the angels don't give no
change when you pay
your dues so hang onto
that box of wine and a
few favorite photos it
won't get no better just
because you're in the
club and a university
has your shitty poems
locked away in a climate
controlled room some
of your best friends are
dead and this ain't the
same country you went
junkin' with your grandpa
in so you might as well
stay and listen to a few
more sad songs the wars
and hatred will always be
king but because she was
your first choice and you
ain't with her that's what
makes the jukebox play
11/27/10
11/22/10
Go Read A. D. Winans
I can recall
back in the day
when I payed
attention to any
of that pop bullshit
I read this thing
in the LA Times
where Beefheart
was claiming
"I can't even buy
my old lady a
nice coat, and
where is that at"
and I've always
remembered that
when he opted out
so I am telling you
my bitch is flat
fucking freezing
back in the day
when I payed
attention to any
of that pop bullshit
I read this thing
in the LA Times
where Beefheart
was claiming
"I can't even buy
my old lady a
nice coat, and
where is that at"
and I've always
remembered that
when he opted out
so I am telling you
my bitch is flat
fucking freezing
CLEANING GRAVE
a couple of hours this
late May afternoon
the hot wind blowing
dust through the
headstones at the
Paiute Cemetery
I reshaped your mound
with rake and shovel
after discarding the
faded cloth flowers
and broken vases
to replace them
with others of vibrant
color and gemlike glass
one more year and I
like to get a few days
jump on the Memorial
Day crowd who come to
clean with their picnics
and unflavored talk
and be alone
just you and I and the
wind
how the hot earth of
your grave feels like
your breasts and stomach
as my flat hand
molds the heap
remembering the many times
just like this you and I
cleaned the graves of
your children and unknown
relatives who perished
on the now long gone Rez
in back seats of grey
black cars clutching
onto precious bottles
that held the miracle
we were sometimes half
drunk ourselves and those
nights my flat hand
would mold your flesh
before you took me into
you the soil of graves
on our hands mixing with
our sweat creating the
finger paintings of
our lives our love
now I kiss and tongue the
heart on your headstone
before standing up
ceremoniously with a
quart of Miller's in
my hand proud of my
work
a Janitor at the place
of the dead
always having to turn
and walk away towards the
places of the living
where only memories can
conquer the dust and
these tears mean
nothing
late May afternoon
the hot wind blowing
dust through the
headstones at the
Paiute Cemetery
I reshaped your mound
with rake and shovel
after discarding the
faded cloth flowers
and broken vases
to replace them
with others of vibrant
color and gemlike glass
one more year and I
like to get a few days
jump on the Memorial
Day crowd who come to
clean with their picnics
and unflavored talk
and be alone
just you and I and the
wind
how the hot earth of
your grave feels like
your breasts and stomach
as my flat hand
molds the heap
remembering the many times
just like this you and I
cleaned the graves of
your children and unknown
relatives who perished
on the now long gone Rez
in back seats of grey
black cars clutching
onto precious bottles
that held the miracle
we were sometimes half
drunk ourselves and those
nights my flat hand
would mold your flesh
before you took me into
you the soil of graves
on our hands mixing with
our sweat creating the
finger paintings of
our lives our love
now I kiss and tongue the
heart on your headstone
before standing up
ceremoniously with a
quart of Miller's in
my hand proud of my
work
a Janitor at the place
of the dead
always having to turn
and walk away towards the
places of the living
where only memories can
conquer the dust and
these tears mean
nothing
11/20/10
11/16/10
11/13/10
11/9/10
IMPERMANENCE
rise to civilization
it is written out
moments
born of
recollection
of forgotten tasks
of holidays
the drawn out clarity
of the sad song
the integrity of
others swarming
around the broken
doll
in so
many words
we will have another
as the night folds
around intoxication
and the anxious
ages wait
it is written out
moments
born of
recollection
of forgotten tasks
of holidays
the drawn out clarity
of the sad song
the integrity of
others swarming
around the broken
doll
in so
many words
we will have another
as the night folds
around intoxication
and the anxious
ages wait
11/8/10
11/6/10
What I Can Remember At 60
reciting the psalms
from a Tijuana bible
with a Prince Albert
tin full of pot in a
Pendleton shirt pocket
on a handjob backseat
night under a towering
screen that lit up her
purple eye shadow
with some extravagant
bloody gunplay before
any of us had ever died
from a Tijuana bible
with a Prince Albert
tin full of pot in a
Pendleton shirt pocket
on a handjob backseat
night under a towering
screen that lit up her
purple eye shadow
with some extravagant
bloody gunplay before
any of us had ever died
11/5/10
FOR THE BEER
picking up my
Indian partner
at his place
today
waiting for his
sister to get
kids together
my human dullness
standing in the
living room of
the double-wide
finally he says
looking up at
walls of photos
this picture here
of me and all my
partners only
two of us left out
of the six
others died from
drinking
this here my brother-
in-law with the
two deer dead
here's my nephew
dead
my other partner here
drunk dead his whole
family in a car wreck
fucking dead
then his sister
comes back in
says yeah you and Fred
will be up there dead
in'nt it
and we all go out
together for
the beer
Indian partner
at his place
today
waiting for his
sister to get
kids together
my human dullness
standing in the
living room of
the double-wide
finally he says
looking up at
walls of photos
this picture here
of me and all my
partners only
two of us left out
of the six
others died from
drinking
this here my brother-
in-law with the
two deer dead
here's my nephew
dead
my other partner here
drunk dead his whole
family in a car wreck
fucking dead
then his sister
comes back in
says yeah you and Fred
will be up there dead
in'nt it
and we all go out
together for
the beer
11/1/10
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)