hey kids, it's uncle peter again. if you know me, then you know i'm a tour guide. if ya don't, then the last fact is irrelevant, hell, it's irrelevant whether you know me or not. i had a tour the other day, 7 people, in a vehicle that had seating for eight. that is the main thing to consider, above all else. well, maybe that's the main thing. anyhoo, i had this one the other day and at the conclusion, was more appauled, and insulted, then maybe at any other time in my life.
the tour started out fine. i was piloting a vehicle which has a funny configuration, 4 seats inside, and 4 seats outside. as i had two seperate parties, and in the interest of fairness, equity, i said to them all " now if eveyone wants to ride outside, you will force me to 'play dad' and remind you all to switch, half way through." we all laughed, and everyone made friendly eye contact, exchanges of pleasantry, and agreed.
the family from Pennsylvania, one of two parents, and two children who were obviously eager for the back seats offered them fisrt to the other three, one of whom was from Boston, the other two, her parents i think, from Chapel Hill, Boston originally. we all cimbed in, and away we drove.
all along the way we shared, laughed, and communicated as a group. i noticed at one point that the older of the group of three, i think the mother in that trio, had a hard time climbing up and into, or back out of the rear of the truck. it is a high climb, but i provide an extra step stool. she never mentioned any pain at all, i just noticed it. along our ride we talked of coastal plain history, wild horses, and pirates, and their ilk. we snapped pictures. i climbed on and off of the hood of the vehicle, paining my freshly broken toe, to get them all family photos, Kodak moments to last them a life time. i offered them indigenous plants to eat. to keep this growing story short; as i said, we all had fun. then it became time to remind them of "the aforementioned switch."
as all moved around, and the mom of the Boston/Carolina three took her seat, i noticed that her seatbelt looked a little moist and sandy from the inevitable conditions found on the floor of an offroad safari jalopy. i informed her that if the condition of the belt was going to ruin her white slacks, that she didn't have to wear it, it was really no beg deal. this is when she informed me that she was "not concerned about her pants..." she said smugly, she was "more worried about her leg!" this was the first mention of any leg trouble. no matter the reason, at that moment the air changed, a pout began to form as her mature lower lip began to protrude, and from the moment that she crossed her arms and turned to gaze out of the window, we never regained eye contact. the ride back, about thirty minutes, was silent. as everyone looked around, my fingers tapped the terrible rhythm of "I Can't Drive Fifty Five", by Sammy Hagar. You see, i use whatever music the oldies station gives me each morning on the commute in as a distraction when this sort of thing occurs. why oh why it couldn't have been "Kashmir" or "Immigrant Song" by the Zep, i can only wonder, but getting back to the story, and my original point about beeing insulted.
as we all got out, and i was passing out those little cards by which the guests remember me, and how to rate their experience for my boss' sake, i noticed argument between the displeased woman and her spouse. if i were to guess, it was over whether or not to tip me. so as we all shook hands, exchanged mutual appreciations and bid one another farewell, i turned to the woman, and her two. extending my hand, and saying cheerfully " thank you, etc," the man, and the woman i figure to have been the spouse and daughter both smiled a genuine, but almost telling smile. both shook my hand and bid me good day. as i turned to the other woman, hand extended and a sincere "thank you very much, it was nice to-", she took her hands from her pockets, placed them behind her back, and while extending her pout, turned away from me as if i were never there.
i have done a lot of thinking since then. i have mused on the good old throat punch. i even think back to initial feelings of going into mine own pocket and refunding her money, to gain what i might deem my right to give her "what for." but as i think on beyond that, i think of her fear, her bitterness, her hatred. i consider the source, and i am happy, for the first time in my life maybe, at least recently for sure, to let it go. i have no more resaon to fight with her than a shovel which digs a ditch that i may not care for. i have no fight with the tools of those implements which practice on behalf of hatred, bigotry, fear, and the untold stories which chain those which hate me, hate my kind. my fight is with the source of this affliction of the human condition. i just wanted to pass this on to a few i know that would care to listen to this testimonial. i am a human. all i am, is a human. that is all any of us are.
WTF ?
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
sometimes i think a lot about nothing, and sometimes this makes me feel like a hypocrite...
i was at the grocery store
i go there quite often
they have basic things
and others that i want
i go there quite a lot
it seems that
around holidays
and special times
they ask for money
for the poor
sick and naturally
disastered
they ask but also have
baskets
and bags and boxes
piled up with stuff
to give away
middle grounders
usually during these times
i find myself lined up
with others who go
there a lot
some dressed well
some speak spanish
some with kids
some bare feet
some on skateboards
or just from offices
some so frail
and some so proud
all
together
if separate
but quite often
more often than not
coexistence as probabilities
like numbers on dice
or on ping pong balls
or stones in a lottery
i taste two trips in there
to recall a flavor
which laid itself over my owned thought
those two times
as common practice
the cashiers boss will
have them ask me
or you if you would
like to round your
purchase up from
six and fifteen
or so to seven
dollars and i generally
not even thinking
respond as yes
i would like to
or more like
no i don’t mind
the play works
and i bite the
what is eighty five cents or so
what would i have
done with that
and then
this one day
i am behind a
slightly greater man than me
and when the cashier asks
on behalf of her boss
and whomever holds
the sway to put us all there
the slightly larger human tones
begins the tale of what he has done
of where and how and how much and
of his general distaste for
being hit up like this
as if by common beggars
moved to action by deception
depression addiction apathy and self
inflicted lack of position
i listen to a good few
yes sirs
from the cashier
and as my total is wrung
and
as my electronic transaction approaches
i detect the air of the meek
and the flogged confidence
still in recoil from reproach
as i smile
ignorant in stance and intent
and ask
how is your day
looking up from behind the blue smoke of
her last guest she feigns the smile and says
fine
and how are you today
the second time was with
my wife and daughter
it was cold with rain
and the stressful tight and
heavy shouldered time as
rent
and the rest of the bills
were on her
and were on me
like a good budgeteer
