Drive, Mr. Murdon!

www.caron.org

WHAT TO BRING – ADULT UNIT


Should Bring – (Limit to 2 suitcases as storage space is limited.)

Comfortable clothes and shoes for one week (Laundry facilities are provided)



All shorts, skirts and dresses must hang at fingertip length

No tank tops, spaghetti straps, halter-tops, tube tops, transparent mesh, A-shirts, or see through apparel

No bare midriffs are to be visible at any time

Undergarments must be worn at all times, and not visible to the eye

No torn, ripped or cut off clothing

No spandex

Shoes must be worn at all times

All waistlines of clothing must sit above the hipline

No shirts may be taken off for sunbathing


1. Clothing for recreation or exercise clothes – sweats, sneakers, shorts, t-shirts
2. Some spending money, including quarters – for vending machines and laundry – detergent is not necessary, it is provided.
3. Toiletries – shampoo, soap, toothbrush, shaving articles, hairdryer, etc
4. Alarm clock – No clock radios
5. Medical, Dental, Vision & Prescription Cards
6. Photo ID
7. Prescribed medication – will need to be turned over to medical staff for monitoring. The following medications are not allowed and will be destroyed with or without your permission: tranquilizers, benzodiazepines, barbiturates, opiates, narcotics, stimulants, sleeping medication, hallucinogens, methadone and anabolic steroids. Illegal drugs are destroyed immediately upon being secured by staff.
8. Bring list of all medications, dosages and any allergies to medication
9. Raincoat/umbrella for inclement weather


Can Bring

1. Family pictures, writing materials and stamps, phone card

2. Cigarettes (although, they can be purchased at our community store)

3. Massages are available at a cost of $10 per10 minute session-- one time per week.

4. Haircuts can be arranged, however there is a fee for this service.








Cannot Bring

1. Over the counter medication – No aspirin, vitamins, Rolaids, or alcohol based mouthwash

etc. (Calcium tablets are permitted)

2. Electronic gear – no radios, cell phones, pagers, CD players, walk man, TVs, video games,

or cameras

3. No pillows, comforters, stuffed animals

4. Food or beverages – no snack foods, candy, coffee, tea, or soda

5. Business, School, or Home responsibilities, like paperwork or bills, etc

6. Books, Magazines, or Newspapers Recreational Items – dice, games, athletic gear, craft

items, or musical instruments

7. Weapons of any kind – this includes pocket knives

8. Large sums of money, expensive jewelry, or personal items

9. No Aerosol cans of any type


Need To Be Turned In

· Valuables

· Keys

· All medications

· Manicure scissors, scissors

· All work related items, i.e. paperwork, documentation, laptop PCs, palm pilots, etc.

· All reading material unless 12 step or spiritually related

· Large sums of money, expensive jewelry or personal items





You can receive mail at the following address:

(Your Name)

C/O Caron Foundation

Box 150, Galen Hall Rd

Wernersville, PA 19565

No no, The Guy in the Middle

Some Kind of Monster

Subculicious

Certainly the treads are smearing
My vision, all the smoky tendrils
Of what used to be fingers, looks like,
Serious mustachioed winks and brooms
Of a school house bong song sing
Over a skull shaped hole, the haloed
Sphincter. One muscle, two muscle,
Puppies in the soup: get your organs
Mashed by a superhero spud engine,
Or very nearly called back to duty
For a shot at taking shrapnel. Such
Curious motes of oak-a-ly diesel. Fumes
Cantankerous to dream or a fist.

Sniffed Little Modems

Wire light smells like hamburgers
Pledged to atrocity

Hang wires plod on through
The wet, wet

Hop-arounds mull into pre adolescent
Cartography just to hear
Some bacon sniveling

Orders for grief spun tofu
Malign also for a chance at the big one

Sure you’re on, too. The banging
Smears guitars through your heart bleed
Stretched out to receive

Some cool –
Cool, know? I’m spun.
Some crank keeps hogging the mirror.

I Refuse I

I will not allow it. If I shit the bed, I will shatter the Tester Template first. More Spectacular, More Brilliant, You will not be able to look upon it, it will be that bright.

There are not enough words to tell this story, The are too many voices already telling it. There is no sense in it. There is nothing to do for it but to ride.

In retropsect

All those pictures of Viking funerals suddenly make sense.

proboscis

This Organ’s for Grinding

So slippery hermeneutics ticks a squad,
Makes me miserable and infirm like
Taco juice and squid, like embalming
Fluid used for rafter lubricants. Tuesdays
After the hangings we meet for margaritas
And toast the paradigm to a clean victory.
Streamers investigate their inheritance:
A will makes a body out of thin air, I watched.
Then I invested my money in its godless
Body, which does not die. That didn’t last.
Now I’m yoked to a conquest which is
An experiment in stinging. I’m in a cage
Of mosquitoes to see if I’ll grow a proboscis.

