Floyd

[xanhalen]

Open Season (prod. by Lil Cope)

Random electro beat

[xanhalen]

Dry nightmares & lucid fantasies

Black & white fever dream

of adolescence

A mother’s warmth

Brothel-stench

The end of spring

Hitler in grade school

Dead dogs

& first valentines

Chocolate milk

& copulation

Coping mechanisms

& crops

Accident off the HWY

Simple-folk w/

thousand-yard stares

& rural vernaculars

Ignoring memories

until I recoil

in amazed horror

Forgive the future

Forget your sin

Quaint strangers

line a matinee

Sultry women

in dimly lit bars

The psychology of comedy

===================

Mountain retreat

Black dress

of the waitress

Those eyes

Cities on the hunt

Daughters in the night

Reality of morning

Flashes of who

& what we were

Holy affection

Her ways

The end of laughter

& soft times

The nights we said “forever”

& cried

Now memories of Omaha

& trips through dawn

haunt my mind w/ grace

——-

A black & white film

about the future

burns out,

phoenix-like

Underground noir

Sermon on the marquee

Babies in modern prams

rest in the Danish sun

Clandestine labs of black magic

Soft words

People start religions

w/ one line

——-

The words you chose to calm me

we’re concise epics

Sometimes

I feel like

a black cloud

in the ether

of nothing

Empty bottles, half ounces & inside jokes

w/ sly timing

The consensus

of middle-class Jesus-freaks

Green visions of sea-foam

Highs & lows

at the casino

================

[xanhalen]

Stink Bait (prod. Lil’ Cope)

First beat

Produced by Lil Cope) (me)

[xanhalen]

{Schopenhauer}

There’s a hundred plain faces

seeming lost in nothing

The back-alley Lutherans

file languidly to their cars

The laughter of recess

scoring the background

Here I am

Naked in thought

& clothed in confusion

Another evening

blends into itself

& becomes the Night

Cold desert crime

acted out by shy inbreds

& a family gang

If someone made god,

what can we make of ourselves

What stories will they say

when you’re almost forgotten about

Tender golden years

spent on a quiet farm

w/ a loyal dog

(The last harvest)

Rambling patrons

Voyeurism

The hills of South Dakota

Caravan of nomads

at dusk

Children & their concept

of Jesus

Contemplation

in the shade

of August

**************

[xanhalen]

Psychosis:

A song floats w/ grace

above Catholics

in the country afternoon,

through the hills

where mutants

mine for fish

& under a bridge

where it’s heard by winos

living in sweet squalor

Belief

Reservations

The doom of a loved one

Aborted angels in the mud

——————————-

[xanhalen]

Nightmares & lucid fantasies

Dreams that replay adolescence

A mother’s warmth

Brothel-stench of open sores

The passing of summer

Hitler in grade school

Dead dogs

& first valentines

Chocolate milk

& copulation

Coping mechanisms

& classic sitcoms

Girls of the county fair

Buxom teachers

Bloated cattle

& piles of swine

Quaint strangers

catching a matinee

Prayers of America

Carnival-children

of the Midwest

working token games

Amphetamine mannerisms

& toothless smiles

Malt liquor

& petty vandalism

Cheap cigarettes

from the reservation

(Gypsy Americana)

Accident off the HWY

Simple folk w/

thousand-yard stares

& rural vernaculars

A victim of my past

Ignoring memories

until I recoil

amazed in horror

Forgive the future

& forget your sins

Sultry women

in dimly lit bars

The psychology of comedy

—————————————-

[xanhalen]

Mountain retreat

Black dress of

the waitress

Those eyes

Cities on the hunt

Daughters in the night

Reality of morning

Flashes of who

& what we were

Holy affection

Her mind

The little things

The end of laughter

& soft times

The last of nights we said “forever”

& cried

Memories of Omaha

Trips through dawn

You haunt my mind w/ grace

****************

-B

[xanhalen]

The woman without a middle name:

When night arrives,

it’s calmness seems to

mimic heavenly acoustics

Sunday school

& children out of wedlock

The stench of trendy foreign herbs

& hope

on geometric tapestries

Knowing I’ll wake up

in that bright-yellow hue

************************

[xanhalen]

[xanhalen]

A black & white film about the future

The tape burns out,

Phoenix-like

American noir matinee

Sermons on the marquee

Babies in modern strollers

resting under the Danish sun

(Clendestine labs of Black magic)

Never underestimate

the power

of words or their combinations

They’ll burn you in heaven

They’ll give you wings in hell

They start religions

w/ one line

[xanhalen]

First chair:

Words you chose to calm me w/ were concise epics,

-Please write from the desert

Sometimes

I feel like

a black cloud

in the ether

of nothing

Empty glass bottles & half-ounces & inside jokes w/ perfect timing

The consensus of

middle-class Jesus freaks

Green visions of sea-foam

[Highs & lows at the casino]

Blood on the sheets

——-

[xanhalen]

“Gonzo”

1.

