Who Stole My Clothes? (J. Edgar Hoover’s Been in Mom’s Closet)

I had 1000 words written up that I was about to post and somehow the data vanished.  I am very annoyed right now.  Initially, it was going to be a straightforward poetry post, but some other words bubbled out as well.  I had some good material written.  There is no way all of it will be repeated, but I will recreate some of the old post.  The Lions material will have to resurface another day.

All the poems were written 3-4 weeks ago while riding the bus.  Writing poetry on the bus is much better than reading the poetry on the bus.  During this time I was dealing with a moving situation that dramatically shifted.  All in all, life was very unstable.

I know only a little about Freud, but from what I gathered the man was an overrated coward.  Dick Cheney just blows and is a man you don’t want to blow.

Anchored by gravity
Trapped by duty
If you can float you can fly
If you believe you can float that doesn’t mean you can actually float
nor fly
like Superman in an F-14
or the flying ram of the golden fleece
carrying endangered children to safety

Your mind is your worst enemy
keep a close watch on it
fattened with flattery
arteries clogged by ego
Freud attack!

Afraid of his subconscious
A coward to be avoided
Not a psycokeanalyst to be pedestooled
by foolhardy types wanting excuses for behavior
that would make the living corpse of Dick Cheney blush


He is smiling because he is aware of the monster lurking under that cloth.

This poem is one of few truly hopeful poems I have written.  I am proud of that fact.

I don’t see in binary
i don’t see in color
i see in dreams
the possibilities present
the multitudes to be manifested
escaping from material madness
for am i tattered and torn
like the edges of a journal
constantly searching for solid ground
like Bartolomeau Dias lost at sea
surrounded by water
unfit for human consumption
needing a place to catch my breath
from the swirling currents of change
to gaze at the stars
tiny sparkles in the consciousness
looking outward at the universe
to look inward at myself
a sojourn to gather the strength
needed for the coming transformation

Here is a ramble about the setting of the sun.

Eerie orange shines
out the mouth of the beast
icy breath inducing shivers
as luna’s crescent observes
but says nothing
not wanting to disturb creatures below
for the freaks come out at night
providing entertainment for the man on the moon


There is a business mart on MLK, one of J. Edgar Hoover’s many enemies, Ave that uses iridescence to attract eyeballs.  Employing a glowing, artificial palm tree, this plaza made me reminiscence about the luminous artificiality of Video Hits Plus parking lot in Kalamazoo.

Plugged in palm trees shimmer
striving artificially to attain the glory
of roots that will not electrocute
Futilely utilitarian nite lights
capturing no CO2
releasing no oxygen
electric humming(birds)
will not find nectar
nor noses scents
to mask the petrol of passing plastic
exuding flash but forgetting
true shine lies on the inside


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