cantina
shooting buckets of blood
into the needle

pizza menus
navigate storm drains
like suicide pilots
clogging arteries
chasing oceans

the gravel is giving way
to the earth
but she will never
get it back
entirely

Posted by Drexler at 12:19 PM

August 16, 2005

something for the spilt wine

stranded without fame
in the burrows of a casket
I need a glass of
something
for the pain behind my eye

lemons and tinker toys
spill from the unfurnished reply
robes slide under the doormat
and freckles hot to the touch

the shopping cart has shrunken
and the sirloin is safe
only a few bottles of piss
to break ice for

I only follow the path
for as long as I can see the door
there is a catch
and Im not sure when it starts
to kick in

Posted by Drexler at 01:27 PM

August 13, 2005

b-sides

down here with some chameleons
basting in the sunlight
flecks of gold
drop from our tongues
into the mainstream
dissolve inside shallow pools
reflecting the undercarriage of autumn

acres of b-sides
to rummage through
those unopened bottles on the dung heap
waiting for the twinkle in my eye
like kittens behind plate glass
showered with a red light

set fire to some oak chips
lying in the kettle
while mosquitos suck the life
from the strain in my ankle
too many vampires
biding time beneath the brush
I need a new song
to forget

Posted by Drexler at 01:53 PM

August 10, 2005

an attempt at songwriting that ended up the same as everything else

Down In Mexico

sitting on the couch with a pabst
dreamin of clueless virgins
or something of the like
some people could drive a corvette
to the grand canyon to stick their fingers in the dike
but I never got that far
my bike was just too slow
but maybe some day I would make it
down to Mexico

it was time to go to work
but I couldnt find a job
so I bitched about the weather
until the clouds began to sob
and the presidents a bastard
and I dont like corn on the cob
I wanted carne asada
and a cerveza to go
maybe I could find one
down in Mexico

the wife had had enough
of all my complaining and random shit
she said why dont you get out of here
youre nothing but a money pit
so I packed my hoboin' bag
and told her where she could go
and as for me
it was down to Mexico

waiting at the greyhound station
with the night of the living dead
the people all had infections
their eyes were made of lead
one guys shirt looked like a tortilla
and he had a pinto bean for a head
No I wasnt like these jokers
who had no place to go
I was takin all our rent money
down to Mexico

finally the bus marked for El Paso
pulled up onto the curb
I stashed a bottle of whiskey
for when I needed to work up the nerve
to call my rat faced wife
from some 24 hour diner lot
say some really nasty shit
and take her parting shot
well she could stick it
where the sun dont ever go
and dont worry about me baby
Im on my way to Mexico

they woke us at 4 in the morning
we all stumbled off the bus to take a piss
I bought a subway sandwich
and stole some lighters they wouldnt miss
I wanted carne asada
and a cerveza to go
but I still had some time
before I was in Mexico

after the bus got rolling
I fondled some sleeping breasts
and the fact she never knew about it
was probably for the best
then I drank the whiskey
and it put my mind to rest
knowing in a couple days from now
I could score some blow
from some shady greaser
down in Mexico

when I woke up in the morning
I wiped away the drool
and knew that I was in Texas
because nothing there is cool
I needed to get off this bus
before I went loco
find me some pleasures
down in mexico

we pulled into the station
and the border was in my sights
I took a piss on America
and said goodbye to human rights
I wanted carne asada
and a cerveza to go
and in just a few minutes
Id have them down in Mexico

a mustache in dark glass and a cap
waved me through without delay
I found the nearest cantina
and hookers whose gums were grey
she said it was only 10 dollar
but that was too much to pay
I told her sister I would take her
to see the donkey show
I was sure to get the clap
down in Mexico

I found a room above a tire repair shop
in the worst part of town
the roaches came to hang out
after I pulled the curtain down
and the man on my left beat his women
while I made my plans to go
down a little further
into Mexico

In the morning of my second week
I packed up all my shit
Id whored around this city
anyway that Id seen fit
but I wanted to be near the seaside
and I still had a ways to go
if I wanted to sit on a beach
down in Mexico

The bus south has some problems
with things trying to work
the curtains were all blasted
and they all though I was a jerk
for asking about the chicken
that was pecking at my toe
things werent always gravy
down in Mexico

after we crossed the mountains
the gulf was easy to spot
we stopped off at a cervezeria
and I scored a bag of pot
I smoked some in the toilet
with the paranoia to go
because they dont like marijuanos
down in Mexico

well I met a girl on the famous beach
with sunlight in her hair
she said she had a million dollars
and I said I didnt care
we lounged around and ate enchiladas
and fornicated really slow
life was pretty chilled out
down in Mexico

one day in late September
I received a telegram from my wife
she said she was tired of vegetable dinners
and living the lonely life
so wouldnt I quit fooling around
and catch a flight to go
back to the US of A
and leave Mexico

I was a bit tired of eating
all the same type of slop
and recently I had an altercation
with the brother of a infamous cop
so I kissed my sleeping beauty
and took a couple bundles of her cash
stepped out onto the porch
and smoked a pipeload of her hash
it wasnt going to be easy
reaping what I had to sow
but at least I had some fun for awhile
down in Mexico

