No More Gold Gods

No more porcelain gods,
or the prejudice for the painted gods,
or the gods of plastic and oil;

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The Cave

The night comes,
whispering at the eaves,
as if to say,

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In Summer We Stand Up

Now that the summer’s gone
and the Station Wagon is rusted
into the American lexicon,

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The Net

I wished that love
was not far-flung
as foreign coasts

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What if?

What if I made you change
your ideologies today?
there’s babies soft and strange
and hungry human hearts at play
where algorithms dare not go.

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Gonzo is Dead

Oh, man, they’re gonna make it look like suicide
and type a note on how life is not all joyrides

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Artificial Intelligence

A.I. is the genie,
and we are the question;

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On a Bad Marriage

Everyday was exactly the same,
and the night did nothing,
and staying weighed me like an elephant

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Entropy

This is the law,
the rule of nature eternal,
the force for which we name

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The Playground of Life

There is a gypsy in her hair;
a place where I slip off to breath,
a paradise of spring and new born things,
a playground made of laughter’s glee.

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The ever decreasing minutes of day

The ever decreasing minutes of day
trickle like the granules in an hourglass;

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Do not Fall For a Man Like Me

Do not fall for a man like me
I am not blind; I do not see.
I am the reason storms have names

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Darker Than Dismemberment

No candle can stay the cohorts
of human dogmas new or old,
not reason weighed nor goodness shown

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Some Say (On Phidias’s Zeus)

Some say that time consumes all,
but Phidias’s statue’s beauty
did not disappear with a thousand falls;

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I Need You

I need you
because I need you,
not because
I need you,

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Safe Passage

he world is not enough for us of late;
the rough cold fate of living life to die
exchanged for the spending and getting of time,

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To My little Spoon

and tell the head that it is truly mad,
mixed up and made for something closer to art

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Tom MacDonald The Musical Dragon

Let me tell you ’bout Tom, the musical dragon,the muse of angels and the fire of hella rapper who’s not here to sell you xanex,music that doesn’t conflict with the truth.Keep calm, stand tallthe gloves have come off and roof is on fireand we’re all still alive, just barely breathin’.Didn’t know what we needed was

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To smoke

In the hay fieldsthe horse hooves hammer home;he rides on haunted hills,on hell, on a black horse,on my last breath as handswrapped around a throatand the cancer, surelyto come if I continue.

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Found in Notes on phone

Beneath the waves a gyre turns it’s gaze.Awake, at last, that sleeping giant is loosedonce more upon the world. Anarchy is the rulethat sets the center askew; the antichrist is surely near.The shooter, his rifle, is surely at hand;surely there’s some terrorist plan,surely the boogeyman has come to bearthose Freddy claws and leave us turning

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