The Abandoned Station






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Mumblings and/or Poetry, Late Summer 2014

Like mentioned on the other poetry pages, it's James Dickey-inspired poetry. Not sure why all these ended up on yet another separate page. It seemed necessary to break up the uploads of dazzling, brilliant prose. (heh, heh)

NOTE: None of these are repeated in the not-exactly-new-anymore digital poetry book, Brief Tales of Compromised Solutions


Epitaph Failure

Tastes like outer space gone deeply wasted

dirt and out

a wet black sound

beating the hide of a tanned conscience

hung out to pasture after a busy summer

now spending your time fearing for heaven


the unexplained lords over us all 

stuck under the table with all the plastic neon coloured fantasies

a plague on all your knick-knacks


Whatever you think I see in the cracks and shadows that descend upon this room in the early morning hours is horribly misguided and ultimately incorrect


Things are looking up

For there is snow in Berlin


There's no hatred like spurned love hatred


Too tough to eat, too young to die


The right amount of insane


Numbers don't lie but people lie about numbers


-the ritual abuse of common sense

the uncouth relegating technique


You're only as strong as your next breath

Only the living blame the dead

We are very particular about the vacuums we abhor.




turn off the zeroes

huddling around the stone campfire

fooled by desperation

shadows of animals picking awkward bones out of their teeth right in front of me

no reason to point out the sun's been going backwards all this time

I survived the arrows in the coarse yellow forest

why can't you?


making lists with newspaper scraps for the insufferable back room dogs

taking into account their broken bottles and promises

sending bills to cold deep bank account waters

it's all action and no quiet reflection of the secret canvases spat onto bleak white walls

I explained the differences between here and now

why can't you?


eighteen dizzy lapdogs

drooling soft words over your freshly dislocated shoulder

the smell of rotting garbage seems to start in your lungs

a stubborn mess from the very inside out

back again so perfectly we were wrong about the journey we actually never left

our jailers sewed fake souvenirs

I accept that two weeks off can't change our fate

why can't you?


handing out endless beaches

like swaying palm leaves and hollowed out coconuts were the only way to stop the bombs

tear gas and baby blood in sewer drains spun like fancy cocktails

it's only happening on the other side of the streets

turning a half blind eye and raising up stigmatized hands

we bring down the best planes with mirrors

I paid the judges off in feral children

why can't you?



It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

It was a dark and stormy night until I turned it off.

I reached behind the rain and unhooked the precipitory drapes.

I unplugged the grand old stereo wearing thick rubber gloves.

I rolled up the night and stuffed it under the already crowded bed.


An accomplice to someone fucking up lamely is nothing worth shouting about

So slink away

away and unseen

young and ugly

what you knew has been sold for scrap

and it didn't get much

it's not like siren sounds sound any better underage

you've got the same simple grin that bored the statutes to tear


dumping on your chickenshit bereavement

I don't know exactly what I'm screwing up but I know it's something

I couldn't think if you paid me

Too bored for nihilism

these are the middle times

squinting hard trying to see the end will just get you a headache

so get yourself into a half-assed slouch

bunch up the soiled panties that have been gathering dust in three of the four corners of the room


three steps behind like it's the only way to dance

making money by pulling up your pants

a spectacular farce in the halls of power and no one can tell the difference

everyday is just another one

i'm trying to remember the way you feel

using memory as fuel to get me over the hill that blocks the wrong side of the tracks

It wouldn't kill me to be a bit friendlier, but it would really be annoying.

Working every day to get you wetter to fuck you better



Right About Disorder

You are right about disorder

This is a mockery of a fraud

An outright meritocracy

Led on my stringent fingers

Playing bent hopscotch with pleasant information


I don’t even have a gaggle of dum dum boys

Who could be used as paragons of made to suffer vice fucking virtue

With all the healthy excuses and scratching noise

With the missing contraptions against the hands that support you


Toil toil

Play the foil

Ride out ‘til the new path arrives

Run run

Before night comes

So that your scattered hope survives


If you’re wondering about the time you’ve come to the right place

Where have you been around?