Posted by Drexler at 11:53 AM

August 02, 2005

Sharon #2

wily whiskers
shootin the eight ball
when he's still got
a stripe to go
he claims
thats the only way
I could beat him
obviously the liquor
has infected his eyes

orangutan head
with her(?) pointed ears
child from the family compilation copulation
sneaking licks at the whisky
while mammy gums on her Pabst
and her pappy
looks like an old railroad man
with his striped cap of baby blue
and chia pet ears

Ive got dandruff
at the bottom of
every glass of miller
its like reading tea leaves
without the fortune

and the hee-haw girls
are dilapidating my
eardrums
with the country honk
spitting out lyrics
that sound like bad math
even the speakers
are trying to fail
in their own defense

the poker junkies
dropping their shit
into the mainline
and I never heard the cry
of a winner

the wrong Leonard Cohen
is playing
again
and I attempt to
weather the odds

all to no avail

everyone is drinking
the wrong beer
while roaches skate
inside the coffee pot

a dropped faced woman
is broadcasting an argument
with the toiletries
in the ladies
while Mr. Beret
tries
to coax the jukebox
into a sing along
in the key of out

barstools do the polka
around the discombobulated steps
of listless feet
as I tap on the torn armrest
to the rhythym
that sticks to my tattoos

M&M rubbers
in the toilet
from St. Louis, Missouri
and all the girls know
its better to have it
melt in your mouth
than in your hand

the phone never rings
and the television shows only
dust
at The Sharon

Posted by Drexler at 12:08 PM

July 30, 2005

my kinda place

my creaky brakes
stop down in the front
of a foriegn bar
should I bother
should I not

fuck all the bullshit
and in I go
well the pig tailed negress
offers me 16 ounces of the high life
for one dollar fifty
I'll take it
and untie my boot laces

the subhumans that surround me
bring the casual grin
and I throw some coins
into the juke
though its math is a bit
confused
I forgive it
and take whatever
it will give me

I slug a few beers
into submission
and soon we're joined by
a mongoloid mechanic
who is more grease
than man
and his woman(?)
who weilds a dirty cast
on her left arm
and isnt that her
hobo cart, over there
waiting in the corner?

a negro comes in
and abuses the
phone privileges
and of course pigtails
has to kick him
out
after 9 different dial sessions

Im shootin my way into histroy
on the pool table
but then
the tune on the
juke box
fucks me all up

theres a monkey's
head
hanging over the register
smushed nose
and nervous eyes
wearing a leather cap
like a running back from
the 1940's
and I know
that I must come back
and shoot him
if you know
what I mean

the halfbreeds admire my wheels
which I
bring inside
due to fear of
theft from the avenue

the place is clearing out
and for once
it is not
because of me

I must come back
tomorrow
and make sure its all
still here

Posted by Drexler at 10:11 PM

July 29, 2005

ham hocks number in Juarez

so me and the young beauty go into her darkened cell or maybe it was her room but very small and difficult to navigate especially when you're under a sheet and trying to stir the molasses into a lubricous thing without a headlight. she said her older brother had the bad habit of getting put in jail for stealing things from the five and dime like blocks of cheese and glass cleaner in the little town where they grew up which she had escaped but he had not and did I ever steal blocks of cheese and did I like where I grew up and of course no and hell no from me on those inquiries as I fumbled with the hooks on her brassiere. Outside it was thunder but no rain and she said that thunder scared her and that in Juarez there was very little thunder and she liked that about the place, how long had she lived in Mexico I asked and she waxed on dreamily as if a film had flickered on somewhere inside her head: I came here when I was 17 with some friends on spring break and when it was time to go home I ran away with this lying bastard Id met in a club a couple nights before who promised the good life and all the accessories on the beaches of Acapulco but got me strung out on heroin in TJ instead so he could rent me out to filthy men that had the smash for it, the money that is and on and on she went...the fan whirled above our heads as I took her confession and worn flesh hand in hand into my tired brain where all the confessions of the world waited in line for some form of an apology but doesnt the sadness make you feel authentic I wondered to myself as she stroked my hair and I tasted the salt on her breasts like bitter fruit but who's complaining when your in the sack with such an unpolished beauty as this one was, only nineteen she had said and Im a bit farther down the line than that myself no spring chicken in these boots baby...well at least you got rid of your pimp and are your own boss now I tell her but no she says she hadnt gotten rid of him some men had shot him to death in TJ six months ago in front of the Gordo Gato while she waited in the car, she got out and ran back to their hotel packed her stuff and got on the first bus that passed the place, deeper into mexico and to hell with going back to her family an embarrassment to them anyway having a 19 year old junkie and whore for a daughter who had an ass like a ham hock. what do you mean an ass like a ham hock I wondered and she must of read the question off of my face because she said well, Tico, that was his name, Tico, he used to tell me I had an ass as firm as a ham hock and that it was as tasty as one too only his English wasnt the best when he was drunk which he usually was so it always sounded like he was saying 'choo az taze like a ham-ock' and well what the hell did a hammock have to do with my ass and it took me a long time to ask him that and when I did he laughed reaaly hard for about 10 whole minutes and when he finally stopped he said HAM HOCK not hammock you little fool, and then he told me that he'd lived in the united state once for a year, in new orlean and would get ham hocks with butter beans every tuesday for lunch at a place called Marsailles and would watch them in the kitchen from his stool at the bar cutting the ham hocks off of the huge slabs of pigs ass and how he used to think about he'd like to get ahold of that well at least it made more sense than a hammock anyway...I watched her inkwell of hair spill over the dirty pillow and her lips writhe over her teeth as I rode her and she finally quit talking as I think she was getting into the groove of things here in the now...after the fireworks I dismounted and washed my cock in the sink and she began to whistle a song that rang a bell somewhere on the front desk of my mind but I just wanted to have a pull from the mescal and take a moment in the shadows to ponder her cocaine thighs and buttocks beneath the last remaining light before inventing a reason to leave even though I would see her again tomorrow of course for another bargain go-around and what would her daddy say if he could see her now without her pigtails and picked flowers just for you but maybe it was never like that with him and then again maybe he was the reason she hated that town so much and man she hadnt talked so much the first night no she was just interested in the satisfying of my needs department not that I minded hearing her life story as it kept me from thinking about my own too much...well I told her Im gonna go get a bite to eat before I head back to my place and Ill probably see you again tomorrow at El Rey if you were there and would you be, yes, well until then and then a lovers kiss and then I close the door tightly and adjust my belt on the way down the stairwell towards the plaza de armas and its wooden benches and carts where the mustached men sell tacos and cold beer on this early july evening in Juarez Mexico

