everything is nope
forever mope nope!
tired old trope nope!

disturb the peace,
unleash the fury,
fight the power—

how’s about we elope,
chase down antelope!?


infirm and feeble,
break out the endoscope—


so pathetic, like blind men
with their elephant grope.

Have you lost all hope?

still got some HOPE.

n o p a n a c e a

no panacea— no simple solution, no figuring it all out
the ducks will never stay in a row, those fickle ducks!
getting ahead won’t happen or it won’t last for long
nothing will last — all wells run dry  — endurance falters
new ailments arise that the usual remedies don’t touch
our security, too, is volatile; our safety an illusion
tonight our days have definitely diminished by one.

so what’s the point, how to go on?

struggle forward for shit’s sake!
grin and surge headlong into the abyss
forgetting the snares and gnaws at your feet
to hell with your insignificant flaws or regrets
that extra doughnut you should’ve skipped—
go on from here, make it real, make it happen
and don’t be such a selfish ass along the way,
help another along and be kind, you smug punk!
it wouldn’t hurt to smile a bit more either,
maybe a little humor could ease the burden
of someone in pain; so don’t take yourself too
seriously, never take yourself too seriously;
I mean, look in the mirror— what a shit show,
a cruel joke, what an old saggy skin bag! HA!

None of this sound very good? Well, run to your mama then.

This messy life, it’s what we’ve got. Have it, have it now!
Enough wishing for something else.
No more bullshit fantasy.
The daily struggle, the bonds between us, the agony and joy.
The apathy and complacency, YUCK!
Day in and day out, our best work. Our progeny.
Our precious, fragile lives.

unfathomable times

One side or the other wrecked the whole world;
it has to be their fault, not ours! Special times,
unlike before, these times of ours matter most.
The day’s decisions, political postures, military
movements and financial flounders are what’s

Tired old goats enjoy the late afternoon sun,
grazing peacefully while kids frolic nearby.
Mountaintops lit with the same slanting rays
spread their static wisdom and sweeping shade
toward the savanna’s horizon. Children worldwide
improve their swinging skills, mastering the rhythm
of leg pumps and body leans while soaking in sunset.
Undulating, frenzied flight of our fearless progeny!
Middle-aged folks, fed up with inertia, leap from soft
sofas to power-walk a determined mile toward dusk.
Steadfast and sweaty, sated calorie combustors!
Cities of millions, if just momentarily, function freely.
Machines machinate, the vehicular orchestra hums
along, and we safely maneuver rush hour this time.

What a time to be alive! These times of ours,
breaking in unfathomable ways. Crashing as
waves here, but deserving praise over here, too.

unfucked by fire

kindle your fire with care
even if no-one else feels its warmth
others may draw close to the flicker
or maybe they won’t
whatever your course
keep that flame alight
and do what you must
to stoke your glorious blaze
unfuck your life, unfuck the whole world
with a few sticks at at time

running and the rhythm

The running and the rhythm. Heaving breath and smooth hot-stepping. Sweat dripping and fiery eyes burning. Thoughts thunk and muscled miles merging. Hauling and hoofing, uphill steadily steaming. The boom-diggity and zoom-zippity. Hell, even the trudge-drudgery and grinding gradually. The move, the groove, the long-lasting loping. The bad mother… flying freely. Heh! Ain’t it funky now?

spare the dramatics and DANCE!

Wise and foolish alike reach birthdays and look back on life lived, both well and not so much, and into the pointless abyss of hopes left unrealized. I’m no exception, but what’s best to say now? A mosquito buzzes around seeking blood. Scotch slides down the throat and imbues with a gutteral, undeniable truth. I was once attached to my mother via the belly button, but I’m nobody’s baby now. { Cheers, Nick Cave. } My face, bearded and weathered after a decent thirty-seven years, is not quite the face of my great-great-grandfather, nor is it the face of some future grandchildren, but these eyes, man, they burn with fucking starfire! Getting old is of little concern when merged cheerfully with the magnificent cosmic frolic. For shit’s sake, spare the dramatics, it’s time to dance.