when i am in the woods of the usa i like to carve sticks

When I am in the woods of the United States of America I like to carve sticks. I always have and always will. I have a feeling that in 2012 we probably won't get the chance to vote for the people worth voting for. That’s why I’m carving up all these spears and stockpiling ‘em for the next Civil War. Maybe we should just re-enact the Civil War on Twitter. I predict I will get shot in the hip by a Confederate with a rifle, but my cellphone will block the musket ball. I won't have insurance on my phone, but my phone company will replace it for free anyway.

i will

with you
and i

i will
with you

garter snake chorus

I don’t know I should just grow up

so I won’t fall down in the mud

from tequila whiskey and weed

and not wonder what happened to me

and be happy you still hang around

and not drink till we all fall down

permutations on ceres park

this is a very nice home

for fish

besides the traffic noise

this is a very nice home

besides the traffic noise

for fish

for fish

this is a very nice home

besides the traffic noise

for fish

besides the traffic noise

this is a very nice home

besides the traffic noise

this is a very nice home

for fish

besides the traffic noise

for fish

this is a very nice home

great shade from

green plants

green plants

great shade from

this is a very nice poem

for wish

besides the spastic boy

this is a very nice poem

besides the spastic boy

for wish

for wish

this is a very nice poem

besides the spastic boy

for wish

besides the spastic boy

this is a very nice poem

besides the spastic boy

this is a very nice poem

for wish

besides the spastic boy

for wish

this is a very nice poem

a very nice poem

great shade thumb

weed plants

bliss is a very nice comb

for happiness

besides the traffic noise

a very nice home

clean thumbs

for happiness

bliss is the hurried comb

happy noise

besides joy

for clean thumbs

this is a very nice home

besides the traffic noise

for fish

six haikus

a poem for the pines

to me everything was there

Godfrey's bridge campground

I drive by the beach

pepperoni pie for you

thank you for the tip

small poems in my head

come out onto the page now

my hand writes "goodbye"

one hundred degrees

tomorrow we start early

it will suck so bad

my groin hurts to move

skimboarding is for pussyslut

the sun burned my back

hourly rate low

off by eight seven cents

pay me by friday

barefoot beach

let the ocean ground

my poems into sand,

curse the salted bird!
my senses are sharp reflections

diamonds of sun on water.

putting them back together,
I cut my fingers on shards of thoughts

to think like a rock tumbler!
a body of water callous to broken bottles,
I will keep them in my head

until they are polished
and then I will put my sea glass
into a lamp

made out of a jar,
beside my bed.