Posted by Drexler at 07:31 PM

painting the young mare

lying with a pressurized earlobe on watermarked sheets of drool and sweat with Nicole nestled between my breastplate and armpit, flicking me with a hair tie. The jazz station has mutated and there is too much macho guitar filling this house and where is that crackle of scratched vinyl and the old negros strumming a warped six string with railroad fingers howlin at the bottle of moonlight on the kitchen table next to a sad and empty glass while his big legged woman lies on another mans bed...Nicole is wearing a baseball cap and is looking for the cigarettes that Id like to smash and crush into coffee grinds, now she is going to the corner store for you know what and would I like anything, yes something cold to drink and any girl that wants to fuck. And is that what I do, go to the store and find girls to bring back to fuck while she sweats for our rent money at the Ugly Dog, well yes of course but only the ones who dont smoke and goodbye now. She leaves me with the jazz and I wonder if the denver broncos are gonna be winners this year or just another cock tease like all those other jokers I root for only to end up long of face with no parades to miss...Nicole has eyes like a dove and she says that I fuck her like a whore but she doesnt get paid like one and isnt that how you like it I ask her other than the money that is...there are smoke rings wandering out of her mouth and she calls me outside to watch two geckos that are making time beneath our mailbox but there doesnt seem to be much action so I just snap a picture and go back to the couch sanctuary...theyre painting the house with the crooked porch and collapsing overhang at the end of the block she tells me and of course she is alluding to the fact that our house is the only one on the block that looks like it is a hundred and fifteen years old even though the other ones on this street are too, Those Mexican painters made sounds at me again, whenever youre not with me they do it and I say it was probably just spanish and theyre probably just simple laborers whove never seem breasts as unlikely as yours and are they still painting that house goddamn pink I ask and apparently they are, for reasons Id like to uncover with a backhand and then bury in the soggy infantile ground beyond the shed...I need to get a football shirt for work because football season is starting soon and Ill make more money on sundays if I wear one but I dont know which team to like. the broncos are the right way to go I tell her with a nervous ring in my chatterbox. Yeah the broncos, and on the back I can have it say 'I ride like a bronco' yeah! Yeah but you have an ass like a mule I tell her and now shes trying to claw my eyes out but only in a fun way and I make sure not to spill my raspberry tea on the orange couch, someone on the radio has a fine old girl in New Orleans and I suppose that I do too.

Posted by Drexler at 03:02 PM

the bill collector

his name was Derek
and he was a real
pain in my ass

every day
around 1:00
hed call
asking for the wife
who wasnt home
and would I
take down his number
we already have your number Derek
I would tell him
but then the worm
would say
then what is it?
and I would tell him
its 1 800 eat shit
then
I would hang up

then the phone would ring
3 seconds later
and his mouth
would already be running
when I tapped
the answer button

if I had music playing
which I usually did
I would set the phone
on top of a speaker
and let him listen to a song
until
the song
played out
then I would hear him
squawking
through the line
but then
on cue
a new song
would drown him
out again

sometimes he would last
3
or 4
songs
but eventually
the line
would go dead
it seems that he
didnt like
my taste in music

good
now I can get back to my
unemployment
drinks
while somewhere in
Denver
our friend Derek
will get back to his
song and dance
that no one
sees
nor cares
to listen
to

