Remember the Alamo

These lines of lost Latin dreams on forlorn streets of sad songs sung by mariachi’s

Grab ahold of me and my desire to create arousals,

The art of Anarchy.

Taste my medicine concocted after 21 years spent contemplating

The reasons why people so easily accept control and political drivel dribbling out the

Mouths of those like Dick Nixon and Black Obama.

Here are my Watergate blues,

I can no longer neglect my want to pay attention to this little piece of the World

So I pay for a drink,

Sit at a table,

And make this pen release ink


Human Fountains and disoriented drunks trace along Riverwalk

In search of loud sounds and flashing lights indicating there at that place resides

A good time “A party kind of Life here”

You may get lucky tonight buddy,

Play your cards right player.

Lit up and reflecting it’s bleak ripple on the river,

 red, yellow, and green luminosities,


Guitars play from a distant space while a round brown woman screams her pain lyrically

Serenading my lonely spirit.

2 floating ducks,

Balanced and poised,  

A mallard and a mutt

Watch the night’s goofy parade of rolling

film unfold.

What’s the problem here,

Why can’t you divide it?

Only multiplying for them,

Modern Music in the background

Of advertisements and crowds moving back and forth

And around to different places justifies

Thoughts on time’s end.

How soon is your now?

How long is your 5 minutes,

Your days

Your nights,

When do they finish?

Take a second,

Find a moment,




And release oxygen.

You’re alive my friend!

Don’t ignore your purpose.

Don’t act dead just yet.

Your emotions cannot be bought 

or sold by other persons promoting

life changing differences.

You’re not happy you’re only

Acting and I’ve already seen this

Movie played by the thousands

Of my past.

It’s time to open the curtains of a new script 

and say to hell with it

"The End!" to this,

whatever this is. 

A new story is awaiting your fingerprinted


The ink of your soul,

The youth of your fruit,

And the opened eye of your revelation.

Seek no other religion other than

God within,

Your true nature always speaks,


This was written in a crowded place

of desolate Texan faces abandoned and withdrawn

to their own personal island inwardly screaming S.O.S.

so I sent out a search party to fetch the right guest.

Guess it’s just another numb day

in the daily vacation away

from miscalculated vocational judgment

because I’ve yet to witness anyone without

a flare gun pistol shooting signals.

Passersby change their pace

after seeing sign lights shine from across the way

flashing open and vacant.

Come in we’ve got smiles and laughter for sale.

Take the maze, find the finish, it’s a rat race ladies and gentlemen,

everybody’s searching for their cheddar.

I smell something rather cheesy,

it’s teasing my mind and my life to

unenthusiastically attempt to abide by

a politician’s witch craft system of rules

cauldron concocted by donkeys and phat elephants,

systematic and problematic.

Children and infant frown within the carriages

carrying them to here or there,

everywhere they long not to arrive at.

Why must we force our forces? Our merits conditioned,

The rodeo carnival clown smiles as the king’s jester laughs,

The suit and ties guy gambles away his only spirit on roulette tables

labeled to hell or heaven.

God damnit, good god damn man are you awake to this,

can you feel it?

I mean this electric, plugged in and flowing through your veins

like oceans that run along a horizon’s edge,

like the wind that my feet feel while hung over mountain mantelpieces,

watch the city move like the cliff that dips across tired desert sands,

my land, my brand, my awakened stamp,

I ain’t got no taken woman that bears my last name

on her hand revealing my place in the societies hierarchical pyramid.

It’s all the same, all the same.

Where’s the original World, air filled with unuttered words of the

mistakenly insane shaking hands with the fictitiously sane proudly

providing a little touch of love in the direction of change,

us hippies are proud of our mangy manes Madame,

we hope you’re proud of your strange little games

that we will no longer partake playing in.

Can you smell what the pot is cooking?

Get a whiff of what that dead head is smoking, doing, feeling.

Can you hear this?

I’ll see you at that past location where you left your notions genuine

which once opened your door of your now neglected perception.

This Budweiser can shoots bullet into the mouth of my lip gun

which pulls triggers with fingers that release words onto paper, pow!

Death on impact…        

Write mad magic,

talk enchanted crazed wizard,

act lunatic under lunar evenings,

bathe in buckets of life naked while Jazz soothes the lack of being

understood as an individual who actually gives a shit as to what happens

to each and every single person represented

as an essential piece of the puzzle,

a thread in the fabric of our collective blanket,

dyed-in-the-wool to every action acted at the cosmic stage.

The saxophonist speaks truth in notes of spontaneous recreation

reflecting our World that’s spent its third and last wish on annual

Christmas presents that deliver temporary happiness

in the name of our good lord sheep shepherd Jesus.

I’ll write you a song,

I’ll get drunk and perform a poem from my empty mind

that’s unoccupied and open to people who commit crimes

in return for revolution.

The Earth spins in orbit

all the while we forget why exactly it is that we entered this dimension.

