Friday, July 24, 2009


a few weeks ago i was sitting outside with my grandmother
it was nighttime and we were watching fireflies because our area doesn't have them
she pointed out the moon and said that there was a story they used to tell when she was a little girl in Iran,
about how the moon got all the craters on its surface:

"we used to say that when the moon was a little boy his mother was baking - while she was kneading the dough she turned to the moon and patted his face, getting flour all over him. that's why the moon looks like he has spots."

Thursday, July 23, 2009

ode to allen

your generation has grown and abandoned the Red
it appears to be a disease that comes with age
accompanying the degeneration of body and mind
the degeneration of soul
and so we of today sit trembling
with our own bottles of whiskey and
clutching the old poems
a palimpsest of jazz whether consciously or not
we await the old enemy
that robs us of our ideals and hope that
this time we have It right
our Shakespeare has grown to be plain
his metaphors are trite
but he is still revered
the message has not changed
so we shout it from the rooftops to the stars
and your Eternity
our Denvers much less exciting but enthralling in their own right
we have all grown mad but that is to be expected
and so our streets are full of the crazy
run by the insane
as our madhouses sing to the Gods of sanity
and genius has been subdued by a red stamp
and shackles
blindly we trip through alleyways searching for the Love that will save us
while Buddha sings his Ohms 
and you watch from your paradise and smile
because we are still hysterical
and have not yet found our clothes.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

measures and bars

i lay beneath the stars as i was carried away through the city. on my back i watched the moon turn the grass blue and wondered if this was how it was so named. i watched the birds flutter past and sit on electric wires. old men and women stood by picking fruit from the trees, their skin was stained from the earth and was turned to a leather. on their heads they wore sombreros although though there was no sun. they straightened up to get a better look at the odd twosome that was riding by. the heat was moist and made my shirt stick to my back but i didn't mind because your music was all i felt. you used the machine to quench our thirst and satisfy our hungry minds. the soft chords and your low voice cooled my skin and brought me to a world far away. you played until the sun turned the horizon red and i was carried to sleep on your measures and bars.

Monday, July 6, 2009