Posted by Drexler at 03:01 PM

July 24, 2005

passing time

fucking
drinking
smoking
sucking
snorting

these are all just things
that we do
to pass time

death still waits
in the hallway
with a harmonica

there is no such thing
as living
because theres only so much
time
to fuck around with
then your dumped into a box
for the worms
and that
is it

like being on hold with the electric company
or waiting for the doorbell to be pushed
by the woman with the nice ass
and the bottle of vodka

life is a waiting room
a search for a distraction
from the inevitable

you are reminded of this
by the fallen leaf
and the crushed sparrow
by the brown lettuce
and the headless chicken

passing time
that is all
this is

Posted by Drexler at 09:48 PM

accidents

not every day
is mashed potatoes and corn on the cob
no
on some days we should consider ourselves
lucky
to have scraps
thrown at us

I sit on a barstool
with the rest of the winners
playing Russian roulette
with my drink selection
I scribble some bullshit
on a napkin
and swipe some glances
at the barmaid
she looks like one of gods
accidents
and I wonder aloud
to no one in particular
if Ill ever get out of this place

the music on the juke
sounds like a funeral
my ham and cheese
tastes like a weapon
and the a/c unit is acting
like a lazy bitch

the nurse asks me
if id like another
cocktail
I tell her she doesnt need
to ask me anymore
that well just
assume it
and spare ourselves
these conversations

Im taking a piss
in the sink
because the urinal
is urging me to vomit
and the sound of running water
just makes sense

maybe tomorrow
my outlook
will shine a little harder
maybe children
will be seen
playing
in well groomed yards
maybe dogs
will wag their tails
and smile
instead of trying
to rip my balls off

Posted by Drexler at 08:28 PM

July 22, 2005

Molly's

scrambled thoughts
purgatory daydreams
I hear you scarping around
in the living room
and Im trying to place
my mind
at the reality of the scene

eyes running wild
tumbling over these 4 walls
onto the collage
weve collaborated upon
and I find your pastel
the lovely curls and winking
eye
and amongst the ruins
of our love
and your sweet soul
it almost brings a tear
to my own

almost

Posted by Drexler at 09:42 AM

A.T.

the signal is
breaking up
even the sharpest of lines
are beginning
to dissolve

that face from
so many
years ago
is slowly being relegated
back into the
shadowbox that lies
buried in a shallow grave
somewhere in an attic

it was only for a moment
that you were here (there)
evading the shadows
from the juniper
and casting light
upon the lake
and all my words
crept quietly
inside the gallows
hiding from speech

we were going to go
somewhere
less poetic
somewhere less quiet
a place where I might feel
more comfortable

fumbling shoestrings
and spilling wine
in the presence of
such a vision
cropping sweat
from my brow

when I awoke
I felt only
relief

nothing
and no one
should cast such a
spell
over the lowest
and most common
of denominators

Posted by Drexler at 09:20 AM

July 18, 2005

men and women (?)

what ever happened
to when
men
wanted to get some pussy
and women
wanted some cock

I go to the bar
and the television has
three eyes
one shows some fag dramatical show
another is womens volleyball
and the last is men
wresting in tights

all the wrong eyes
are glued
to all the wrong screens
for what appears to be
all the wrong
reasons

I order
a double
and stare
at the mirror
behind the bar

the voices around me relay
reverse-genre dialog
and my steering wheel
is feeling
a bit tight

another double
and a peer at the fold
of a skirt
that waits on my left
she has stars
tattooed on her wrist
and we know all know
what that means
(I think)
the point is:
should I really have to wonder
this much?

men peer at men
and talk like theyre all from
Barcelona
women wipe away
your curiosity
with a different type
of disinterest

I call for the check
and wander home
back to the
argument
in the bedroom
and wonder

which of the two
is harder
to comprehend

Posted by Drexler at 10:21 AM

July 14, 2005

Nyquil

people can come see me
in a photograph
and they will see
that I
never was
what I used to be

twisted sheets strangle
the contortionist
into tortured designs
a current of sweat
wrung from the pillow
wrung from the flesh
spills down the vine
while
the teeth of the alarm clock
grind the minutes into
daybreak

nightmares
and
motion detector
floodlamps
play flashbulb
in the purgatory
of the mind

hours fold
into days
days
stuffed into minutes
and the bathroom sells
lightning
sardined behind the light switch
behind the curtain
in the shadows
amongst the reptiles

cold water
stands in a glass
on the floor
and of course
it is empty

the sun is crawling
in through the cracked pane
and restless night
hangs you
out to dry

Posted by Drexler at 10:32 AM

July 08, 2005

all the dead winds

ordinary rustling
amongst the vipers
and cracked leaves

oak limbs
and crushed sparrows
line the deserted side streets
that no one dare navigate
light sockets
listless and dark
observe the silence
without casting
shadows

soda cans jingle
across broken asphalt
pressed lazily
by the dead winds
left in the wake
of the storm

the milk is turning
the thermostat is rising
the lines
are dead
the worst
is slow
in coming

