Ranch Poem – “I’ve been in the trenches of the soul”


“I’ve been in the trenches of the soul” 

This living has been so crammed and heavy that this poem seems obligatory.
My story needs its narrator again, and finally, here I am,
writing empty quotations for a title to another freshie chapter.
That last one took a while to conclude, but standing here in this first snow,
I know I’ve been absolved.

I can produce less of these patchwork soul spills and return to form:
Gonzo, Beat, course; what you all want.
I’ll raise the millennial sigil  proud, I know potential when I see it.
With our sure footed voices and rapid keystrokes, we will fight against the repetition of history.
Against the suboxone social staff infection, against the freak love of
consuming spending capitalizing idolizing fetishizing panderizing oligarchy,
against boundaries of space sound sex and race, against willful ignorance by
the solo flyers who deny the togetherness.

Seven years so far. As I gaze at my world, Boston, I see it much as I did at the onset.
Thousands of hipsters and suits and wooks and gangbangers
and educators and coworkers and customers and friends
and ladies I have touched and traded arguments and glares
and songs and advice and papers and shifts and ounces and love
and orgasms. In mad sick sniffling smog night, the girls with their onyx tights
and malachite handbags and garnet boots are looking for some recognition.
The boys with their kyanite jeans and ruby ties and tourmaline hoodies are
hoping to find a love like their mother’s. Little children awake past their bedtime
act out Nintendo worlds with spinning sword slashing leg sweep combos,
battling our lingering demons too close for us to know ourselves.

I’ve climbed from ruin, I’ve lain in bed with despair, I’ve made promises kept,
I’ve completed my degree, I’ve kept the same job for a year, I’ve picked up where I left off,
I’ve had to go my way, I’ve raged sober, I’ve thought of you quite often,
I’ve been in the trenches of the soul and it’s been a beautiful battle.




Ranch Poem- “Cherish Your Choice”


Cherish Your Choice

Driving into the night
two caravans rip
through the rain,
four men and four women
awaiting a rage.
Accompanied only
by a dashboard turtle
with a bobbling noggin
and a wooden gecko
with a nimble spine.
Barreling down dark and
empty stretches of Pennsylvania,
Jersey, and Maryland highways
on a one for all
and all for fun
journey to Asheville.

It would be my first
trip to Asheville and
the single longest drive
down the east coast
I had experienced.
Thompson once said:
“I have a theory that
the truth is never told
during the nine-to-five”
It is 12:42 a.m.
on September 10th
and I’m feeling
all kinds
of honest.

A bit of time
devoted to humoring
that which lies ahead
of this most rage worthy
of Nissan Pathfinders.
Weekends like this-ones
that begin with a long
mid-week drive and end
in the same fashion-they help
to remind me that
there is a desire,
a passion worth my
time and energy.
A vehicle for the kind
of ride I know
contains elements of
adventure and pure,
heady, unadulterated
that would be dishonest of
me to deny my soul.

Deny that voice
that implores you
to live subordinate
to others for the
disposables of life,
and the family
desperately fearful
of your own ability to

When you cherish
your choice, you’re
hard pressed to loose
sight of the heart’s goals,
to lose your control,
to lose your mind,
or even your one
and only natural,
fleshy, life.


Ranch Poem- “Freedom of Our Nature


Freedom of Our Nature

The Allston/Brighton police station
won’t give me back my drivers license.

I peel the purple pillows off the couch
each night before bed.

The children’s chillums circle around
but I’m ready to sing better and piss clean.

Icelandic volcanic ash buries Europe,
Chinese monks bury a quake’s victims.

I am wondering in the future tense
if overexposure is to be mystery’s death.

All you destitute idlers that want to ignite,
meet me at Irving Plaza to get shpongled.

There is a music festival for everyone today,
a melodic reason to convene as a family of diverging thoughts.

Within our histories there lies music and art,
the individualistic components of a collective free soul.

A powerful resentment is slowly forming
against the Complex, Industrial-Military-American.

Millions of non-service military jobs in this country fuel the fire,

The homosexual jewish American guru warned that
“the terror of (war) is making the same terror here inside our country.”

Wait ’til the day comes when the non-violent
outlaw stance becomes the global majority.

Because the heat is now on the Goldmen Sachs
and the GMs and the Foxs and the State Farms of this world.

And those who desire righteous justice and honest global understanding
have instantaneous international communication coming to them.

For years I have fearfully observed older generations,
but the Rigid is dying or at least deflating.

Now maybe things can cool off for the perpetually oppressed
weird and different folks of this world.

Governments blindly pass on some ambiguous goal or purpose
to its people that cannot be understood, cannot be fulfilled.

“Let the old people wallow in the shame of having failed,”
because even the Hell’s Angels conceded to failure.

We may be jailed, we may be slaving away, we may be trapped
but our emotions must not change the freedom of our nature.