Figure 8’s told me it’s all infinite,

the never ceasing story of be, being, and to become again.

I saw an ice skater sculpting water soon fall to her knees and cry tear

rivers that tore tears into the surface

of the shaped sheath when three trees collapsed

after a hard breeze was breathed by a highway troll

as leaves were scatted into the mystery of gale blowing eternity.

The morning is a gentle mourning

for all the stars which died nights

before that lit the light of forgotten memory.

San Antonio, San Antonio,

the death and life of me.

San Antonio, San Antonio,

I’ve seen you inside my dream.

  San Antonio, San Antonio,

I pray that your Alamo would have represented peace.

San Antonio, San Antonio,

may your Davy Crockett breathe back life into the cities that sleep.

Alef Ituk

One day will change one race.

One way one road one pace,

One heart one soul one place.

One day will change one race.

One start one step one stage,

Forward march ahead one phase.

One day will save one race.

One day will save one race.

We give We create We make,

We dream We see We celebrate,

We take nothing but illusions

That rearranged our fate

Which boxed our dreams into a vase

Inside a case encased within a base

Of a pyramid.  

One day will change our direction.

We will never be the same.

We will never be deceived.

We will grow astray from those that lead

Our separated World’s seven continents

In the name of their certain countries

Supporting nationalistic destruction of moral ethics.

We will turn the other cheek to those insane creatures who

Hand us a weapon and ask of us

To kill our brothers and sisters with a gun in the name of a God

who is hungry for blood and more resources .

We will break the barriers of this maze

And once and for all evolve our mental state.

One day will save one race

Onward Onward forevermore with grace

The mind awakens to the circle,

To the shapes.

The person realizes control

Is in the hands of the perceiver,

The eyes of the World.

One day will change our Universe.

Love is God,

Love is Art,

Love is song that fills our air.

Love is the master of all things.

Love conquered wars of greed and hate.

Love is the antidote

And we must release the cure,

The answer within our core.

The spirit to be freed

By the power of a word.

One feeling can change one being.

The formless emotion which

Shapes the smiles of Earth persons,

Unconditional generosity and appreciation

For the existence of all beings inhabiting

This space.

Our space

Our place

Our right

To live life

Our way

Our way

In our space

In our place

As one race,

The oneness we’ve always had

But soon forgot when began racing

Against a clock that tick tick tocks

Away our thoughts of ever knowing

Just what we are.



One day will change one race

One day will save our children. 


Walk up to the scene

See the people

Through the peep hole

Obscene people

Walk into the scene

See the people

Meet the people

What a dream.

I find a seat

Take my seat

Buy a drink

Ordered neat

She looks neat

He looks neat

Pretty nifty


Hey she winks

Hi says eyes

Smiles wide

And walking closer


Amidst the peoples.

Purple placid dress

Takes a sip of her drink

Opens mouth to speak

Found her words on the way over

And says “Hey, my name is Macy,

 What’s yours?”

I tell her “what does it matter?”

Names are like history,

A story we keep telling ourselves.

I was born to a word that was supposed to

Define who I am

But maybe I am not that person or this concept

With the name of this or that anymore.

Like pets we come when called by these little designations

Of which have no true significance to

What we really are.

We always wonder what names are of importance

or what names made a difference, or what names

are stars affiliated with a certain expression of creation

among the peoples,

but what a name is

is dead, a formless artifact given to a being of existence.

I mean for all it’s worth you could call me whatever you like,

Or whatever comes to your mind but I

Would not alter who I am regardless of what

You decide to address me as.

But if you would like to know,

Most people have always called me Coog

So I guess it’s kind of stuck but I’m looking for a change,

Maybe you could help me out with that.

According to her I am now Crazy Jim Bean Whiskey Machine,

And We

Danced all night to those jukebox melodies

Until the bars closed as we

Took the party and the peoples to

The streets for a drunken parade,

A little feeling of free


Its kind of a long story made short

Took me a pair of Larry Mahan’s to start walkin’ again,

Took me a Gibson Guitar and 24 beers to start singin’ again

Took me a little California Sun to start runnin’ again.

Took me a trip all across the West to start whistlin’ again

Took me a hit of Texas medicine to start laughin again.

Took me 4 tours to that Tijuana land to start paintin’ again.

Took me a sword and some ink to start fightin’ again.

Took me 8 bottles of wine and 8 corks to start tryin’ again.

Took me a Thai restaurant and a angry chef to start cookin’ again.

Took me a fast talkn’ con artist and a heroin addict to start lookin’ again

Took me ten drags from a cigarette to start writin’ again.

Took me damn near 7 years to start smilin’ again.

Took me blind man blues and Bob Dylan tunes to start listenin’ again.

Took me a dawn and a sunset in Tuscon, Arizona to start livin’ again,

and it

Took me some ramblin’ and gamblin’ to stop dyin’ within

but you know what the funny things is

Took just one word from her lips for me to find love again.