Posted by Drexler at 03:48 PM

cash advance

struggling against
the page
all the silver
is
long gone

Bobby D. is winding on
about the watchtower
that Hendrix stole
my wife is out
trying to find a new place
to make drinks
I am sitting
in the kitchen
hammering on this glass
folding words into
pelicans
thinking that
the best plans
are the ones that we throw
into the rubbish bin

Posted by Drexler at 03:46 PM

July 03, 2005

the options

its easy to forget the banter
stockpiled by the wayside
once you get
farther
down the road

the words
thrown
like daggers
fall away
like leaves

nevertheless
you must take inventory
of the
damage
that you can afford
to compensate

you must strangle
the truth
out of
the hatred
in the darkness
with numb fingers
and silent tongue

you must make space
for error
on the foreground
of the playing field
where we all challenge
one another:
humanity
dignity
gratuity
until
we are bare bones
and lying naked
swollen
and bleeding
shattered
in places that no sunlight
shall enter

Posted by Drexler at 12:27 PM

Saturday in July

youre all alone
up there on the wall mama
Id like to say
that that will change soon
but things arent exactly
ideal
over here
as Im sure you can see

not having either of you
at 30
isnt exactly ideal either
but Im trying
to get through
the day
as best I can
you showed me a few things
some tricks
and Im trying to
apply them
to the situation

the results arent always
pretty
but Im not trying to build
a flower
Im not trying to build
anything
usually Im trying
to salvage
things
like this relationship
my mind
the farm
etcetera

Ive got a shamrock
sewn on my hat, mama
thats about the best
I can do
for now

Posted by Drexler at 12:16 PM

quiltwork

funneling in the vodka
at 8:30 in the a.m.
not that I havent
accomplished some deeds
while the wife sleeps off
the previous nights
ugly performance

out shooting film
an hour earlier
in the catacombs of
the neighborhood
finding some diseased
items of interest
broken homes
failed businesses
some funky citizens
who fear the lens
like vampires fear
the sunlight
they must have their reasons
and I have mine
for the attempt

but now
into the bottle
a touch of piano
on the Hi-Fi
curtains
slightly parted
certain panes of glass
unobstructed
for the observation
of human traffic
as I observe the traffic
in my thoughts
they clear the road
inside

Posted by Drexler at 12:10 PM

phoning a letter to a friend

just calling
to ask
if you can
remember
my actually ever
paying
for something
with my own money

I remember distinctly
purchasing a can of beer
when I was 17
with monies I earned
selling baseball cards
other than that
Im drawing a blank

I only mention this because
recently
we purchased
$4,000 in furniture
and Im responsible
for none of it
just like the phone bill
and the air-conditioning

have I always been
a fucking vampire?
or did I sign a check
somewhere along the line?

by the way
thank you for sending
a return envelope
with your letter
it will make it
easier
for you to read this

sincerestly,
Drexla

Posted by Drexler at 12:07 PM

July 02, 2005

death of a butterfly

butterflies
scattered among the ruins
the weeds
broken propellers
and
frozen gears
bring them
down to earth

inside the mansion
I cannot find the switch
for the chandeliers
so I sit amongst cracked sunlight
and spinning fans
with a bottle of tequila
and a bag of lenses
waiting for my
inspiration
to
surmise
my talents
and see which is greater:

the gift to forget
or the gift
to forgive

Posted by Drexler at 08:10 PM

second wind

after the Port of Call
and all the fixins
I deem myself
straight enough
to stand
and I do
stand
before you
with this glass
of agave

wondering where to go
in this mid
afternoon blur
back to the prison barge
to the leather tongue
whipping at my solitude?
back to the mouth
that forms
fists
from my mitts?

Id rather crawl
into a barrel
of laughs
into the arms
of a whore
down an alley
to the suicide shack

if you come looking
for me
watch out
for the landmines
(posthumous temptation)

Posted by Drexler at 08:07 PM

Constance

unemployed and drinking
Pabst in the morning
Taaka in the afterthought

the wife is copying down
recipes
into her little flowered book
I sit here
wondering
if all the new furniture
fits the personnel

slabs of gourmet
and
fine woven threads
shower the dance hall
ignite the lighting
behind columns
and stained glass

the gallery is laid bare
waiting for her dressings
monochromatic rectangles;
images of the world
trapped inside small blocks

we fill the square footage with
comfortable trappings
something to smother
the lesions
gathering amongst my wanderlust

I know that it is only
I
who wear the long face
with each passing train
each hailed cab
each
form of movement
that takes others
onward

another humid afternoon
in the Irish channel
flags lain limp
dogs napping in the recesses
and I
in the dregs of another
worthless day

Posted by Drexler at 07:56 PM

Mama Rosa's #4

the air conditioner
has formed a lake
the fan
is missing a limb
the toilet
has stalled
the neon
is flickering
the veal parmesan
is burning
so is the Mamas bread

the cable tv
gives no reply
the freshly brewed
is three days old
the lime
is entertaining gnats
the silverware
is dirty
the dishes
are chipped
the knives
dont cut
the operating license
is expired
so is the milk

this bottle
is empty

Posted by Drexler at 07:54 PM

June 28, 2005

mending the cuticles

on the concrete slab
the shuffling of heels
rubber soles
flapjack
skirts and
tightly wound denim
drawstrings
and skirts
flood Main St.

