dark humor – CONVERSATIONAL POETRY

The Holy Golf Course

an area where women who have been divorced

and been with another man

cannot achieve a blond

head of hair

the shame

gold attracts

Palm Beach and Jupiter Island

reptiles, lizards and backstabbers

self-actualization, pronouncing Tiger Woods

to don the mantle of rabbinic authority, Tiger Woods

his servants feel especially dark and defeated, compromised

I love to stare at them as if at a zoo, “Does your bunghole sing

or does it cry?”… (Dreaming of the day they can rise and shine)

——(NATALIE MERCHANT WAS HERE TODAY)——

WITH HER GRAY HEAD

begging me to suck her hair

to make a manifestation of myself

Michael with his mouth

full of senior citizen string

“Natalie, she taste like old upholstery”

——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

——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

——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

——YOU CAME TO VISIT AND YOU ROLLER-SKATED THROUGH ME. I WANTED YOU TO SLOW DOWN AND SHARE DEATH WITH ME. TO HOLD MY HAND AND SAY SILLY THINGS——

STANDING IN THE FRONT ROW: THE PHALLIC CULT

never go outside, it is all Dog Dick Bosch

demon genital couplings

purging anal birth

apocalyptic art historians

stay indoors

explore infantile hang-ups

work through the corruption

sandpaper the divided personality

invest in sensual and spiritual extremes

love all genders

especially those athletic

——MY FRIEND, JOHN BORROWED A PAIR OF SHOES FROM CHARLIE WATTS FOR HIS BROTHER’S WEDDING. AND NEVER RETURNED THEM. FOR THE LAST TWO DAYS CHARLIE CALLED ASKING ME TO TWIST JOHN’S ARM. TODAY HE DIDN’T CALL——

CITIZENS OF PLACEBO TOWN LINED THE SHORES OF THE RIVER, DESPERATE TO SEE CHARLIE CRUISE BY

I know the light is different

the pain new, the worm closer to your soul

poor Charlie could no longer make the payment

the debt is raw

don’t hold onto your thoughts, Charlie

memories become your worst enemy

——I CRAWLED IN THE COFFIN WITH JOHNNY CASH…THERE WAS PLENTY OF ROOM, HE WAS ALL SOFT——

THE SOLITARY MAN IN BLACK WHO SENT ME A VALENTINE EACH YEAR

he begged me to die first

commitment issues

loneliness and solitude

(+) loneliness barks

(+) solitude purrs