she would also decline to add
the weight less than keys
from our pocket to elsewhere
when asked by the man forced
to ask us
and we left
i said
i don’t care how broke i am
i always go for the round up
or buy the shamrock or the
heart
or whatever
when they give me a pen
i write our daughters name
on it
figure its like karma
or strange credit
even if i barely have the
same to carry
and what is that dollar
or less
what more is that to the needing
against some precocious bullshit story
of giving enough already
really
giving enough
and already
as the hurricanes have stopped
and the earthquakes are no more
and they only shoot your neighbor
and they only rape his son
and the winter says its colder
and with taxes i don’t have to
and the vaccines killed diseases
now they just need kill the autism
and if i had seven dollars
and i needed seven hundred
even faster than tomorrow
i can give you one of my seven
because whats more than owing seven hundred and
one
against the dwindling probability of the next bowl of flour
or how can i worry that i will be secure if my
rent falls late but it wont it never does be
cause
we find it
we do it just like the afflicted
find their water
the trampled find their spirit
and the buried find that just enough voice
work when there is work
hustle when there is not
scrape when hustle fails
borrow when our brothers have and
beg
when not our families
our governments
nor our churches
can
provide
and i have seen the sands
get swept back up the beach
and down again
no matter what the season is
eventuality brings our storm
i go there quite often
they have basic things
and others that i want
i go there quite a lot
it seems that
around holidays
and special times
they ask for money
for the poor
sick and naturally
disastered
they ask but also have
baskets
and bags and boxes
piled up with stuff
to give away
middle grounders
usually during these times
i find myself lined up
with others who go
there a lot
some dressed well
some speak spanish
some with kids
some bare feet
some on skateboards
or just from offices
some so frail
and some so proud
all
together
if separate
but quite often
more often than not
coexistence as probabilities
like numbers on dice
or on ping pong balls
or stones in a lottery
i taste two trips in there
to recall a flavor
which laid itself over my owned thought
those two times
as common practice
the cashiers boss will
have them ask me
or you if you would
like to round your
purchase up from
six and fifteen
or so to seven
dollars and i generally
not even thinking
respond as yes
i would like to
or more like
no i don’t mind
the play works
and i bite the
what is eighty five cents or so
what would i have
done with that
and then
this one day
i am behind a
slightly greater man than me
and when the cashier asks
on behalf of her boss
and whomever holds
the sway to put us all there
the slightly larger human tones
begins the tale of what he has done
of where and how and how much and
of his general distaste for
being hit up like this
as if by common beggars
moved to action by deception
depression addiction apathy and self
inflicted lack of position
i listen to a good few
yes sirs
from the cashier
and as my total is wrung
and
as my electronic transaction approaches
i detect the air of the meek
and the flogged confidence
still in recoil from reproach
as i smile
ignorant in stance and intent
and ask
how is your day
looking up from behind the blue smoke of
her last guest she feigns the smile and says
fine
and how are you today
the second time was with
my wife and daughter
it was cold with rain
and the stressful tight and
heavy shouldered time as
rent
and the rest of the bills
were on her
and were on me
like a good budgeteer
she would also decline to add
the weight less than keys
from our pocket to elsewhere
when asked by the man forced
to ask us
and we left
i said
i don’t care how broke i am
i always go for the round up
or buy the shamrock or the
heart
or whatever
when they give me a pen
i write our daughters name
on it
figure its like karma
or strange credit
even if i barely have the
same to carry
and what is that dollar
or less
what more is that to the needing
against some precocious bullshit story
of giving enough already
really
giving enough
and already
as the hurricanes have stopped
and the earthquakes are no more
and they only shoot your neighbor
and they only rape his son
and the winter says its colder
and with taxes i don’t have to
and the vaccines killed diseases
now they just need kill the autism
and if i had seven dollars
and i needed seven hundred
even faster than tomorrow
i can give you one of my seven
because whats more than owing seven hundred and
one
against the dwindling probability of the next bowl of flour
or how can i worry that i will be secure if my
rent falls late but it wont it never does be
cause
we find it
we do it just like the afflicted
find their water
the trampled find their spirit
and the buried find that just enough voice
work when there is work
hustle when there is not
scrape when hustle fails
borrow when our brothers have and
beg
when not our families
our governments
nor our churches
can
provide
and i have seen the sands
get swept back up the beach
and down again
no matter what the season is
eventuality brings our storm
Friday, July 20, 2012
foreword
it's a lie
to say it's a shame when
one of the herd
falls down;
sickened,
crippled,
dying and/ or lame
a fool's shame to say
that we don't have the
time
to notice the fallen
or
the falling.
we are convinced,
scared into the feeling that
we can't afford the
time
it takes
to look up from the stampede-
wipe the dust from our eyes
created by this futile race
against death;
against looking back.
we tell ourselves
that we can't manage to
track
the sick and the dying,
while the sickness
and the" means to an end"
track us relentlessly
day and night.
to say it's a shame when
one of the herd
falls down;
sickened,
crippled,
dying and/ or lame
a fool's shame to say
that we don't have the
time
to notice the fallen
or
the falling.
we are convinced,
scared into the feeling that
we can't afford the
time
it takes
to look up from the stampede-
wipe the dust from our eyes
created by this futile race
against death;
against looking back.
we tell ourselves
that we can't manage to
track
the sick and the dying,
while the sickness
and the" means to an end"
track us relentlessly
day and night.
foreword
it's a lie
to say it's a shame when
one of the herd
falls down;
sickened,
crippled,
dying and/ or lame
a fool's shame to say
that we don't have the
time
to notice the fallen
or
the falling.
we are convinced,
scared into the feeling that
we can't afford the
time
it takes
to look up from the stampede-
wipe the dust from our eyes
created by this futile race
against death;
against looking back.
we tell ourselves
that we can't manage to
track
the sick and the dying,
while the sickness
and the" means to an end"
track us relentlessly
day and night.
to say it's a shame when
one of the herd
falls down;
sickened,
crippled,
dying and/ or lame
a fool's shame to say
that we don't have the
time
to notice the fallen
or
the falling.
we are convinced,
scared into the feeling that
we can't afford the
time
it takes
to look up from the stampede-
wipe the dust from our eyes
created by this futile race
against death;
against looking back.