rain falls
from the grey tomb
crippled umbrellas
lie in the gutter
broken bottles
glisten in the sun

career girls
polyester business suits
asses shimmering
avoid the mental stripdown
that window washers
employ
young negresses
bustling with sexuality
flesh bursting seams
silently crooning
Fuck Me
but also
Fuck YOU, honkey
this aint for you

and I know
that its not

but the red head
in the
black dress
that keeps dropping
her lipgloss
at my heels
with
the shy grin...

well
a little dialog
there
never hurt
anyone

Posted by Drexler at 11:56 AM

end of a short fused career

got to the parlor
camera bag in hand
prepped for the resignation
but first
a glass of vodka from
the top shelf
I phone the slumlord
but his mailbox is full
at the bars
no one answers
I have been left
no instructions

business
as usual

I pour another vodka
give my condolances
to those who must remain
and hit the street

the day is young
the bars
are open

Posted by Drexler at 11:46 AM

June 15, 2005

Kitchen Faucet Swap-Out

before I
pass out
from this toxic cocktail
let it be known
that waiting on the plumber
is too much like
dining with the unemployed

reading a mildewed Bukowski book
on our $300 duvet
air conditioning
bustling outward
towards loose change
and cracked ceilings
I fondle an image
of gyration in a schoolyard

I watched the wife
with her naked ass
kill her hair
in a mirror
with an electrical outlet
as she tried to convince me
that I
am was only one
for her

some women are blind
others
are without sensibilities

and arent we lucky
to have them?

Posted by Drexler at 11:16 AM

June 07, 2005

positively 4th street

my insurance has been cancelled
due to a light fixture meltdown
or a lost pen
I dont have a car
or a light bulb
so go spit
Sincerly,
fucktherobots

I got a house on 4th street
thats waiting
for my dresser to arrive

theres beer in the icebox
and chicken in the marinade
Ive got the fixin for potatoes
and a mixer to match

who the fuck need a premium
and liability overalls
when you can park a barbeque
on the lawn

who needs fire and smoke coverage
when you got a hose
the size of an elephantitis

all these responsibilities
got me working up a lather
or maybe thats just
the humidity

either way
the insecurity check
is definetly

NOT

in the mail

Posted by Drexler at 04:08 PM

poncho in a bag

a frozen room
only good for a pencil
red ribbed coca cola cup
filled with vodka and fruit
Zapps 'Hotter n Hot' JALAPENO chips
and a cat wearing a tuxedo

this living out of trash bags
between piles of assorted cat hair

waiting for the phone to scream
while fighting off the pulsation of brain

dabbing at the blood clots
with woolite

NO

2 hours with Kerouac
wiping off the memories

the conquests and dejections

the smash in my wallet

making a deal with the tainted one
promising one another
nothing

sad ole fingernails
fleck ink into the barrel
a molded plastic tiara
passes by in the gutter

the rain breaks everyone
and everything
down
into two categories:
those that manage
and those
who dont

Posted by Drexler at 09:37 AM

candelabra

caves inside the shotgun shell
neighbors in the saltwater taffy tank
a seaman's bag
in the mothballs entrails
a much easier
porkchop to fix

rusted tunes
overlap the litter
from gaping mouths
just like bandits
crossing a drawbridge

on a freeway pointed north
I'm not dressed for the weathervane
I'm not ready for the address

I stepped into your path
with the granduer of a thief
I strolled the darkened hallways
over missing floorboards
with my tongue tied back

I struck the citadel
at the arch of midnight
while engaging in pigtails and candelabras
on satin stones

what else
would you ask of me

Posted by Drexler at 09:21 AM

June 01, 2005

shading

my dear wife
I can see her pressure gauges
bolt upright
when she attempts to dissect
my daily tablatures

'no fleecing the goose'
is her decree
she doesnt know that my architecture
lives only on the blueprint
she tinkers in my fairytales
with a mallet
but they are shaped
from thin air
there is none of the animated intimacy
that she suspects
so vividly pictured
in her mind

just words
transcribed for the senses
in the bowels of sewers
I no longer navigate
in the flesh

just so you know

Posted by Drexler at 02:28 PM

Carrollton Red Line

ivory rings
jade windopanes
cinnamon that stipples the chalice
all correlate
when the fountainhead
murmers

templets of flame
drape over the shoulders
taking pause
for nothing

dandelion hill
where the short straws grow
I know
that is where you will take me
dallying inside a sunshower
like an umbrella
over the dampness

pearl fingertips
and scarlet bows, unbound
night covers the city
while the beasts
cover the sound

it is only striking distance
that keeps us apart

Posted by Drexler at 01:23 PM

May 31, 2005

Real Estate

rumagged through the rental section;
for the skin of your teeth
they can set you up pretty nicely

the waitress is polishing barnacles
and her length
makes her a target
for my crockpot dialog
after all
the curves of her magnesium
are flush to the shadows
and her halo is dimly lit

my wife carries around
a pack of razor blades
for moments just like this
to make sure my hands remain
outside
the sample bag

embryos float inside the lava lamp
and I need another drink
but the man sitting on the broken rail
is burning a hole
through his fingernail
and the bartender is listening
to no one

the sunlight is falling
apart
through the duct taped windowpanes
above the poker machine
I can see a blind man
stepping off a bus
and I feel a certain amount of envy
for his shoes

only a three toed sloth
could maintain the proper amount
of urgency
when it comes to finding a place
to settle
in this city of transients