Have you witnessed

the deity shadow

The one that dances w/ it’s own silhouette

in repression of bright holidays

Have you seen children lost in fun,

Introverted janitors trying to be friendly,

or the sores of lunch ladies

Christmas during the plague

Genocide on Easter Sunday

The second coming on Halloween

Words you want to hear that I won’t write

2.

Whisper me to sleep on sweet Friday

Hush my troubles

Tell stories of nothing while I go back to the womb

Tell me everything is fine

Kiss me softly as I drift off

Wake me w/ a smile & more soft talk

She must be heaven-sent

Phantom-muse girl

hailing from the little city,

warping my psyche w/ best intentions

3.

A killer evading the feds

Getting high

Laying low

inside gothic whorehouses

outlining Corpus Christi

Cooing in the A.M.

As I kiss your brown skin

you roll over & love me out of sleep; affectionate & warm as ever

4.

Thinking about Kerouac as

we drove west

& approached the pined mountains of Denver

Smoked a couple ounces

& drank freely

next to the ocean

in an orange hotel

Nervous as we stunk through

mountain highways of Utah

& the dullness of Nebraska

5.

A cigarette sometimes

calms my nerves

I drink more & more like a poet

these days

Become a librarian in my old age

Read the beats &

classics

to circles

of children

Freelance for the local paper

I’ll hide little jokes in articles

& cover underground topics

Get fat on a farm

Find a wife & love her

[xanhalen]

Dead man’s hand

Card games

Half empty bottles & cigarette butts

Small talk w/ rednecks

Old women come to town for evening mass

even in the dead of blizzards

Meth plaguing the Midwest

Poor local journalism

Pharmaceuticals on hand before we trip

Copious amounts of grass;

Sex

Pills &

the familiar warmth of whiskey

River-locked land

Iowa’s been good to me

Heartland-child, Product of Siouxland

Dust cyclone of afternoon & seeing coon dogs point

Swine & corn

My dear home of deer

Plains-folk tend to be born or become plain, I’ve lived here long & among them enough to know this unfortunate truth

No one knows why other than those Midwest mutants; too rare to be simple & too inspired that they can’t help it

•••••••••

Sandbar exploration

Tri-hook jigs w/ stink-bait

& being cautious of catfish barbs

Lunch meat, soda

on a green John-boat

Inebriated from the sun

The bus ride to my grandmother’s

Pals from out of town

who also vandalized for the hell of it

& held orgies too

Smoke, grind teeth, repeat

Pick up a book, kid

Put it down & think about picking it up again

I’m used to the humid air

that floats & haunts

the Midwest

I’ve grown accustom

to pheasants in town

& deer under street lights

Bullet casings in the driveway

Out of state holiday

Drunk chortling uncles

Sweet elderly women who smile w/ silver-capped teeth when you wave to them as they tend their gardens

Obituary

Epitaph

A sermon w/ mothers hushing babies

Catholic tactics

As a child I loved Jesus

The feeling of losing Christ

Sunday nostalgia of sun & sleep but never guilt of sin

Write a piece

w/ the country

in mind

or

let it bleed into paragraphs

at random

& wonder if it’s too much

•••••••••••••••••••

Bicycle gangs of children meeting by the railroad tracks

Recessive hairlines of local meteorologists & anchors

Swingers in a small town

One night, on mushrooms

I stood up for the fat girl

who was the topic of the conversation

After a couple minutes of listening to this I felt this instant urge to say something that would cut right through their brains & make them look at themselves

I interrupted someone by saying “I had sex w/ her & she’s really cool if you get to know her” in a deadpan, monotone delivery.

Their demeanors all changed instantly as I slowly made eye contact w/ the entire room as it stretched away from me horizontally

At the peak of my trip, I stood up to go out to the woods & turned back before I got to the old farmhouse door & said w/ a bleak smirk “She’s just as human as any of us”

Golf course massacre

Buffet of cannibals

& men of the cloth

Wild out of the womb

Wicked wit

Quick tongue

The last joke I’ll think of

The last poem I’ll pen

••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’m borderline numb

Benzos

Contemporary ludes

Smorgasbord of vices

The city sleeps,

waiting for the son of suns

or a knight of night

to restore it’s former glory

Forgotten ancient plays

Winter nights

Summer haze

All of us unknowingly commune,

forever seeking different ways

•••••••••••••••••••••

JFK masturbating

Marilyn Monroe O.D.

Dallas sniper

Retreat to a matinee to be

wasted a few days later

by a strip joint owner

while the feds almost had him wheeled him off

••••••••••••••••••••

[xanhalen]

“I am troubled immeasurably by your eyes, I’m touched by the feather of your soft reply” I’ll remember how you liked me to order sweet potato fries bc you wanted just a couple of them and I never noticed bc I just wanted to give you fries.

[xanhalen]

“Ross St.”