we tell ourselves
that we can't manage to
track
the sick and the dying,
while the sickness
and the" means to an end"
track us relentlessly
day and night.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
it started as just another hot day, and then the weight of the world replaced the sting of the sweat in my eyes
the joggers are back
as are the cyclists
and the flies
one of the latter
keeps buzzing around my
hands
as i try and bang out
this insignificant
note
useless attempt at
describing
what my days feel like
lately
i have this week been
threatened
by the learning disabled
father
of a learning disabled
street urchin
seen trespassing in my
garden
trespassing i say
subnormal or not
the hardened shell
of my blamelessness
offers no sympathy
while
the memory of my
autistic cousin beckons
as i search our
similarity
it was during the middle
of a three
fourteen hour day
stretch of kayaks
bugs
lotions
salt and brackish water
baths
and one hundred degree
plus heat
i lost eleven pounds
since tuesday
and now it s
saturday
i sit here among my
virtual
crowd of friends
the MC5
iggy's daughter
scene stars from
NYC
and LA
as the better part of
pennsylvania and ohio
swarm outside my
air conditioned
store front door
i hide inside here
sneaking out only briefly
to fetch my red note book
looking for reasons to
remember
if not for these little
trips
i could forget the
sun burns a total but
fading tattoo
reminder of the trials
of the last week and the next week
outside my door
the descending atmosphere
waits patiently
still and
accommodatingly
to wrap itself around me
once again
choking me
sweating me
wringing all sweetness and
moisture from rapidly aging skin
and increasingly intolerant
barking bones
summertime
and the naked dance
of the living
my friends play shows
burn down bars and
honky tonks
and call to let me know
when they will hit
my town
as i sit here
amid the pile of
new and used office supplies
aging kettle corn
and a sample for reference
of the dead biting flies
which tormented the
last group we took up there
funny
some enjoy the show
some overhear the moans
of my associates mid day
and ignore
and maybe not funny but
fascinating how
some will drive by
six to twelve hours of
shantys, row houses
poverty and goats
in the street
just to reach the resort
and
never
question
the eyes they pass to get there
i
have always found
at least interesting
the juxtaposition of
the ideal to the
absoluteness that is
the life of the poor
and the ignorance
of that inequity
by the affluent
the
callous and gratuitous
nature in the
exchange between
the purchasers of dreams
and the sellers of flesh
no penance
no acknowledgment
of the true cost of
the life of
one human being
and the sacrifices made
to provide the whimsical
with the feeling
the experience
of the lived
none
save the children of the
poor and burdened
shall know the
worth of this
assignment
that clarity given
to the bottom
the one on the
crumb
who see the truth
in that discordance
between traveling
class and
water bearer
maybe i write these notes
in an attempt to
never forget the
weight of that
basket
or the faces of those
on the side of my road
or the fact that the
only true distinction
between president and pauper
between doctor and waiter
bartender and drunk
is lost
gone since the moment
the stars aligned and
the many sets of these
twins were born
and were then scattered
separated by the
boastful hot breath of humanity
as are the cyclists
and the flies
one of the latter
keeps buzzing around my
hands
as i try and bang out
this insignificant
note
useless attempt at
describing
what my days feel like
lately
i have this week been
threatened
by the learning disabled
father
of a learning disabled
street urchin
seen trespassing in my
garden
trespassing i say
subnormal or not
the hardened shell
of my blamelessness
offers no sympathy
while
the memory of my
autistic cousin beckons
as i search our
similarity
it was during the middle
of a three
fourteen hour day
stretch of kayaks
bugs
lotions
salt and brackish water
baths
and one hundred degree
plus heat
i lost eleven pounds
since tuesday
and now it s
saturday
i sit here among my
virtual
crowd of friends
the MC5
iggy's daughter
scene stars from
NYC
and LA
as the better part of
pennsylvania and ohio
swarm outside my
air conditioned
store front door
i hide inside here
sneaking out only briefly
to fetch my red note book
looking for reasons to
remember
if not for these little
trips
i could forget the
sun burns a total but
fading tattoo
reminder of the trials
of the last week and the next week
outside my door
the descending atmosphere
waits patiently
still and
accommodatingly
to wrap itself around me
once again
choking me
sweating me
wringing all sweetness and
moisture from rapidly aging skin
and increasingly intolerant
barking bones
summertime
and the naked dance
of the living
my friends play shows
burn down bars and
honky tonks
and call to let me know
when they will hit
my town
as i sit here
amid the pile of
new and used office supplies
aging kettle corn
and a sample for reference
of the dead biting flies
which tormented the
last group we took up there
funny
some enjoy the show
some overhear the moans
of my associates mid day
and ignore
and maybe not funny but
fascinating how
some will drive by
six to twelve hours of
shantys, row houses
poverty and goats
in the street
just to reach the resort
and
never
question
the eyes they pass to get there
i
have always found
at least interesting
the juxtaposition of
the ideal to the
absoluteness that is
the life of the poor
and the ignorance
of that inequity
by the affluent
the
callous and gratuitous
nature in the
exchange between
the purchasers of dreams
and the sellers of flesh
no penance
no acknowledgment
of the true cost of
the life of
one human being
and the sacrifices made
to provide the whimsical
with the feeling
the experience
of the lived
none
save the children of the
poor and burdened
shall know the
worth of this
assignment
that clarity given
to the bottom
the one on the
crumb
who see the truth
in that discordance
between traveling
class and
water bearer
maybe i write these notes
in an attempt to
never forget the
weight of that
basket
or the faces of those
on the side of my road
or the fact that the
only true distinction
between president and pauper
between doctor and waiter
bartender and drunk
is lost
gone since the moment
the stars aligned and
the many sets of these
twins were born
and were then scattered
separated by the
boastful hot breath of humanity
vouchers for paycheck
there is a
sense shared
by the ordinary
by the down trodden
folk
a misty common
thread
which warms my
heart
it
comes from the
acceptance
without question
of
participation with
in reason
in
and the
stewardship and grace
with which
we provincial
people
care for
serve and endure
the master
callous society
washing the feet
of those that
mock us
for therein lies
mean comfort
unheralded
derived from
the shared travails
and tolerances of
we
silhouettes
we outlines of
objects
seen against that light
we arrive pressed
cut out
forged
ready
willing
and clothed in that
consolation
that while
radicals
of all sorts seek
to inflame
to mislead
and then rise
to power on these
our well bronzed
backs
we hold the truth
not promised
yet
brought the hard labored
about what can be done in one day
versus
what can be done with one mind
when we are
willing to
believe as
our children
that we are heroes
we will no
longer
carry that water
so endure
human kind
sense shared
by the ordinary
by the down trodden
folk
a misty common
thread
which warms my
heart
it
comes from the
acceptance
without question
of
participation with
in reason
in
and the
stewardship and grace
with which
we provincial
people
care for
serve and endure
the master
callous society
washing the feet
of those that
mock us
for therein lies
mean comfort
unheralded
derived from
the shared travails
and tolerances of
we
silhouettes
we outlines of
objects
seen against that light
we arrive pressed
cut out
forged
ready
willing
and clothed in that
consolation
that while
radicals
of all sorts seek
to inflame
to mislead
and then rise
to power on these
our well bronzed
backs
we hold the truth
not promised
yet
brought the hard labored
about what can be done in one day
versus
what can be done with one mind
when we are
willing to
believe as
our children
that we are heroes
we will no
longer
carry that water
so endure
human kind
driving past that church on Beaverdam
laying
lying
laying
lying
only belly sounds
squeals and the grinding of gears
in the still mid morning
-angry morning
what do you want
what do YOU want
I count the prayers...