Posted by Drexler at 09:48 AM

May 27, 2005

Montezuma and the Hood

montezuma tequila
and flecks of angel dust
on my wingtips
a liquor store
minus the liquor
is worth about the same
as a broad in tight jeans
minus the zipper

driving a Pontiac with Michigan plates
but I'm just the chauffuer
leading the sheep to an assassination
from the rear of the procession

gas station fluxuations
and rest stop chamberpots
drive thru gutbusters
and deep fried delivery menus
inside rooms with broken handles
and screwed down alarm clocks

broken glass
beneath the underpass
I wear the miles on my face
like a set of dentures

1100 miles from the 2nd scene
broken socks
and a throttled liver
Im ready for
the season's finale
before I'm written
off

Posted by Drexler at 09:11 PM

May 16, 2005

Return of a Native

the surrounding had me feeling
surrounded
under a microscope, in the spotlight

rather than diving into the pool
I dove into a fifth of agave plant
skipping the lime
forsaking a pledge
that the others wish I would make

clearing the room
has always been my greatest art
I can clear out an entire house
if I really let my mouth wander, if I get enough fluids

sometimes, I attempt to keep my mouth closed
but then I open it to drink and everything just
spills out
usually at top volume
but isnt that what I'm here for?
tragic comedy relief?
dont people come to see
the drunk perform?
like a three headed snake
like the bearded lady
it seems to me
it seems to be
my calling

my act has not aged well
no
the fawns arent exactly wrapping themselves
around the magnet
anymore

even the faithful have begun
to carry a tire iron

paranoia;
friend of the thinking man
keeping things out of the shadows
keeping me
in the dark

you can't domesticate the urge
to believe the whole world
is against you

because they are

I steal enough glances
to read people's thoughts
convincingly

hospitality
sometimes binds the hands
it embraces
but i cant see how there is any time for that
right now

these threads
are slipping
scattering like dust
when a law is laid down

I need a new act
I need a new venue
I need a rest
just as much
as everyone else

Posted by Drexler at 01:32 PM

May 15, 2005

dog bus

wrapping twine around my possessions
getting them ready for the cross country ride
on the dog bus

two days and a few hours
with some of america's
finest examples:
the unforgiven
the forgotten
the forsaken
the fuct

it will be:
fast food in the slow lane
small children with huge lungs
fixed windows with broken air
large bags in short spaces
hard stares on soft skin
it will be
my long legs
with nowhere to go
but numb

I'm looking forward
to the destination
but in this case
I could do without
the journey

Posted by Drexler at 05:55 PM

May 11, 2005

empty fifths

hollow chambers
and empty cylinders
together, they consume the day

dirty dishes dont have much time
to be what they are
everything is spic and span
everything is broken

falling out of the family tree
wrapped in a mexican blanket
there are tortillas and rice
but no cervezas, in the icebox

rain is falling against plated glass
while wind cuts through the sycamore
and the clouds;
they keep the volume low
lower than I care for it to be

the telephone is ringing
but there is no one
at the other end
just digits and machinery
doing their bit

my inner space
is well furnished
but this outside world
is desolation

sitting here
in a shoeshine chair
a long way
from where I need to be

just waiting on a bus
that will take us
back to the sunlight
back to the songs and dance
that still resonate in my mind

Posted by Drexler at 03:56 PM

May 08, 2005

The Art of Living

art turns the world
not the deities

when you fly over Los Angeles
or Athens
the housing tracks
and their cookie cutter design
every third one, a repeat of the first
designed by mathematicians
and bankers
That is art
it is the art of calculators
and inside those homes;
the same
those with the lazy eye
not to see beyond the domino effect
that they have chosen, that it creates
and recreates
everywhere
from the dishes
down to the cutlery
from the oxford knot
down to the 9 to 5 cubicle
all the way down
to the children that they bear
this is art as well
the art of manicured machinery
for that is what one becomes
a machine
and after so many years in that style:
a broken one

when you are riding in the back of a bus
through the slums of Mexico
or Burma
the ragged piecemeal shacks
all in rows
staggered, like the lurching steps of a drunk
each unique to its neighbor
in the way of its varying scraps of color
and the condition of broken boards
the shapes of corrugated metal
that form them
Unique
but the same
to the despair
to the lives
that live within them
this too is art
the art of hoplessness
passed from one generation
to the next
from one regime
to another

what one man may simply discard
another may find, his only possession
and the distance between them
does not exist
not here
nor there
at least not in any practical sense
this too is art
the art of poverty

and for them
both those who live inside the cookie cutters
and those in the shacks
it is only while in the presence of plaster saints
and stained glass icons
inside the white vaulted funnels
decorated with the thorned man
bleeding from the wrists
and feet
hanging from the cross he was meant to bear
for the practical purposes of the guilt basket
passed among those with nothing
or close to it
and into the hands of those who sleep in silk
and solitude
It is only here
that they are led to believe that such lives
as those which they live
are necessary, and good
for there is a man; one who stands
while they must kneel
one who instructs
that they must beg
for forgiveness
for trying to get through the day
through the world
through life
they are told: suffer
it is required
it should be cherished
it will prepare you

