Tag Archives: death

Steam Coming Up Over the Distance

23 Jul

Everything is sort of
slow but all in a rush.
The Spirit of the Earth
and european urban
centers
ancestors
over run
my name,
a Christian would say,
on candy bars and they
found him 4 days later
wading in the
morning sun like
the neck of a cobra.

Nature guessed it was
not the orginally
intended experiment.
No, we’ll make up
the missing
piece- yes, that
portion.

Speaking on the
combustability of
cadmium and voices in
nature- even had mutual
friends- ready to talk
there on the lectern.

The Earthmother drank
wine- in later life
a sacred dreamer-
1881. Some days spent
presenting scientific
findings on the pain
of the Indian, left to
cool in vats. A holy
man of the Oglala
Sioux never made it.
Century eyes half
closed forever we
are all dreaming.
See you again?
Maybe some time.

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Dazed, Afraid to Begin

17 Jul

The general crooked
his finger with a great
pity, but he knew he
must waste no time.

The actress heard him.
Why not try another pinch
She thought wasting
Time.

The writer blocked-
there was no tie binding
him- he’ll never let
the right words go.

The prophet looked them
all over to see. One
thing was negative,
but the other was not.
They all looked at him.

The world can’t
go on this way-
that would hardly suit
my book, the writer decided
on language after seeing
the bleeding blind man
on the streets- that was a
positive sign- of the times.

Everything is a joke-
Either inside or outside.
All is possible, but they all
believe alike about the bear.
She was a good woman- the
secret things which destroy them-
he knows.

Let me introduce you to my
husband. We are not talking
anymore, the actress whispers.

Each troop a mark, the general
laughspeaks.

You think I want to be shot?
You who would shoot
your own mother.
Where do you plan to sleep?
The blind prophet screams
blood in the streets.

It just doesn’t make sense-
another sending of Satan.
Had Death ever gone on
strike before? What is money
to anyone? And the actress
has become a mystified
panhandler.

The general shook his head-
Please do not remove this-
what a singular thing!

The prophet crooked his
Finger- that’s not the same-
It may be more useful now.
Would everyone die with him?
It turned out they never would.
Some say there are two now-
the rumors come running. His
blood boils in every way for
the beautiful girls over the cliff.
It is best that she goes now. Last
night she slept with him- it is clear.

Why didn’t you do it? the
General asks the writer.
Something passed amongst
us, and you were born to die,
the writer types away his
response.

I Learned to See in the Dark…

8 Sep

I learned to see in the dark
when I swallowed a mountain whole-
pure screaming vibrations
wild drunk lightning
staggering rhythms
sweet death drugs
barefoot room running
supernatural jukebox
of eternity playing in
my head and then there was
heaven dreaming roaring-
my sanity shivered
contemplating the
the tragedy of traffic
confessing streetlights
whiskey soup dramas
neon sun hospitals
howled jazz
windowsill eyes
wept unshaven
saintly detectives on
the trail of
larva that danced
and smoked wig
giggled
leaving lonely
pamphlets in
bathrooms
showing the way
to salvation
and the dragging
down nature of
cemeteries that make
for poor highway lights
sucking on my fingers
pulling the magic out
I turn the light of and
lay my head down
in the river
to sleep
and
dream.

Caveat Lector

8 Sep

He laughed at sixty-five towards her heart.
Her eyes flashed call me again
There was a coolness cut close to the line-
a delusion for a walking man-
like deadly jelly she undressed him
lightning had come forlorn, weary, even.

This drunken binge and two women
with their faces against his face
between them time slowed sidewise, and
caught a whimper, growing weak,
nerve endings and life on other planets.

He had followed her to take the nightwalk as
the counterman turned shifting from the token
payment of everything and everyone, words
of pride of that great Earth.

He remembered what the salesman said:
“In love, always let the window fall back.”

He thought of the joy of living in this cardboard
covered ghostboat, adrift just off the shore
as the starlight shone in her eyes
and much of their time was spent.

Her lips were the light purple of bruises and
they covered him- on those lips
again the heaviest reverential act, the
worship of the names of those who control
you.

“Damn you! You’re making it murder.”
She screamed in a farewell shot.

She lay panting beneath him shattered
like a partially human circus toy.

“Thousands of persons have died that did not exist.”
He whispered in her ear, and wondered if
she understood their joy.

“Leave me with strangers, may I love again?”
She posed the single question as she crawled
off the bed pulling on her shadow thing coat.

 

Last December

18 Jul

My Grandmother

was covered with snow

while spring lay dreaming

of

gentle flowers.

No Grapes for the Widowman’s Wares

26 May


Left with no refuge against
death- dead wife and
barren vines-
he left with a basket of
thwacked finery and
thunderbird fins.

He rows his flatboat
in a river swollen
fishtail white with
testacean frothiness.
He knows there are
no laws in time.
He simply waits a slaver
like a hangman
no choice but
tying killing knots.

In town earlier before the tide
he watched a very
clever medico sterilize
the Wolfman’s bite.
The old man throws
his noose knot
from his flatboat and
wishes he was a younker.