Mastodon (Lifesblood)- We Built This Come Death

Rape Pillage Steal and Destroy. If It can be done
With a guitar, It can be done worse, just get the fuck out of the way.
If there are no hornets buzzing in your craw then it doesn't count.
You think this crumpled metal wreckage is something, well
Here comes the rest of the train. So thusly do we have Metal
And Ah Fuck Do I Need a Drink.

Stringent Harpoon

Depth lurch on a squeam engine.
Node up a tight fixture
With what liquors you want to spit
The statues with. Night haunch
On a bicuspid shows a stomach
How to shitstorm. You gotta lift
Her through the luminescent plankton
Shift. Armies in the tide of night
Make hurry-questions out of what-to-do.
Over the chord around you’re heart
A grease stem made of whale light.
Tap the umbilical vase. Her wadded
Temple leashes the quadruped to
A memory of legs, the flailing.

Chief Brody

Subcutaneous Lethargy

On the toads, I’m finding shelters
Like you never knew. Rotten curve,
The moon in her Bishop’s thong
Carving orders of turkey, art-
Manacled turkey-shaped statuary
For the toadlings a-hatching
Bomb plans like factories of goo
Out by the pond, I swear, you’d think
They had an artillery range a-test.
All that squelching through made
My toes turn yellow. Now I’m afraid
To even move without reprimand
Knowing you’re on the move
With the rest of us, a-gouging.

We are the rough wasted, occasionally colliding against one another.

Figure 13-Adrift

Andrew Wyeth (b.1917)

Fig.12-The Mariana Trench

Forget Heaven,
To be that singular and that far under.
Striding deep & slow. Would you feel the water
Enveloping, cradling your lungs, hair rising awash
Like kelp? The pressure collapsing, would you see, finally
The Squid enveloping the Whale? What kind of human
Would you be after that? Could you ever
Possibly return?

Fig.11-He Hates These Cans

MegaloCities

Tusked city scraper impersonates
The holes, a dark abscess growing
Donuts, the shape of nothing heaved
Upon a ladder. The children muse.
A seam opens beneath you, quickly!
look up the words for draw bridge.
A breeze in Latin forswears. You’re
A doomed engine. Shop for oddities
Shaped to ends. Like a gun and holster
Shaped to arrows. You need them in
Black Lycra. Wounds to raise plankton
To. Also the children will emerge
Back through the holes made of
Architectural envy, madness and ivory.

Wire Gristle

A-Chaw on your horse back
Hotel, you! Needed to go a-wunt
Out the pine chest with her labial instep.
No spit-spit in this breath factory.
You womb up a nice gristle
And make a heave for it,
Inside there’s a canyon in gravy
And gutters from the other store
And neon light, like wire light
Ablazein on your hopes, the matches
And gasoline you hung it all
On at the first loopy hangover
Which meant you were nearer deathin
Than all the future would mean.

Figure 10-Embrace

Or turn away, it's your choice. Turn your back on this texture, this lifestyle of thieves or else burn time away, out from under you till you sink. From then on it's easy. A man can breathe salt water if given no choice, and the depths will take him either way. Tumbling. Plummeting, slowly, till the beloved eye & tentacle rises to catch whatever remains.

Bring Me the Head

Loud and Evil

Distending a horror on rails
Into two sets of disagreeable
Ovens, toads on a stage spray
Mouthfuls of heaving metal
Into the trough, the trough
Of metal. There is weight in stones.
The mystical load brings down
The walls of conformity, welds a
Locomotive from nightmares
Out of eyes with candy for cesspools,
Myopic candy dance onto the oven
Stage of frog eyes and heavy,
Heavy rails. The caravans reel us
On through the trough, the trough!

One Metal, Too Metal

Nuisance Farmer

Obliterated and steaming
A carcass of the lord, lord of democratic
Wet t-shirt contests. I oblige a
Morbid collection of toe clippings.
What happens when the organ dumps
Are full? A shadow comes and sniffs
The ruins of a hospital’s viscera.
We wear a cloud of diabolical
Children’s sweaters. Hallway shame
Enlargens the sounds of momentous
Legs astride for revenge, clouds
Of revenge stomaching a weight,
A writhing combustion on the soldiers
Hill top of remorse. Which steams.

Figure 9-Consumation

Love Is A Battlefield.

Fig.8-The Texture of Noise

And the frayed edge of feedback.
Feel it in your chest, dearhearts,
Dear readers, this wreck, this nightly grind,
Untangible, relentless, pause never to consider
How one could ever break out of it.

Fig. 7-Waste

Revenge Boat Forever

Figure 6-Release

THE WIDOW'S LAMENT IN SPRINGTIME

SORROW is my own yard
where the new grass
flames as it has flamed
often before but not
with the cold fire
that closes round me this year.
Thirtyfive years
I lived with my husband.
The plumtree is white today
with masses of flowers.
Masses of flowers
load the cherry branches
and color some bushes
yellow and some red
but the grief in my heart
is stronger than they
for though they were my joy
formerly, today I notice them
and turned away forgetting.
Today my son told me
that in the meadows,
the edge of the heavy woods
in the distance, he saw
trees of white flowers.
I feel that I would like
to go there
and fall into those flowers
and sink into the marsh near them.