well you shouldn't
i lost my smile.....
a million miles from home
what do YOU WANT???
i
hear them scream at me
as i blow past the graveyard
but i can't make sense
of a single word said
i am sure,
in a way
it's pretty close to
slow down
in a grandmother's way
-or like an angry old man
lying
laying
lying
only belly sounds
squeals and the grinding of gears
in the still mid morning
-angry morning
what do you want
what do YOU want
I count the prayers...
well you shouldn't
i lost my smile.....
a million miles from home
what do YOU WANT???
i
hear them scream at me
as i blow past the graveyard
but i can't make sense
of a single word said
i am sure,
in a way
it's pretty close to
slow down
in a grandmother's way
-or like an angry old man
the waking life is fatal (lyric)
a soul needs to sleep and drift
away again away again
to find a peace that hides when he's
awake again awake again
the winds blow the stains away
out there again there again
-grass stains on knees from crawlin'
round again in town again
and it struggles to be clean
not sure just what that means
a consequence of disbelief
and his pattern of running
of late the time's not been that
great again great again
the soul's sleep is plagued and it's
insane again in dreams again
must be the waves he makes with
storms again bad karma them
from filling days with all that short cut
waste again blown brains again
and it moves through darkened streets
like a mind gone fire blind
chased by the ghosts he beats,
struggles to hold down by day
with drink and gasoline
and a few smaller bites of pain
that keep his tired bones running
but by nite
with body down
it's calm again thank god again
'till the sun reminds him that
it's time again not fine again
needs to spend time on all
the flowers in the grasses thin
instead of leaning on the what won't
change again the chains again
away again away again
to find a peace that hides when he's
awake again awake again
the winds blow the stains away
out there again there again
-grass stains on knees from crawlin'
round again in town again
and it struggles to be clean
not sure just what that means
a consequence of disbelief
and his pattern of running
of late the time's not been that
great again great again
the soul's sleep is plagued and it's
insane again in dreams again
must be the waves he makes with
storms again bad karma them
from filling days with all that short cut
waste again blown brains again
and it moves through darkened streets
like a mind gone fire blind
chased by the ghosts he beats,
struggles to hold down by day
with drink and gasoline
and a few smaller bites of pain
that keep his tired bones running
but by nite
with body down
it's calm again thank god again
'till the sun reminds him that
it's time again not fine again
needs to spend time on all
the flowers in the grasses thin
instead of leaning on the what won't
change again the chains again
thinking about the hell of being a poet
well, i was just sitting here about an hour or so ago wondering some of the same stuff, why is it...(i wondered) some times stuff runs out so fast i cant type good enough to keep up, and its some mind blowing shit, or so i feel, but anyway other times, like earlier tonight, or last i sat down to try and write yesterday, i was so slow....not feeling it, looking at the junk like a bunch of dumb words with no purpose or meaning. then tonight, as i was thinking that, i just looked at the writing medium, thought...lets check this out, started reading something i jotted on here quickly the other day, revised it...and good or bad something came flowing back anyway, you know the lines write themselves....so step back a second, take a few deep breaths, a few full swigs or a few whatevers it may be, and just wait for it to write itself for you, i predict its coming soon.yep, thats what i say, and stand by. yessir and dont get hung up on the perfect line here or there, if i get to a point where i lose it, but i got the meter, the rhythm...i leave blank space, follow the idea out of there till the void fills itself when im in the shower or something, on the throne. yep. sorry so long winded, i am insane you know. everyone will some day, it goes along with the first discovery--that most nobody has made. really, i love you mr steve reel. you are a hard worker, and i know you don’t care for the flattery, and might paint yourself a not so hard worker,cause you don’t think life is about tooting a horn or something, but as i have known you here and there, you always have the works going on, and i like that, and wish i was playing more, im just a poet. we are both free thinkers, and that will get a kid in trouble now and then, seeing through the two way glass...lots of people would call that paranoid talk, figure the lack of trust in the illusion of this system is a dangerous and foolish pursuit. lots of people, the kind i call my family and friends call that type a hero.
never mind the camels and the sand, just keep your heads firmly planted in the asses of those of your ilk
i live on a
drifting sandbar
nothing holds us to anything
the system is alive
responsive
as the ocean comes in
and goes out
as it has for years
the beaches
estuaries
marsh
forests and
animals
all move up land
only
stupid
fucking
tiny
little
dick less men
scurry
up then back
in trucks with
books
building like little ants
on the shifting sand
selling speculators dreams
stealing money
to buy time
or
so they hope
harvesting the ocean floor
constructing the facade of
beaches and dunes
everything moves here but us
tumbling and vanishing
the monuments
accomplishments
from our hands
into the sea
we will leave no trace
yet we try
erecting
all that we might
in hopes of
what
showing some future
archaeologist that
twenty first century man
thought he could hold back the ocean
with borrowed money
cheap cologne and
slight of mechanical hand
stupid stupid stupid
fucking humans
always busy
doing
never being
never seeing
nor observing
not learning
we will continue
playing golf
plowing the channels
and hosting the masses
with gritted teeth
we will sing and play
and drink and ogle
and congregate in
great halls and
small holes
patting our backs
and sniffing our farts
until our time is
found right for
removal
and then none other
shall follow here
until ices once again
descend
and recede
some of us will make it to cities
to sit around and
sip coffees
tell the stories of how
we escaped the great travesty
that was mans endeavor
to sub divide nature
to redraw the lines like
when redefining nations
black yaupon coffee
ilex vomitoria
under prints in
black and white
of the live oaks
the ibis
and the lush life
the was life
i should not write
when i should be
setting fires
and cutting nets
i should not hate
the apathy afforded
the cool crew on my block
but the smaller part of me
really wants to
i just hate the sea when
skirted in the show
of the affluent
while the stewards wrists
remain
manacled in metal
tethered to toil
as
saints to their service
drifting
in and out of
existence like dreams
fallen to the bottom of
the water mans
well
were i not striving
for harmony
i might wish for impunity
and the will to burn
all that surrounds
on behalf of the progress
of the natural and the
not yet
yeah i cuss
but
fuck your clique
and your fashion
and your feigned
societal empathy
stand alone for once
as your purpose
needs you now
to soar
or to lie down
forget those dreams
borne into you
as our now demands
action
worthy of some day
being record
drifting sandbar
