target practice



we shot a film
in philosophical black
we shot it full
of philosophical holes
we shot gnostic smoke in the lens
it smoldered frame by frame
we shot film
chock-full of stars and pop-up targets
we shot film
as if film and philosophy were free
we shot clocks
like there’s no tomorrow
and spent the time
shooting the night away
we shot clint eastwood
bit players and slim pickens
we tamed horses
burned mesquite logs
guns blazing
riding high
across a howling bullet moon
over the roiling ribbon
of the rio grande

fat gobs of money

my bitter mood suddenly mitigated
by the unexpected receipt of 59 million dollars
i paid my neighbor 2 million in quarters
with instructions to disappear
by lunchtime
and told him lunchtime is
when i say it is

enough money
to do whatever the fuck I wanted
like buy a printing press
and the treasury secretary
and make more money
fat gooey dripping gobs of it
so i did
I printed fat gobs of money
i gave all my friends 59 million dollars each
we had a big party
exactly like the big parties we had before
only better, brighter
because money buys arc lights, exotic hallucinogens
and that certain “sheen”

but mainly because dollars make a great
bonfire
great fat gobs of burning money
sparking floating blazing
riding the heat of their own conflagration
curling crispy into the nite

english poem made with words we know in español
mi salsa es su salsa
aqui está una tortilla
con queso, baybee
we mango a tortilla con salsa rhumba meringue
we drink cerveza and mas tortilla con tango
now more beer, more beer now
we do this every day, it is good
this table, this mesa, is very strong
many beers and many tortillas
and you and I are tu y yo
on this table, this mesa, baybee
with cold cerveza in the frosty bucket
I like it a lot, this tableau is muy strong
Gusto con gusto