It was the sound that caught you

We’ve all burnt out on the visuals

So it had to be something else

You gave off the scent of overboard excuses

Under the dark light of the interrogator

All I want from you is to stop suffering

There is a serious crack in the morning



Fender Bangin'


fender bangin’

Elfin denim shorts on a hot late spring day

There’s water on them there smooth as daisy thighs

I am across every aisle just a batted eye away


fender bangin’

A sun so bright it’s against the hardest laws

There’s someone letting skin talk with careful whys

On a dawdling Sunday you shed your stone flaws


fender bangin'

It all gets clean and eventually thaws

It smells like a finer solution

Fitting right between the tenacious claws


fender banging'

getting an early tan on almost leather

laying back on cheap outdoor couches

if you don't care you can ignore the weather


fender bangin'

passing around dark rum in a silver flask

making decisions through a sighing liver

who cares if the grog removes or adds a mask


fender bangin'

in burnt endless parking lots

smoking cheap cigarettes down to the filter

and deciding the war between the haves and have nots




Excuses Plus Excuses

Smart but with no real skills

I need to get out here

Forget excitement and heart-stopping thrills

I’ll settle for a quiet clear


your blood is simply relative

the meanings you grip need terrific care

it's not a matter of what will live

but the sacrifices made to get there


We’re all going to die of fucking whatever

Failing our children in all kinds of weather

Reaching blindly for the cellular phone

Anything for us to feel less alone


A tolerance for special parasite penalties

There’s a flood of edits rapping boldly on your door

One less word gives you one more day

But fewer words means a stronger grey


Starving the fat of the land

It may take a thousand days

And go wrong in a million ways

Cast one’s gaze to the blue skies

And promises beyond the hows and whys

To turn the grasses into sand


Excuses plus excuses

The laziness seduces

Replace them

Repay them

Reduce them

Replay them


Escape them

Enjoy them

Erase them

Employ them

Excuses plus excuses

Will make us all recluses


The Controller

He made kings and unmade kings

He saved the land and brought it pestilence

He betrays no one and everyone

His price is nothing and everything

He knows that too much truth is the greatest lie

He leads armies into battle and burns them from behind

He owns nothing and so owns everything

The only goal is life life and more life


A late form of circumnavigation

Obligatory to the ghosts and one foot in the gravers

There has to be a well scrubbed plan to pass the horn without giving up too much of the book

A siren like a cold poison dirt guitar


Where do you store your regrets

or do you pay someone to take them off your hands

When you finally collect your bets

Are they drowning half stuck in the twilight sands


haggling out the core issue

calling off bathroom breaks

tipping big on the spinal tissue

cross referencing their mistakes


I make the new rules when the rest of you are sleeping

Dreaming of ways to break the old ones

Passed out roles on the cold hardwood floor

Butcher baker and the communications service analyst

All hung over on picket fence memories and black angus skies



this is the force that should have gorged on the oldest rocks

missing its chance with orbital navel gazing

keeping its lazy eye on the smaller prizes that evaporate with the mid-summer sun

burning through glaciers to gasp inside zen big tops as all the answers do somersaults over broken glass nets

close to the chest as it gives blood milk and technical ecstasy

as dangerous as a cactus shadow

puddles that don't even know their points

ignorance sluices into the cracks and life simply shrugs itself into the light

putting too much stock on a purpose left in the fog with the keys still in the ignition but the engine replaced by an empty pinata

it's a laugh a minute riot if you have a broken watch

twice a day is never enough for the virility of youth

and the futility of the ages

random as much as the grassy fields or windswept tundra will permit

mutations out of context aren't mutations at all

and love gets caught in the wrong set of teeth and is placed in a mislabelled jar

fighting the future with pointed sticks and a terrible tongue

calling for a quick re-group when the wind picks up and the going gets tough

forgetting how bad it was way back when

since we've romanticized it all to keep our tomorrows in check

slipping off the tilting plain as we final get the backdoor numbers right

making a case for the game until we're all out of time

only liars and fools said we never had enough

roll up and smoke the credits



electric rush bunnies

failsafe is there less tough breakdowns

headlines for those as time eats

there were pillars with fresh damnations

inhale again with knowledge

pressing and acting sickly in cleaned assortments

roughing all the incendiary bits of it

The machine for everything

Runs on quarters of the soul

A filleting of the crippling stare

Right across the warm underbelly

A herculean blot on the record

Staining even the distant past

A careful assuming of stunned statistics

Holding up the fallow concentration







What if the assholes you knew in high school grew up to be cops, CEOs, and politicians?