nothing holds us to anything
the system is alive
responsive
as the ocean comes in
and goes out
as it has for years
the beaches
estuaries
marsh
forests and
animals
all move up land
only
stupid
fucking
tiny
little
dick less men
scurry
up then back
in trucks with
books
building like little ants
on the shifting sand
selling speculators dreams
stealing money
to buy time
or
so they hope
harvesting the ocean floor
constructing the facade of
beaches and dunes
everything moves here but us
tumbling and vanishing
the monuments
accomplishments
from our hands
into the sea
we will leave no trace
yet we try
erecting
all that we might
in hopes of
what
showing some future
archaeologist that
twenty first century man
thought he could hold back the ocean
with borrowed money
cheap cologne and
slight of mechanical hand
stupid stupid stupid
fucking humans
always busy
doing
never being
never seeing
nor observing
not learning
we will continue
playing golf
plowing the channels
and hosting the masses
with gritted teeth
we will sing and play
and drink and ogle
and congregate in
great halls and
small holes
patting our backs
and sniffing our farts
until our time is
found right for
removal
and then none other
shall follow here
until ices once again
descend
and recede
some of us will make it to cities
to sit around and
sip coffees
tell the stories of how
we escaped the great travesty
that was mans endeavor
to sub divide nature
to redraw the lines like
when redefining nations
black yaupon coffee
ilex vomitoria
under prints in
black and white
of the live oaks
the ibis
and the lush life
the was life
i should not write
when i should be
setting fires
and cutting nets
i should not hate
the apathy afforded
the cool crew on my block
but the smaller part of me
really wants to
i just hate the sea when
skirted in the show
of the affluent
while the stewards wrists
remain
manacled in metal
tethered to toil
as
saints to their service
drifting
in and out of
existence like dreams
fallen to the bottom of
the water mans
well
were i not striving
for harmony
i might wish for impunity
and the will to burn
all that surrounds
on behalf of the progress
of the natural and the
not yet
yeah i cuss
but
fuck your clique
and your fashion
and your feigned
societal empathy
stand alone for once
as your purpose
needs you now
to soar
or to lie down
forget those dreams
borne into you
as our now demands
action
worthy of some day
being record
lines scribbled many summers ago ( untitled)
-and the last bugs of summer
think about autumn and know their works
are done
carry on or chase a breeze
and find a summer someplace else
find a summer some place else
i still maintain that the sun is insane
to try and drain but never warm
enough to dry this teardrop in my eye.
tiny salted rain drop with
your reflection in it's window
looking over miles and miles
and asking my lips to whisper this;
close your eyes and the sun is
love, and I'll be here
when your day is done,
you, my only
one.
think about autumn and know their works
are done
carry on or chase a breeze
and find a summer someplace else
find a summer some place else
i still maintain that the sun is insane
to try and drain but never warm
enough to dry this teardrop in my eye.
tiny salted rain drop with
your reflection in it's window
looking over miles and miles
and asking my lips to whisper this;
close your eyes and the sun is
love, and I'll be here
when your day is done,
you, my only
one.
it started as just another hot day, and then the weight of the world replaced the sting of the sweat in my eyes
the joggers are back
as are the cyclists
and the flies
one of the latter
keeps buzzing around my
hands
as i try and bang out
this insignificant
note
useless attempt at
describing
what my days feel like
lately
i have this week been
threatened
by the learning disabled
father
of a learning disabled
street urchin
seen trespassing in my
garden
trespassing i say
subnormal or not
the hardened shell
of my blamelessness
offers no sympathy
while
the memory of my
autistic cousin beckons
as i search our
similarity
it was during the middle
of a three
fourteen hour day
stretch of kayaks
bugs
lotions
salt and brackish water
baths
and one hundred degree
plus heat
i lost eleven pounds
since tuesday
and now it s
saturday
i sit here among my
virtual
crowd of friends
the MC5
iggy's daughter
scene stars from
NYC
and LA
as the better part of
pennsylvania and ohio
swarm outside my
air conditioned
store front door
i hide inside here
sneaking out only briefly
to fetch my red note book
looking for reasons to
remember
if not for these little
trips
i could forget the
sun burns a total but
fading tattoo
reminder of the trials
of the last week and the next week
outside my door
the descending atmosphere
waits patiently
still and
accommodatingly
to wrap itself around me
once again
choking me
sweating me
wringing all sweetness and
moisture from rapidly aging skin
and increasingly intolerant
barking bones
summertime
and the naked dance
of the living
my friends play shows
burn down bars and
honky tonks
and call to let me know
when they will hit
my town
as i sit here
amid the pile of
new and used office supplies
aging kettle corn
and a sample for reference
of the dead biting flies
which tormented the
last group we took up there
funny
some enjoy the show
some overhear the moans
of my associates mid day
and ignore
and maybe not funny but
fascinating how
some will drive by
six to twelve hours of
shantys, row houses
poverty and goats
in the street
just to reach the resort
and
never
question
the eyes they pass to get there
i
have always found
at least interesting
the juxtaposition of
the ideal to the
absoluteness that is
the life of the poor
and the ignorance
of that inequity
by the affluent
the
callous and gratuitous
nature in the
exchange between
the purchasers of dreams
and the sellers of flesh
no penance
no acknowledgment
of the true cost of
the life of
one human being
and the sacrifices made
to provide the whimsical
with the feeling
the experience
of the lived
none
save the children of the
poor and burdened
shall know the
worth of this
assignment
that clarity given
to the bottom
the one on the
crumb
who see the truth
in that discordance
between traveling
class and
water bearer
maybe i write these notes
in an attempt to
never forget the
weight of that
basket
or the faces of those
on the side of my road
or the fact that the
only true distinction
between president and pauper
between doctor and waiter
bartender and drunk
is lost
gone since the moment
the stars aligned and
the many sets of these
twins were born
and were then scattered
separated by the
boastful hot breath of humanity
as are the cyclists
and the flies
one of the latter
keeps buzzing around my
hands
as i try and bang out
this insignificant
note
useless attempt at
describing
what my days feel like
lately
i have this week been
threatened
by the learning disabled
father
of a learning disabled
street urchin
seen trespassing in my
garden
trespassing i say
subnormal or not
the hardened shell
of my blamelessness
offers no sympathy
while
the memory of my
autistic cousin beckons
as i search our
similarity
it was during the middle
of a three
fourteen hour day
stretch of kayaks
bugs
lotions
salt and brackish water
baths
and one hundred degree
plus heat
i lost eleven pounds
since tuesday
and now it s
saturday
i sit here among my
virtual
crowd of friends
the MC5
iggy's daughter
scene stars from
NYC
and LA
as the better part of
