A day off from nothing

Is it June, or am I
just in Austin, Texas?

Today, Labor Day, is for
all of the people who work
nine to five (or more).

Anyone normally working
nine to five (or more)
who has neglected
to take this day off to:

get drunk
sleep around the house
take his kid to the beach
write a haiku
stock up on toilet paper

should be committed.
Not myself among the
nine to five throng
I don’t deserve this
wheelbarrow loaded with
twenty-four golden bricks.

No meaning in any of them.

Got searched, lost a lighter

A man speaking his secondlanguage said, "Gate B? Gate C?There is another checkpoint,with no waiting, presently."We shuffled 'cross the term'nal,winners to anoint.Whoa, where did this come from?A spiffy little joint.But I held back on trust,feared a finger at me point.The line—it's just not moving,riders with too much shit."Go ahead," says the guy afore me,"my shoes … Continue reading Got searched, lost a lighter

Message to Ray at 12:43 a.m.

Ahoy hoy, Ray
it doesn't matter, Ray
I'll just, I'll just go in the jungle awhile, Ray
It doesn't matter

He didn't, he didn't walk this way, Ray
we was at Port A, Ray
It doesn't matter
[sigh]
I danced in some waves, Ray
It doesn't matter
I'm married, Ray
But it doesn't matter, I'm married
Come walk on the sidewalk, Ray
I mean, this this calls, Ray
It doesn't matter
I see trucks, Ray
it doesn't matter
I see a sting Ray, Ray
I smoke some smokes, Ray
it doesn't matter
I just keep walkin, Ray
if you were here, Ray, you'd try the same thing
[beep beep beep]
you'd do the same thing, Ray
that's the dumptruck, Ray
heh-heh-heh!
Fuck the dumptruck, Ray!
fight the air,
fuck the dumptruck, Ray
[a compacting sound]...

Full poem here...

I was Group A

pretty bumpy en route
not the only ones gone to dallas
george dub, too
short flight, 33 mins

cold in dallas, dallas love
a place to wash me hands
pop some 'cedrin
head is cabin-pressurized

my hands: scraped
spilled myself at intersection
walkin the whole way home
leaving a classic message
then writing gibberish mail

count the drinks, count em
on both hands
without all digits, i'd be short
one dogfish, two dogfish
bus comin—half a dogfish
real ale phoenix esb
cigarettes and a phone

over to a bar onn fifth
a jack, a coke, a band and waiting
hey, there is someone i know
beers for them
where's the group leader?

there he is, says, "car bombs"
consensus says, "OK"
half a pint of guinness
(you can chug it)
and bailey's goes down easy

no drink service on this flight
coulda used some water
parched, dessicated, husk of self
carcasse void even of lions
clipped from sky
like a headline never written:
i arrive on time

time for another beer
let's move on
time for some dancing
wristbands and a cigarette

forty bucks for jaegerbombs
the guy next to me gets three
i double that
but can't unload the sixth
maybe god drank it
before he kicked my ass
in the form of a friend
handing me what was it?
some anonymous shot

goodnight everybody
good night for dancing
who's gonna dance with me?
i told a guy we should
brokeback dancefloor
but it didn't come to that
i worked up a sweat
doing the faux salsa

when did I leave?
don't remember
barfed a little
turned off my phone
woke up to the sound
of the handyman
mowing the lawn,
two hours late
for my flight.

Work Poem

I was washing my hands
in the john
When someone came over
the bathroom speaker—
there was a brief pause...
before she spoke,
during which I thought:
Is the building going to blow right up?
In a fire? Or a terrorist's attack?
Anything to get out of work early—
surely they wouldn't
dock that from my pay.

8/3/2004