Flying Numbers (2005) is a series of 49 poems written over a two-month period or so in 2004. Originally I published them on the web, but in 2005, I edited them into a PDF book-like format. Personally, I like their web presentation a little better than their PDF presentation. Some of the pictures for example were changed in making them into a book, along with the background colors. Additionally, some friends contributed their versions of flying number poems, which I had on the web also. The PDF-book version lacks these poems, and the colors, etc, but in the end it is probably a little easier to navigate.

Thematically, each poem centers on the flying numbers 1, 2 and 3. Rather convolutedly, the poems were also connected to a project (which is currently shelved) called PJ the Robot (and who in many regards still lives on). Even more convolutedly, PJ was an acronym, standing for “propaganda jox”, both a call to arms against the current state of world affairs and an allusion to a bygone time when the only enemies on the face of the Earth were Russia and the USA. The final thing that should be noted is that both”propaganda jox” and PJ owe a lot to Stuart Gordon’s film, Robot Jox (1990).

Crash and Burn and Flying Numbers.

Click here to download a PDF version of Flying Numbers.

The deer
cannot see
from the side of the highway
the traffic beyond.

Bernheim, one of Governor Hentoff’s lackeys, was vomiting off behind a trash receptacle. I wasn’t big on politics, but for what it is worth, Bernheim would have been an idiot regardless of his profession. That morning and before the black hole had opened up in the middle of Chicago, he’d eaten three cheese steaks.

“Try not to get any of that on the floor, Berny – they just waxed in here!” I called out as I clacked away on the keyboard.

“Fu— blauguguguguguguugugug!” replied Bernheim.

I laughed. My laughter was quickly quelled though. We were in big trouble and by my calculations had 1 hour and 17 minutes to stop a black hole from consuming all of Chicago. In another twenty-four hours, it would be the world.

Continue reading The Black Hole →

Mr. Pony 
fancy-pants
doin' the Mr. Pony 
sparkle dance
Twirls 
   and 
      Spir-els
for the squealing 
                    girls
Who love 
that stupid pony

Shoney 
Money
Noney

with 
    regal hat 
    Pony-Prance
outta sight 
fat wildcat(s) trance
and ending(s) 
stop beginning(s)
on the giraffe neck(s).

In the crowd
I heard someone say
to a lover of mine
never end
with a clincher.
She died.
I didn't attend her funeral.
I didn't wear black.
I was a cold drift.
I counted waves.
I said alone,
when things end, no one gives applause.

I'd come from London
to explore the
the Alpine Wild
when I fell through the ice.

The matches wet
would not light
when from the white
the St. Bernard
appeared.

And I wondered,
"Does he really
have cocoa
in that little jug."

Burning the talent
without estimation
swimming in beer
it will end 9 to 5 piss
hit or miss.

Beware of polar bears
passing on ice,
giving advice,
to stay out of
Newfoundland,
cause I've
never heard 
them talk.