pennsylvania and ohio
swarm outside my
air conditioned
store front door
i hide inside here
sneaking out only briefly
to fetch my red note book
looking for reasons to
remember
if not for these little
trips
i could forget the
sun burns a total but
fading tattoo
reminder of the trials
of the last week and the next week
outside my door
the descending atmosphere
waits patiently
still and
accommodatingly
to wrap itself around me
once again
choking me
sweating me
wringing all sweetness and
moisture from rapidly aging skin
and increasingly intolerant
barking bones
summertime
and the naked dance
of the living
my friends play shows
burn down bars and
honky tonks
and call to let me know
when they will hit
my town
as i sit here
amid the pile of
new and used office supplies
aging kettle corn
and a sample for reference
of the dead biting flies
which tormented the
last group we took up there
funny
some enjoy the show
some overhear the moans
of my associates mid day
and ignore
and maybe not funny but
fascinating how
some will drive by
six to twelve hours of
shantys, row houses
poverty and goats
in the street
just to reach the resort
and
never
question
the eyes they pass to get there
i
have always found
at least interesting
the juxtaposition of
the ideal to the
absoluteness that is
the life of the poor
and the ignorance
of that inequity
by the affluent
the
callous and gratuitous
nature in the
exchange between
the purchasers of dreams
and the sellers of flesh
no penance
no acknowledgment
of the true cost of
the life of
one human being
and the sacrifices made
to provide the whimsical
with the feeling
the experience
of the lived
none
save the children of the
poor and burdened
shall know the
worth of this
assignment
that clarity given
to the bottom
the one on the
crumb
who see the truth
in that discordance
between traveling
class and
water bearer
maybe i write these notes
in an attempt to
never forget the
weight of that
basket
or the faces of those
on the side of my road
or the fact that the
only true distinction
between president and pauper
between doctor and waiter
bartender and drunk
is lost
gone since the moment
the stars aligned and
the many sets of these
twins were born
and were then scattered
separated by the
boastful hot breath of humanity
indolence, insolence, mensa lips, rose hips, and chamomile...
message from inside the
bottle
people all over listen
they miss what IS really
they dig and dive and wallow
in other peoples cerebration
and cesspools
looking for some glimmer
of hope
sparkle in ribbon form
running like a vein through
the strata of vagueness and excess
comprising their daily mirror
holding out that last ditch wish
to find that which they have not so far
that which was promised to them by the
man on the teevee,
the bigger dick
the swarm of lovers
the safety of the babies
the house on the beach
the motorcycle like james dean
the wind that comes with it
the hair to blow in said wind
the freedom to be whatever they wanted
as long as that did not interfere with
work
and i
one of them
pass by them
one of them
and tip my hat as
one of them, “HI !
how ya doin” kinda smile like one of them
and they look at me like i'm an idiot.
the guy wrangling metal carts in the rain
outside the supermarket, when my
baby girl was sick, and i would have been
fine to just lay on the couch
smoke my stuff and watch the football
on a cold ass gray and rain filled day.
who turns his head away
or the lady behind the cash
register at the pharmacy next door
when i've already stood there
for five of my minutes
smiling
and late for what my day demands
but hey if she really needs to price
saint patrick's day schwag in
january and wants to do so while watching me stand at her register
until she is ready
fine. that is fine-
but being the first to speak
and smiling
and to be met immediately with
IMFINEHOWAREYOU!!!
so fast and devoid of even any angular
component
just a pipeline from her
frustration
right to my
get the fuck out of here.
here is the thing.
it'd be one thing
i guess if it's just another case of
another a.hole customer
all smiley and wanting help,
but it could just as easily been a
FUCK YOU TOO
kinda thing,
why do we nod, wave
why do we hold doors
slow down for people
why don't we ?
why do i allow the cancerous stew on my day's thoughts......
why not, as my boys up north call it
the" mallloy salute"
?
because i have chosen not to
today
i have made the choice to be a
decent
human
today
not glorious, not wealthy, and
not famous just not any
more harm than good
today
but let
santa clause
or saddam ryan seacrest hussein
or even post concubine tiger stroll
that stretch across the lot
towards the sidewalk in front of the
cheap chinese food store
and those same idiots
you and me
would roll out the red
carpet
send the limo
forget the kids and
cancel christmas
just to brush against
that type of world
that sort of semblance
and that is what is wrong
with the world today;
as simple as that may seem
as stupid and however
crass to bring the correlation
but
when we have gotten
to where we can not lift
our head from the trough
to acknowledge the choking
of a brother
beneath the gluttony of our mass
then how will we ever notice
the raping of our dreams by the ones
at the table
the ones throwing the scrap
the ones watering the skies
i began this day with the
simple trading of
instant messages, the kids
call 'em
with a friend i used to see
pretty much every day
and now will be
lucky to see
a few times a year
we used to entertain them
every day.
them and us.
today it was
indolence
insolence
mensa lips
rose hips
and chamomile.....
aww.
bottle
people all over listen
they miss what IS really
they dig and dive and wallow
in other peoples cerebration
and cesspools
looking for some glimmer
of hope
sparkle in ribbon form
running like a vein through
the strata of vagueness and excess
comprising their daily mirror
holding out that last ditch wish
to find that which they have not so far
that which was promised to them by the
man on the teevee,
the bigger dick
the swarm of lovers
the safety of the babies
the house on the beach
the motorcycle like james dean
the wind that comes with it
the hair to blow in said wind
the freedom to be whatever they wanted
as long as that did not interfere with
work
and i
one of them
pass by them
one of them
and tip my hat as
one of them, “HI !
how ya doin” kinda smile like one of them
and they look at me like i'm an idiot.
the guy wrangling metal carts in the rain
outside the supermarket, when my
baby girl was sick, and i would have been
fine to just lay on the couch
smoke my stuff and watch the football
on a cold ass gray and rain filled day.
who turns his head away
or the lady behind the cash
register at the pharmacy next door
when i've already stood there
for five of my minutes
smiling
and late for what my day demands
but hey if she really needs to price
saint patrick's day schwag in
january and wants to do so while watching me stand at her register
until she is ready
fine. that is fine-
but being the first to speak
and smiling
and to be met immediately with
IMFINEHOWAREYOU!!!
so fast and devoid of even any angular
component
just a pipeline from her
frustration
right to my
get the fuck out of here.
here is the thing.
it'd be one thing
i guess if it's just another case of
another a.hole customer
all smiley and wanting help,
but it could just as easily been a
FUCK YOU TOO
kinda thing,
why do we nod, wave
why do we hold doors
slow down for people
why don't we ?