William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)

Figure 5-Flight

Mr. Snodgrass: "What's with all the motorcycles?"
Claybee: "Motorcycles are fucking cool, man!"

Beam Scalloped

Transom asphalt
As of which your mitered mashugina
Teaks her insulations towards the boom hutch.

BOOM HUTCH!

The swish of metal in the circular
Is like swinging on a set made of children
Or for them, either way, diaphanous

Like the skin which kept my fingers on
Where now the old lady keeps my thumb
Last and first (the nightmare digit)
In her jar by the prayer hole she
Had me dredge from a cloud of happy
Waivings and, shall we say, her torrid
Recess in which a shallow grave burns.

Fig.4-Death From Above-1979

Worm gear, Auger in and Take
Flight. By my fucked-up back
By no residue of breakfast left
In the Kitchen, we Engage
Each day, this work as war.

Figure 3.-Leviathan

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can." --Herman Melville, Moby Dick

Figure 2.-Mammut americanum (Mastodon)

Clarified in Section 6

Distraught at repetition because I gave
Already to the uniform sun light.
Section 6 will remain un-interred.
This will be reported to the stairwell
As in for the time pretending a snake
Wishing for a handshake, for a glass
Of permanent distraction, will later,
In section 6, dream a vanishing for us
Too. For the legend in her toupee stands
Waiving but no one says anything. She
Doesn’t know. We’re all afraid to speak,
To squelch. Oh, this light cracking
Open my tomb. She slithers back
A haunch of darkness like a curtain.

Figure1.-The Black Rabbit Has An Owsla Too, You Know

I'm Digging For Fire

Sir Frank Dicksee 1853-1928

Teaching Henry The Meaning of HASTE

Roaring up Main to Kroger in the Truck
It Occurs to me that few of these people
Have ever Driven in New York. Also
They are Oblivious to the Fact that
This is My Fucking Town.

More Fire For Burning People

There is no way to cut this
Inspiration out of myself.
There is no way to let it fall adrift
Listing heavily on a rough sea.

But there is always the bursting to consider.

People always talk about Fight or Flight
But they've forgotten the third option: the gift.
Eruption into flame the consumation of everything.

The Tester Abyss Looming To Port

There are no ways to call out to those who've
Gone Away, or is there? You pass his house
Down River road & Wild Bill Tester is gone.
His wife would've moved back to Upstate
His child will become a man without him
And there is nothing you could possibly do
About any of it.

But then again, there next to you
On his beautiful new black Bonneville,
Is Dennis. The two of you are racing
And you can't stop giggling in the wind.
Like he said before, smoking under birch trees
You don't have to go down every road in one day,
The two of you have plenty of time.
The rest of your lives.

Overturned

The brain cavorts too gingerly
On romantic bread. You’re warned.
These days a truce without borders
Gets you back grounded for a prison
Debut, overhauled to pumice out of
Society; concrete in a museum
Made of glass and so eroding so slowly
No one but the ingrates notice
Your sallow hope, the bronze demure
Gleaming in the toilet your great
Ancestors stored their hopes in too.
I put a rock in your skull so to begin
Thinking like a bobbing fruit
Rotting to an ulterior decision
You’re afraid to make.

Conductive Salary

I had a life to give to the subway
But the garbage truck devoured it while
I waited for coffee at the burger stand.
I had a memory of trees in a blossom
Of sunlight but the closed gates
Around the deli one early blight
Robbed them from me with a cudgel
On loan from the police. Everyone’s
Investigated. We measured a finger’s
Length before we started slicing.
Someone fell onto the tracks. Concern.
He became homeless long before
The train came. I lived on the skin
Before I settled into the vessels.

Re-Buried

Dread Preservative

Straggle upright to the convent of stains
Burn on to mighty shakes, the DT overlord,
Over stink, night stick of education
Deliverance crocodile who mourns
Severance and quality music sites.

Unfurl your rights into the time capsule
In fact, a society drunk on Sci-Fi
Couldn’t find a better magnet to crumple than
The boarded up box and hole in the ground
Of protected secrets, couldn’t measure
Appropriately the wax to hold in such strong odors
As rotten bodies, histories in need of lime.

Not to worry. This sand is top notch. No weedy
Finger will ever pry open these horrors. This dream.

Pound's
Cage

Squeamish Proper

No safe disturbances or exited bones
No high ground to speak from
No oxen burning for opinions of afternoon
Hanky-panky, no. None of this rising
To axe grind your hopes on a corn mill
By the waters of the city gutters.

No heretic beer. No high garments
Of forbidden coverage, no credit
Discrimination for the usury of children,
Not my child, you shits. No. No script
For the asylum, the velvet clavicle
Of separation to human zones, elbow
To assholes. No hand-grenades
On the gurneys to freedom.