I am not a baby boomer

Where are my depressions and my picture perfect home?
I left my Woodstock and drugs sitting on the counter
of my cold war and Vietnam. I need a drink of freedom
and piece of Berlin’s wall. I will have to download them
on my I phone.

Middle of the Month

I’m like a rent check that
you hold on to until, I
Clear or come.
I’ll place my cherubim
and flaming sword
in your tree of life—
knowing good from evil.
The cables out, rabbit ears
are broken, like bread
we break and partake.

Too little secrets
Two little secrets
To lit tell seek rats
toilet hell socrates
toil let hell soak rates
toil kelso a crates
two elk sow acres
twelk so wac cries
wilcso wake cry is
will is awake crazy
willis away crazy
wheel us way crazy
we'll sway crazy
wheels acrizy
wilsacrazy
will sack racy

A Crazy Month

Seven Jazz games a baby and finals week and we are finally back into a regular routine. Some stuff that I have been working on lately.


It has been said that man can only think five seconds in the present time, and that all the other time we are thinking, it is either in the past or the future tense. Are we so consumed with our memories and future events that we cannot think in the moment, or is the moment so real and so dangerous, five seconds is all we can handle? Is every future thought just an outstretched memory of some part of life that we have already tought of.