why do i allow the cancerous stew on my day's thoughts......
why not, as my boys up north call it
the" mallloy salute"
?
because i have chosen not to
today
i have made the choice to be a
decent
human
today
not glorious, not wealthy, and
not famous just not any
more harm than good
today
but let
santa clause
or saddam ryan seacrest hussein
or even post concubine tiger stroll
that stretch across the lot
towards the sidewalk in front of the
cheap chinese food store
and those same idiots
you and me
would roll out the red
carpet
send the limo
forget the kids and
cancel christmas
just to brush against
that type of world
that sort of semblance
and that is what is wrong
with the world today;
as simple as that may seem
as stupid and however
crass to bring the correlation
but
when we have gotten
to where we can not lift
our head from the trough
to acknowledge the choking
of a brother
beneath the gluttony of our mass
then how will we ever notice
the raping of our dreams by the ones
at the table
the ones throwing the scrap
the ones watering the skies
i began this day with the
simple trading of
instant messages, the kids
call 'em
with a friend i used to see
pretty much every day
and now will be
lucky to see
a few times a year
we used to entertain them
every day.
them and us.
today it was
indolence
insolence
mensa lips
rose hips
and chamomile.....
aww.
hot hazy and just to start
for starters
today just aint
normal
its all fuzzed up
grainy
like an old television
one with old
antennae
the movable kind
and
the screen is
all wrong
like watching a
cold weather
college football game
in a dump of a
stadium on the
least of fields
sore
red but not
the color is all
wrong actually
or the hue
or the tint
or the contrast
something
something has this one looking
and feeling not right
the greens are mossy grays
pale blue is silver
browns drying to
tinder box orange and
yellows
sea birds just hang in
the still and softened
mixture of gasses
we breathe
unsure
whether rain or
ash will visit them
today
word is the
oil slick
is rounding florida
like a serial killer
and it seems the
murder in the gulf
was just diversionary
as the spill sets sights
on the keys and
the carolinas
there
maybe that’s it
the quicksilver and
mud and tar
reflecting and refracting
the sunlight to blanket
my blue
maybe that’s why
my today looks like fire
has been
maybe its the
quarter million
new neighbors
this week
wearing out brake lights
and rubbering necks
who do not care
that it kills us
to bear this child
for them
the every year
like open flower
trod upon before
burning up
in surrender
round mid day
or
maybe its
just haze left by
humidity
that wont
go away
its
the day after
memorial day
and the march of
the gasoline cans
is just getting
under weigh
today just aint
normal
its all fuzzed up
grainy
like an old television
one with old
antennae
the movable kind
and
the screen is
all wrong
like watching a
cold weather
college football game
in a dump of a
stadium on the
least of fields
sore
red but not
the color is all
wrong actually
or the hue
or the tint
or the contrast
something
something has this one looking
and feeling not right
the greens are mossy grays
pale blue is silver
browns drying to
tinder box orange and
yellows
sea birds just hang in
the still and softened
mixture of gasses
we breathe
unsure
whether rain or
ash will visit them
today
word is the
oil slick
is rounding florida
like a serial killer
and it seems the
murder in the gulf
was just diversionary
as the spill sets sights
on the keys and
the carolinas
there
maybe that’s it
the quicksilver and
mud and tar
reflecting and refracting
the sunlight to blanket
my blue
maybe that’s why
my today looks like fire
has been
maybe its the
quarter million
new neighbors
this week
wearing out brake lights
and rubbering necks
who do not care
that it kills us
to bear this child
for them
the every year
like open flower
trod upon before
burning up
in surrender
round mid day
or
maybe its
just haze left by
humidity
that wont
go away
its
the day after
memorial day
and the march of
the gasoline cans
is just getting
under weigh
beaverdam I (the real four) thoughts on a bottle of Jack Daniels given me one birthday
-last thing i could understand
that she said
oh my God....(then sighs)
my father can feel this
damn you're an evil boy
as i sweat and
kept on rowing
the next moment noticeable
was hazy mountain dusted
sunrise
slammed shut by steel
and gray thunder heads-
all the more reason
to never stop the
drinking-
"there's hope for the bone yard"
the jack bottle collection,
at least for one more season
it's four in the morning
in another dream hole
and i'd play that
bothered guitar if
they weren't sleeping-
if it wasn't four in the
afternoon for me...
-i'd be asleep like them too
instead of stewing my
self absorbed child
in a broth of less than
what could be.
that she said
oh my God....(then sighs)
my father can feel this
damn you're an evil boy
as i sweat and
kept on rowing
the next moment noticeable
was hazy mountain dusted
sunrise
slammed shut by steel
and gray thunder heads-
all the more reason
to never stop the
drinking-
"there's hope for the bone yard"
the jack bottle collection,
at least for one more season
it's four in the morning
in another dream hole
and i'd play that
bothered guitar if
they weren't sleeping-
if it wasn't four in the
afternoon for me...
-i'd be asleep like them too
instead of stewing my
self absorbed child
in a broth of less than
what could be.
open
and when they i
itch
i rub my eyes
until colors swirl
like lightning nymphs
to hills of gray
all in a
line
dancing slightly
falling off the
edge of the
viewing screen
like lava lamp
thick drops of
eel ec tricity
melting down slower
now
as if to almost form
a wide face
in bronzed
chain mesh
but
more like a
mountain face
azure colored
clay mudslide
itch
i rub my eyes
until colors swirl
like lightning nymphs
to hills of gray
all in a
line
dancing slightly
falling off the
edge of the
viewing screen
like lava lamp
thick drops of
eel ec tricity
melting down slower
now
as if to almost form
a wide face
in bronzed
chain mesh
but
more like a
mountain face
azure colored
clay mudslide
Saturday, July 14, 2012
thigh highs and satin socks
close your eyes...
-wanna take a ride ?
nothing but blue skies burning
-blazing hot blue flame
burning as gas ignites
meeting unknown on the edge of
this domain-
and are there other lives?
other forms with eyes
that taste and feel as we
sometimes stupidly do?
"i'll believe it when i see..."
is what the wandering monk said to me,
"sure, it just may be, but i have not
seen it, i will wait until i see"
wait !
what was that? -this
bead of sweat and now i'm hot
and my brow turns and
downward feathering and spiraling
sing my lovely children!, sing!
as another bill the taxman brings
-and hey you! red hair and
asian lips,
sing that song for me...
put on thigh highs and
satin socks and bring it
home to me.
light my candles, in a daze
'cause i found black.
it's god to me,
how else is the light expected to see
if not reflected off of me?
lower self, inner child, or
gatekeeper may be
that which may just kill for life
or fuck as the blind, inherently
-wishing to reproduce the self
in hopes that future life may see.
don't judge the last few lines
my friends,
think of all the waste that lay
between your birth and yesterday
and ask again way down inside,
do you see all that differently?
my flower lays now at your feet,
now...what is it you think of me?
