ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A BUICK WITH FIVE HORNEY REDNECKS ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A BUICK WITH FIVE GAY MEN
Reality: a misquotation from Emily Dickinson:
you could borrow me
return me free of charge
I am a gift (often unopened)
THE GIFT NOT OPENED
Please do not count my number, just ignore me, I am yesterday before space grown cotton socks, before Mick Jagger, some woman singing about being a “woman”, I find myself, “the gift not opened”, possibly the same thing, perhaps once opened I would generate a large number of gifts, I am easily fascinated, liking both silence and noise, never a dull moment I might smoke and ingest, edibles and the strange world, smell me I remind lovers of a blossoming apple tree, dig up the grave of Robert Frost and send me visual proof, sometimes I exist in a TV Western but that is private, best friends with a benevolent hero, unfolding gay cowboys, untidy women who will put their cooter on display, ultimately unavoidable—Michael the gift, the gift unopened
——I CRAWLED IN THE COFFIN WITH JOHNNY CASH, HE WASN’T WARM BUT HE WAS SOFT
they asked me not to write anything, just rest my eyes and have happy thoughts
somewhere I could hear a circus passing, perhaps it was someone famous, a lion tamer in Mick Jagger socks
——POSTPONE DEATH: just a blink of the eye at the Mayr Clinic
they got their secrets
but it is just the baby blood
it opens your eyes
all those lies about growing old
how death is quick
painless
(+) before Death arrives, your space crowded with demons
——I WAS THERE THE DAY THAT THE BANK TELLER TOLD JOHNNY CASH THAT HE WAS OVERDRAWN. JOHNNY SMILED AND SAID, “NEVER YOU MIND”——
OUTSIDE IN THE TRUCK, JOHNNY CRIED.
unskilled in modern man’s falsehood
past crimes, prison fingernails
Johnny pretending to strum
singing one last time
“Wheelchair Cash”
——ASKING THE ATTENDANTS TO STAND BACK FARTHER IN CASE SOMEONE TAKES A PHOTO——
SOMETIMES I FIND IT DIFFICULT TO EMPLOY PROPER FILTERS
Satan was on television this morning
he had permission from above
to impose his temptations
to offer his wares
young white boys
willing to kill strangers
both sides of the Law
wanting violence
from cradle to grave
sitting at the table
blood and guts
behind the screen
death is rather nasty
mommy and daddy
blood monsters
rape and plunder
hide before the sun goes down
(+) Satan was on television this morning
he had permission from up above
——ADELE HAS AN ENORMOUS BED. STORED UNDER IT ARE DOZENS OF SUITCASES LOADED WITH OLD ADELE SKINS. SOME MORE DESIRABLE THAN OTHERS.——
EVERY MORNING THAT SHE’S NOT ON THE ROAD, SHE LEAVES THE SAME NOTE ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER. IT READS, “I DON’T WANT TO BE ADELE”.
Assorted strays in her corral of lovers. Some willing to listen and others there just to pave her insides. How many condoms would it take to be safe ?
Sequins on the breath, golden threads dangling down. Intercourse over the phone from the country estate.
——AS A SMALL CHILD I WENT TO SUMMER SUNDAY SCHOOL AND IT WAS THERE THAT I CAUGHT CHRISTIAN LEPROSY. I CARRIED IT HOME AND MY FAMILY ALL FELL VICTIM TO THE AILMENT. I TRY TO RECALL WHAT MADE US COMFORTABLE AND WHAT STRAINED US. PERHAPS THE KNOWLEDGE THAT THE SOUL IS A VERB ENERGIZED US TO STRUGGLE ON.——
FOR REASONS UNKNOWN, WE TRY TO IGNORE THE BIG HOLE AT THE CENTER OF OUR PRESENT.
Ditch-digging through Michael
insufficient clay feet long gone
the new legs sleep under the bed
therapeutic narcotics on the nightstand
pillows from the Aldous Huxley estate
never a nuisance, my night porter
he closes my eyes
——YOU’RE WATCHING A MOVIE AND THE MALE CHARACTER TAKES A SHOWER WITH HIS UNDERWEAR ON AND THEN THE NEXT DAY ALL THE MEN IN YOUR LIFE ARE WEARING THEIR UNDERWEAR ON THE OUTSIDE OF THEIR PANTS. YOU ASK WHY AND ARE TOLD THAT THEY DO NOT FEEL SAFE AROUND YOU——
EVE PRAISED YESTERDAY AND WANTED IT TO BE EVERY DAY, ADAM FOUND VALUE IN TODAY AND WANTED IT TO BE THE FOUNDATION FOR TOMORROW
you know and you know not
you listen but you never learn
the angel says that you are lukewarm
and spits you out
(+) pity those with need of nothing
——THEY SAY THAT BOB DYLAN RESIDES IN PLACEBO TOWN. AFTER SUPPER TIME HE CAN BE SEEN GOING FROM BACKDOOR TO BACKDOOR BEGGING SCRAPS. HIS EARTH MONEY IS OF NO VALUE, JUST COMIC ZINES PRINTED WITH ANCIENT SYMBOLS. SORRY BOB, YOUR SEASON HAS PASSED. THE NEW FRUIT THINKS YOU STINK——
SADLY, I WAS THERE THE DAY THEY PULLED YOU FROM YOUR TRUCK AND MOST OF YOUR LEFT SIDE SLID DOWN AND YOU SEEMED A WELL-MADE SCARE CROW. IT WAS TERRIBLE, THE BOB DYLAN I LOVED WAS MOSTLY CRAFTS FROM HONG KONG
The last American poet, the tumbleweed from the 1960 era
just some fiber and plastic coated chicken wire
the government magnets were there
no surprise, an agent for the -***-
just look how they dressed you
old flop house sofa material
molded on daily
CONVERSATIONAL POETRY 