There’s fog in the cemetery

American woman

The deadly HWY junction

The decaying people in line at old pharmacies

War relics, storm drains filled w/ roadkill

The fifty year-old paper-delivery boy & his aunt who edits & writes the hometown newspaper

I drank next to a priest, picked his brain about seminary school & had him tell me about where he grew up

We would trade books & talk about Freudian concepts as we developed a pleasantly strange friendship

Sliver of heaven or eden in spring

Foraging hill-wives, roam as they sing

Bandits who laugh at their own bounty

Homicide news spreads throughout the county

Can anything or anyone

Help me to almost forget

It’s either something or nothing

All I know is no one’s sure of it

Smoke all day, Reminisce at dawn

The Blues allow me to ask for help in a song

It’s been a couple years, still in my dreams & thoughts

Now when I look in mirrors I don’t seem as lost

Less & less I see those eyes, particularly brown

Watched you leave on Thanksgiving, last time in town

Our neighbors, waving schizo’s that

you see on occasion

Non-guilt freedom of the married swingers

Soliloquy seance

Audible autopsy

Still-fog around the cool cemetery,

Covering death dates & fresh dirt

An American woman approached me at the casino

Lovers at sight, she said one syllable & it turned me into a little boy

(Shy & infatuated)

We stayed together near the bottom a mountain just outside Boulder w/ her friends & her friend’s friends

We walked the streets of that unworldly beautiful city only stopping to hand a homeless man a blunt from my sock (He said “God bless you” & I repeated the same hoping some god out there would) then we got high as we soaked up the art & culture -I thought of all the writers I looked up to who made the same pilgrimage to this particular corner of America (beat poets)

Cinema, love & sex on acid Bats flew above our heads as we held each other whispering about what we had & what could be

***********************

-b

[xanhalen]

Six-shooters & Cannons

Words & visions

Wounds & foreign vices of home bound sailors, picked up from far places

Wives & their husbands’ valor

Meek sunbeams from above the tide.

The calmness around skeletons

in the ocean floor

Crawling specimens

Bottom dwelling

unknown illuminated creatures

that science will never find

in the midnight ocean

Pirates are cowboys w/ different vessels

Hooch & Murder

Seas & Wild frontiers

Saloon ladies of the night

Island people just behind exotic trees

wait for explorers off the horizon

Consumption & copulation encumber history

A gust slithers old newspapers in stone back alleys, occupied by nomad winos

Who lie in stupor

ignoring multitudes of moments,

lost in the Everything that is

Misleading the ones who will rule the world

“America is hell on earth”

Prejudice melting pots where

The world elite’s & politician’s eyes

gleeful in greed

They hopelessly resemble

Killers,

Dictators

& possess the arrogance of cult leaders w/ megalomaniacal ideologies

Professional witchcraft & vigilantes who kill murderers in their free time;

The practitioners aim for unreal

planes of mass ascension, unfortunately not starting w/ the individual

One seeks glory or justice

One calls on to palliate the dead & recites hexes

of pagan pseudo-religions

Think of the worst among us

Think of the babies who will

grow to be serial killers,

The children who’ll have others tell them

how & what to believe

who go on to

war

for their homeland, blindly w/o thought

to foreign countries solely

to shoot men who are dying

to do the same w/ them

for no different reason

Is greed learned,

Is murder taught, is it simply the dark psychology of humans who ultimately lack restraint

or perhaps before conception it’s destined to be inherited

already embedded w/ in those who cant help but wonder twisted black fantasies

Blood

Bones

Oil

Poppy

Drugs

Money

Sex & it’s aftermath on the soul

A bandit counts bullets at dawn in the hills,

He spares women & children of train cars

These themes date back farther than history

& will forever

drive our world

I want to pick the last flower

kept alive by the sun

I can make realms & mountains shift,

Pines lean as I coolly pass by,

searching for asylum behind some woods

& sudden gusts carrying a city’s secret

I’ll be ready for dawn’s second coming

I’ll be able to dream about home again

& what color of water we’ll find in purgatory

A hundred nun’s repress promiscuous thoughts

Remorse of O.B.G.Y.N’s

-lord loving us with floods of locusts

The complexity of life should be seen as what inevitably shapes us & can simplify existence somewhat

Or thin the herd which grasps chains they love

but will never admit

[xanhalen]

“Little Chicago”

Neon clubs light up dark corners where

dark dealings light up the eyes of the recipient

A bustle through inebriated animals, congregated scum, & the monsters they let out after each drink

Freud would be in awe to spectate this carnival

“Work & Church”

Lurk & search midnight voids til’ daybreak

Biker clubs groping non-consenting girls crawling saloon to dive bar, back to the saloon after “last call!”

My baby has fire w/in her spirit

My baby has grit

& she has me

Songs, Poetry, and Love are the only things to survive an apocalypse

Our love surpasses time itself after time is long gone

Brown eyed girl

Blue eyed boy

She’s more than my world

With her smile always coy

Someday we May have babies,

by streams they’ll spring & fall

Up the mountains our family shall March

But she’ll certainly always,

always

Be my baby.

No philosophy could change my mind on that.