-wanna take a ride ?
nothing but blue skies burning
-blazing hot blue flame
burning as gas ignites
meeting unknown on the edge of
this domain-
and are there other lives?
other forms with eyes
that taste and feel as we
sometimes stupidly do?
"i'll believe it when i see..."
is what the wandering monk said to me,
"sure, it just may be, but i have not
seen it, i will wait until i see"
wait !
what was that? -this
bead of sweat and now i'm hot
and my brow turns and
downward feathering and spiraling
sing my lovely children!, sing!
as another bill the taxman brings
-and hey you! red hair and
asian lips,
sing that song for me...
put on thigh highs and
satin socks and bring it
home to me.
light my candles, in a daze
'cause i found black.
it's god to me,
how else is the light expected to see
if not reflected off of me?
lower self, inner child, or
gatekeeper may be
that which may just kill for life
or fuck as the blind, inherently
-wishing to reproduce the self
in hopes that future life may see.
don't judge the last few lines
my friends,
think of all the waste that lay
between your birth and yesterday
and ask again way down inside,
do you see all that differently?
my flower lays now at your feet,
now...what is it you think of me?
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
red night (excerpt from "Nor'easter")
the red green and
blue lights played
and danced a
frantic jerk on the
fake fog
as we played songs
songs like emeline
songs about irish whiskey
and weed
songs by other people
who will never know we played them
as the tourists
whooped and hollered below
the on stage serenade
there was an
anesthesiologist from
richmond
horse breeders from
missouri
the drunken dough boys of
swan beach
and one raucous table full of
bears and beards from the
hills of pennsyltucky
apple-tinis and
red headed sluts
as the boys and i
stuffed a victory
and our guitars
back in the van
them
pondering rest and
reefers
mine
eyes bore in focus
mind thirty three miles
away as i
pulled the keys to the ford
from my beaten
black leather
zipper scraped hand asking
can i feel it now
can i just go home
argument between my
senses and conscience
as my body throws my
hand to turn the key
plug in the portable
music player
cheap trick
hello there
whalehead club bound
fifty minutes later i
pick from the thickets
a tandem kayak
fit for one
two gallons of gasoline
and the winston
repeater
camels and a lighter
the mind and body
of the thief
must be subject to torment
i care nothing of the soul
that is for another
judge
i choose to shower the former
in heavy drops of
fast lead and fire
you must bear in mind now
and with importance
that in that sand box
where i work
and friends do
and my family has
lived
they ride by us daily
and scowl
my guests aghast as
small minds in big trucks
worry by
they lay spike strips
on my path
no shit
two by twelve inch
salt treated
shot or filled
otherwise with
thick
new
hand driven framing
nails
they
dig holes in my road
throw molasses soaked
feed corn down
on my land to bait the wild hogs
so that they may come out
and shoot them by night
by day they conspire
watch my movements
learning my schedule
wishing they knew which
bait
might lure me
so
do not judge
as i turn up the volume
lose the perspective
join small picture
politic
and turn neighbor
into crime scene
transform
shining yellow swamp boat
to
the best cliff hanger
the north beach sun
has ever endeavored to
question
this red night
i burn the text i
would have written
and finish the chapter
begun when the
citizen became thief
mine became his
and watched became
aware
i take all the
responsibility
a shovel would take
for digging a ditch
but
you might blame the
morning haze over
carova
on me
fireworks are
still illegal but
i see them
every night
as fresh souls arrive
not yet stained
by the jaundice of
coastal plain
winter
i
watch as some kid
shoots his mortars
announces the arrival
of two wide eyes
as
the color and sparks
fade back
leaving the x ray
clouds against black
heavens
i toss the end of a camel
and start the real show
thinking of my daughter
and a movie i saw
in 1979
and watch
and wait
blue lights played
and danced a
frantic jerk on the
fake fog
as we played songs
songs like emeline
songs about irish whiskey
and weed
songs by other people
who will never know we played them
as the tourists
whooped and hollered below
the on stage serenade
there was an
anesthesiologist from
richmond
horse breeders from
missouri
the drunken dough boys of
swan beach
and one raucous table full of
bears and beards from the
hills of pennsyltucky
apple-tinis and
red headed sluts
as the boys and i
stuffed a victory
and our guitars
back in the van
them
pondering rest and
reefers
mine
eyes bore in focus
mind thirty three miles
away as i
pulled the keys to the ford
from my beaten
black leather
zipper scraped hand asking
can i feel it now
can i just go home
argument between my
senses and conscience
as my body throws my
hand to turn the key
plug in the portable
music player
cheap trick
hello there
whalehead club bound
fifty minutes later i
pick from the thickets
a tandem kayak
fit for one
two gallons of gasoline
and the winston
repeater
camels and a lighter
the mind and body
of the thief
must be subject to torment
i care nothing of the soul
that is for another
judge
i choose to shower the former
in heavy drops of
fast lead and fire
you must bear in mind now
and with importance
that in that sand box
where i work
and friends do
and my family has
lived
they ride by us daily
and scowl
my guests aghast as
small minds in big trucks
worry by
they lay spike strips
on my path
no shit
two by twelve inch
salt treated
shot or filled
otherwise with
thick
new
hand driven framing
nails
they
dig holes in my road
throw molasses soaked
feed corn down
on my land to bait the wild hogs
so that they may come out
and shoot them by night
by day they conspire
watch my movements
learning my schedule
wishing they knew which
bait
might lure me
so
do not judge
as i turn up the volume
lose the perspective
join small picture
politic
and turn neighbor
into crime scene
transform
shining yellow swamp boat
to
the best cliff hanger
the north beach sun
has ever endeavored to
question
this red night
i burn the text i
would have written
and finish the chapter
begun when the
citizen became thief
mine became his
and watched became
aware
i take all the
responsibility
a shovel would take
for digging a ditch
but
you might blame the
morning haze over
carova
on me
fireworks are
still illegal but
i see them
every night
as fresh souls arrive
not yet stained
by the jaundice of
coastal plain
winter
i
watch as some kid
shoots his mortars
announces the arrival
of two wide eyes
as
the color and sparks
fade back
leaving the x ray
clouds against black
heavens
i toss the end of a camel
and start the real show
thinking of my daughter
and a movie i saw
in 1979
and watch
and wait
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