For how can you know joy
if you cant endure tenures of misery?
How can you recognize clarity
if you wont submit to senility?
How can you be shown the right path
if youre always making your own decisions?
How do you know you ever really loved someone
unless they are taken away from you, from the living
by your friend; Jesus Christ?

For there is a better place, my friends
Above the clouds
Behind the stars
Beyond your understanding
Never Never Land
I think it is called
and when your bones
finally lie bleaching in the sun
or the worms get into the box and take to the flesh
You just might be allowed entry
or perhaps, given a residence
in this, 'Promised Land'
as long as your coins and banknotes
continue to land in the basket

What is this place like, you might ask?

Well,
its all biscuits and gravy
You'll be fitted in free flowing white linens
that dont ever wrinkle, or, get dirty
for there is no dirt in heaven
only soil
You will not have to pay taxes
or for gasoline either
and you will sleep soundly,
if sleep is what you desire

You can feast with the Saints
or dine with the virgins
Yes, you can move about freely
and visit with everyone youve ever loved, and lost
Well, that is, if they subscribed to our Laws of Devotion
But then again
who among you would want to mingle with sinners and non-subscribers?

Heaven:
It is, my child, whatever youd like, or, need, it to be
Go ahead, fill in the blanks.
It sounds pretty swell, doesnt it?

'Yes, very much so, but whats the catch?'

Well, there are a few conditions
the fine print, as they say

You must dismantle your robust spirit, Pride we call it
and that free thinking way of life, must cease
Snuff out your desires as well, they are slothful
anything that brings pleasure is evil, a sin
and you must devote your life to idol worship
study your bible, if youve read Mellville
youll see the similarities
also, being a Republican might help

You look troubled by all this my son
but you need not be
for this is not life
that you are experiencing now
this is just a precursor
a test
for the eternal episode

If you screw up once in awhile;
its OK, just come and beg for forgiveness in my little wooden booth
Oh, so many sins that you are guilty of, already, by default
but if you say ten hail marys and rub your beads
nothing you do will be counted against you
you are Forgiven

However, if you REALLY fuck up
If you are, for instance; a non-believer
lacking the common sense needed to comprehend
that a man walked on water
or parted the red sea
or in He, who rose from the dead to save you from yourself
Well, dont expect an elevator ride upstairs
or a free pass on the the winged chariots to the golden gates
Nope, straight to Hell for you boy
Fire and Brimstone, red men with horns, pitchforks
Hitler's there, Richard Burton too
An ugly scene all and all
Read Dante's Divine Comedy, the Ciardi translation
youll get the idea

'But how do I know that all that you say is true?'

'FAITH my boy, Faith
you must trust in me, follow me blindly
no need to question things, for I am a sheperd
and you are my sheep...

'all right, sign me up'

And so this is art as well
it is the art of manipulation
the art viewed and sold
to the confused
the dying
the lost
it is the art for those who reach inside for answers
but can only conjure up their ignorance and doubt
And the artists of manipulation know that smell
of the ignorant, the confused, the scared and the meek
The artists know.
They dont even have to come knocking
They know that they will come; the lost, on their own
they always have, they always will
and to no fault of their own
sometimes the world just seems
like it has nothing better to offer
sometimes
its just too hard to find

and of those who reach inside
when in need
and CAN conjure up the answers
or at least, a sense of direction
and are empowered by it
Those who find sunlight in the shadows
That can break free from the chains of the conveyer belt
Free their hearts from the vice grip
Well, they are the lucky ones
because for them life is not a queue in which one waits
for a transfer from this place, to a Sunday morning fairytale
it is not a purgatory which one must endure
while one awaits a vision of some well crafted mirage
No
It is an adventure, a challenge, and a thing of beauty

I feel this every day
in the curves of the woman sleeping beside me
on the mirrored streets of reflected neon
in the shifting colors of the gloaming
at the bottom of a bottle that swelled with fine agave spirits
in the images crafted by men, attached to the spines of literature
in the birdsong at dawn, beneath a foriegn flag
in the laughter of the innocents in playgrounds and schoolyards
I find it everywhere

It is there, if you resign yourself to finding it
you only have to open your eyes
and awaken your senses
To have faith in yourself
and in those who have faith in you
If you can do this
then there is no need to worship false idols
and follow in the footsteps of the great majority
and this is art too
This, my friend
is the art of living

Posted by Drexler at 11:32 AM