My Rules For Writing Poetry

  • Utilizing playfully old skool (formal) poetic principles such as assonance, alliteration, ryhme, meter, harmonics of vowelsounds etc without allowing them to shape the poem. Not “tennis without a net” but ‘tennis-plus-ultra’
  • Giving the universe a sign that I’m interested and awake.
  • Blowing but concisely and confined by The Idea – poetry space not being rambling space but tight and contained.
  • Never what I’m thinking, feeling or doing but simply What Is.
  • Avoiding metaphor, similie, like is like blah-sense. Let entities, people and spaces be discrete. Let them stand on their own. Celebrate either their discreteness or their rhizomatic natures, or better yet both.
  • Zoomity. Play the range of viewpoints, it is your piano. What Ken Wilbur calls zoom and span.
  • ‘An oyster makes a pearl from grains of sand, not from going to pearl-making conventions.’. Rejecting established networks, especially those that celebrate hierarchies of mediocrity –
  • ‘Test of a poem’, Whitman noted, ‘How far it can elevate, enlarge, purify, deepen and make happy the attributes of the body and soul.’

  • Avoiding wherever possible William Matthew’s Four Subjects of Poetry :

    1. I went out into the woods today, and it made me feel, you know, sort of religious.

    2. We’re not getting any younger.

    3. It sure is cold and lonely (a) without you, honey, or (b) with you, honey.

    4. Sadness seems but the other side of the coin of happiness, and vice versa, and in any case the coin is too soon spent, and on what we know not what.

    – because there’s already volumes of poems about these four subjects, so let’s sing new songs about the under-explored territories to the west.
  • Adherence to Kerouac‘s tastes in poetry as espoused in

    …(Peter Orlovsky) and I hurry out just as (James Merrill)’s begun his first line :

    ‘The duodenal abyss that brings me to the margin consuming my flesh’

    and such, some line that I hear, and dont want to hear more, because in it I hear the craft of his carefully arranged thoughts and not the uncontrollable involuntary thoughts themselves, dig –

    Desolation Angels, p 210

  • Practicing an economy of thoughts and words.

  • Encouraging fellow poetmen/womyn to blow mad, free, wild.
  • Last and Most : The Mission of writing poetry – Shaping my mind, wiring my brain to think poetically, cultivating an interest, adoration and lust for extraspection.


I stood at University and Fourth this morning and watched the big fireball come up between the Hillcrest sign and Lawson Peak. the vernal equinox was last week and the old man is due east when he starts his climb. don’t mean a thing to him, but it’s significant to me and to humanity, so we’ll tell it this way – the old man rose in the east. Our stories ought to come easy, light, bourbon in the coffee, cause if science has taught me anything it’s to nitpick the details is the death of all that’s good and living in this earth. and sure we ought to know that the earth revolves around the sun and the angles and all of that, and tell it that way, but only when it is


and learn to look at it like giving a police report at a cocktail party when asked ‘So, what have you been up to lately?’

I watched that old sun come up over Hillcrest and went home to write, and in half an hour the golden light came in through my windows and it was time to clean up and go to work.

Poetry Scrap

Lunchtime at Mucho Gusto in Del Mar, just a tad envious of the men at the adjacent tables.

In la taqueria they’re belting at beers
us whiteboys are there too, collars and ties
wolfing at our burrito lunches while
are in tshirts and jeans, hardarms and
killing those cervezas y comidas corridas
while we goodboy back
to our cube farm in skies

30 Today

To myself on my 30th birthday

A alligator, B bat, C cat, D dog, E elephant, F fox…

progress without regress
is a misnomer of an order
Donald Trumps ought to give themselves
to stroll, the Park
seeing at looking at old newnesses
naked, i
want to tongue-kiss filthy sidewalks of the world
contract their virii/uses
much more of a girl
want to run home done to daddy
study in his study thermodynamics
and human interactions, relationships and
rooting from beginingings –
(kung-foo (shuss) say ‘power from core’)
when I was one and a half
brought out the blocks beginning
to teach Jonathan the alphabet –

A is for alligator, B is for bat, C is for Cat
D is for dog, E is for elephant, F is for Fox…


categories poetry

Museum of Man, San Diego

In the Museum of Man

what a nemesis for little erectus
whose phallus could never engorge
sufficiently enough to bugger him proper
so the mens put brainses to work ‘n built weapons
to hunt down this peaceful primate giant and
slay him where he lay meditating ‘n munching bananas

Taco Shop

El Paisa in Albuquerque. Burrito de Adobabda. Red sauce dribbling down my chin. Truck drivers driving by gawking out the window “Gotta get me that!”

(Reminding me of Guero Canelo in Tucson)


standing on the corner of Yale and Improbable
Albuquerque New Mexico
waiting for my light
watching the sun go down
over the plateau out beyond the city
a yellow plain
cut by some grotesque
Georgia O’Keeffe wagon wheels – the I-40 for real
Albuquerque New Mexico, home of the Lobos
a carload of whom just shouted obscenities at me
long nights out here where the desert meets the steppes
imagi-nations rest
in cruising, booze and cheap sex
and tomorrow morning I fly home, early.