Monthly Archives: September 2005

description (for Bill Bennett)

he is momentarily distracted by the light

his
the vicious lungs
the knowing eyes
the frozen cheeks
the ardent voice

who is the hypodermic?
who is filled with a poison bible?
who is a teat of bile?
who is the fly on the ball?

his
the leftover privilege
the revolver dog
the feathers of iron massage
the candle of blue veins

who is the relict of Buchenwald?
who is the tallow of black magnolia fruit?
who is the kindest loin of a tombstone?
who is the good gambling father of a bludgeon?

he turns back to his work and chews his way out of a corpse


salt tree, draft 2

tony-boy sits
under a salt tree
growing a crust.

he molts three times a day.

a bowl full of mousebones sits in his lap.

he mumbles a skull song
while sifting his fingers
through the white skittles.

he would prefer to be living his vision
of accountancy and fuel-efficient cars.
he would like a marriage and a stable
full of tony-boys to love and smash full
of his dreams,

but he’s stuck with a salt treehouse
and a magic bean.

one at a time he takes out the worms
he’s been asked to keep safe
and stretches them until they break.

he strokes his way toward an absinthe horizon.

he pretends he is a doctor.
he demands a lawyer who can defend the rights of chiggers.
he thinks an Indian chief would starve if
subjected to an entire forest of salt trees
dropping salt leaves on the ground
even though the deer who flock to feast upon and suck them
are too swollen to escape a hunter —

much like tony-boy,
sobbing under his salt tree,
growing another crust as
the scabs from the last one fall
in a squall of bad white luck.


salt tree

tony-boy sits
under a salt tree
growing a crust.

he molts three times a day.

a bowl full of mousebones sits in his lap.
he mumbles a skull song
while sifting his fingers
through the white skittles.

he would prefer to be alive
and living his vision of accountancy
and fuel-efficient cars.
he would like a marriage and a stable
full of tony-boys to love and smash full
of his dreams.

instead he’s stuck with a salt treehouse
and a magic bean. one at a time he stretches out the worms
he’s been asked to keep safe until they break. he strokes
his way toward an absinthe horizon.
he pretends he is a doctor. he demands a lawyer
who can defend the rights of chiggers.
he thinks an Indian chief would starve if
subjected to an entire forest of salt trees
dropping salt leaves on the ground
even though the deer who flock to feast upon and suck them
are too swollen to escape,

much like tony-boy,
who sits sobbing under a salt tree
and grows another crust
once the scabs from the last one
have fallen.


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briefest of updates

Drive to NYC: Like the old days, except without beer. Thanks, Sam.

Brooklyn: Bad Veggie Burgers, Crazy Gallery Owners, Great Cubanos, Trophy Showing, Great reading, Fictional ceviche, Amazing cheesecake.

Drive home: Like the old days, except without police searches. Thanks, Sam.

Thanks to those who showed up: host Susan Chenelle, azureflame, geminipoet. dura_luxe and Erik, eliel_lucero, drgeorge aka Sam the Shotgun Rider, Marty McConnell, Patrick Rosal, Barbara Newsome, and all and sundry whose names I’ve forgotten or don’t know. (If an lj person was there i didn’t mention, speak up!)

dead_kitty, I missed you. Next time, then?

lowhumcrush, I missed you too. A lot. So very much. Don’t hurt me!

seracy, thank you for the totally sweet and amazing phone call!!!! We need to talk soon.

mahoganybrowne, sorry — it just got too late and we had a long drive ahead of us. i need to try and book a feature at the Nuyo soon — it’s been a couple of years at least. we’ll get together soon, promise.

i’m feeling a tad better. Yesterday met with therapist and we made a small meds adjustment. Seemed to help, although i’m getting tired of adjusting all the time — still, as this progresses i suppose it can’t be helped.

Sorry, indeed, to scare folks. More later, ok? Gimme a day or two to think.

Onward.

T


home safe. details later.


walking

a wise friend of mine once said that if you think you’re headed in the right direction, keep walking.

well, i think it’s time i stopped, at least for a bit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

if you’re coming to the NY show, i will see you tonight. Words of Wisdom reading at the Spoken Words Cafe, 226 4th Avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn, around 8:00 start. Open Mic followed by three 20 minute features: Barbara Newsome, Patrick Rosal, me. Right now, that’s the order.

after, i’ll either be heading out for ceviche with geminipoet and eliel_lucero and who knows who else from the Acentos crew and beyond, AND/OR heading down to the Nuyo for a bit. hey, mahoganybrowne — what time is that slot you asked me about?

then, back to town for whatever’s next.

i’ll have my faithful road companion drgeorge with me, as in the olden days.

this trip means a lot to me. i hope to see you there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

also: if you need me while i’m in the city: cell # 5 oh eight – 9 four two – 4 one two four, k?


burning bridges

leaves falling,
air cooling, scent of
burning bridges.

he is not ready
to give up
yet.

he’ll give it until the weekend,
long enough to let another storm blow through,
and he’ll wait to see what’s still standing
before he lights his last match.


analysis (9-26-05)

finally i have determined that
what it has meant to me
to live by poetry

is that i long ago gave up feeding
my bones in favor of
my eyes and ears

and when i eventually needed the bones
all i could do was hear me crumble
and see me fail and fall

but the view on the way down was perfect
my slow collapse resolved me beautifully
into a helpless cautionary tale

get thee to the gym
and give up the pose
while you still can kids

no one with any sense that they might have a choice
should ever have to do the things
you need to do for this to be your life

honestly
living by poetry is a load of crap
and you are better off without it

leave it to those of us
who are dragged to it
kicking and sobbing

leave it to the dead-eyed ones
the sharp-eared ones who give up
form for function

the ones who are called
to fail at living
in favor of noticing living


the last long way down

road after road has been
hard on my feet.

long stretches of slim shoulders
that fell off into ravines.
falling rocks. rumble of thunderstorms
miles away but not far enough off to disregard,
frequent flooding,
and no overhangs beneath which to shelter.

most steps felt like staggers
and most of those felt like sins.

but i’m sitting now above a valley
that looks like it might slope
more gently down. i see smoke over there
by a silver oxbow.

there is such an urge to tuck my head
and roll breakneck down into
that place. i need that peace
so quickly and there are so many things
i need to say to whoever’s down there.

and god, my butchered feet hurt so much
i am bleeding into my chest.

_______________________________


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for the New York Crowd

please, if you can, come to see the feature i’m doing in Park Slope, Brooklyn, on Wednesday night.

it’s at the Spoken Words Cafe, 226 4th Avenue, at the Words Of Wisdom reading hosted by Susan Chenelle. Open mic from 8-8:15 or so; we’re on after that.

I’m featuring with Barbara Newsome and Patrick Rosal.

Please come, it will mean a lot to me.


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