N  a  p a  l  m     H  e  a  l  t  h     S  p  a  :     R  e  p  o  r  t     2  0  0  9






observations written today




teacher from the tonguey fringes of history


strange cowboys of the night

wreckless and

afraid to think


tightness looking for attention


children born into charisma and innocence

with large eyes

tabulating the costs

and sleeping at night


quiet corners

where quiet children hum to themselves

and talk to themselves

and dream


young men


a red head

who writes poems

wants to be out west

but to make mommy proud

stays in school


unhappy beings who think of death


young beauty

who spends money on clothing

to look the part


another young beauty

who talks when asked not to

because she is young beauty


girl drawing fairies with pencils and papers

wearing corset because she likes the way it looks


young man singing in the hallway


kids out there in the rooms working hard for numbers

who want to go to good college

make good money

have good spouse

have good death


other kid who wants to find reason in all of it


small string of girls who accept an alternate


young man with kittens

who comes with eyes of fire

looking to prove something


conglomerations of minds in the distance

slowly tapping their feet to pass time


hardcore group of cannibalist females

copying each other

and eating stray bits of flesh left on the floor

dropped by those who realized it was not worth it


bizarre girl with glasses

who likes being bizarre girl with glasses


boy with shaved head who likes bizarre girl with glasses

because she likes being bizarre girl with glasses


boy with long black hair

quiet with precision


young man who sells small bags of reefer

and buys an image shaded in sunglasses


young girl listening to music in mind

writing down work with her hand

fidgeting her feet


waves of backbone

rising through the root

and into alternate state of consciousness


boy telling everybody what they want to hear


girl hoping for subtle satisfaction

in her work


young boy wishing to be man

and to bang on chest

and to eat hamburg with beer

and to have sex with wife

and to teach children how to tie knots


slow words of children sitting in desks

with light eyes


and none really want to be here

and i don't want to be here

and i am here

and i don't want to be here


this mess of hemispheres


who are not finding the point to this craziness


who have realized that it is all just some words

and that it is all just some words

some words






soft sun rises from line of trees

chirping of distanced bird through ears

still a snap of chill in the air

it will be warm soon


deer across the drive



eyes closed






men with faces of stiletto

shaded voice

long pony-tail

who at poetry workshop

tell old ladies how to make poems better



i do not understand that ts eliot poem


sorry mother i may have to disappear for a while


my mind is wet

and to write it hurts


should i cut my hair?

or just go with this next wave of counter-culture

bound to come

and bound to whittle and to end

because drugs bring pleasure

and nobody wants to talk anymore

and being radical is cliché these days


apparitions of souls gliding reflections over shallow pools






i get drunk and talk to friend about life

i remember when i wake up

and feel enlightened

then forget it






my bed smells of sweat

mother there is a bottle of whiskey in the drawer where i keep my shirts






old men seek simplicity

young men to be known

mark twain writes something about it i think


and i learn more from paperback novels and smoking marijuana than school


a few of my favorite people are dead


is there inspiration in the wind?

or am i just too young


is the answer in shroud?


what is to be healed?





odd children caring for status

in the lunch-room

moving in for a proper 'hoooo'


looking into the stars


i am young i am young

i shall walk off when the weather is warm

and when i hear the chirp of a bird

i shall myself sing




sun ap 19




there is less to be said

of a flower

when the buildings inhale

and a girl with shaven head is beautiful

and she never looks at me


the man's directions

leading me to stains on side-walk





i say give me illumination

and fuck truth

i don't want to understand it when it comes


i want america to give me blow-jobs


ginsberg said smoking cigarettes is capitalist joke

i'll keep giggling with my hand out window


let me serve lies to all of your mothers

and never tell them

when they spit up your carcass

and slap me across the face

because i try to eat it


what a conversation

when i don't look

at the stars

because they are full of bullshit

and i want to eat them

and new york city

i want to have sex with

and then eat


whitman said city of orgies

show me

you bearded poet




i came out naked seventeen years ago

and i want to see everything naked


i will lick all the scars

and keep your wounds open


i'll peel off all paint

from the villages

so they can be naked

and i can have sex with dirty windows

and the inside can revolt




i am made of water