Archive for December, 1990

Untitled Poem #100

Posted: December 28, 1990 in Poetry
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I heard the liquid drums pounding
and the silver sky tore apart.
the moonbeams fell sharp and screaming
bending their rainfall to my face.
I smelled the coming heat
and the clouds were writhing soundless.
the wind chimes swung emptily,
wailing their grief into the night.
I saw the many trees dancing
and the glow from my eyes went silent.
the earth grew faint beneath my feet,
melting my flesh off in runnels.
I knew the serpents were stirring
and my old scars split with delight.
the hum of the land was loud on my skin
when walking with the Lords of the Wind.

Melanicus by Phone

Posted: December 27, 1990 in Poetry
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Yes, Melanicus came to me
With a hacksaw and my jugular vein
He said that these belonged to me
Then smiled and said my girlfriend
Kissed him just last night.
First I said thank you for my hacksaw
And apologized for his neck wound
Second, I offered him a needle and thread;
He said “I’m fine, I have already bled”.
Then I took my jugular back
Replaced the lead pipe I was using
He offered me a rusty straight razor blade
I acquiesced politely with the flourish I made
Third I said she had already told me
About your dimension adventures in the roof of your mouth
I know you back from the 24th of September
1971 – you’re my father, remember?


Posted: December 26, 1990 in Poetry
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I watched the sun leap up from behind these shaggy hills.
the mountains shuddered brightly
and proceeded to melt into rainbow puddles.
my hair was torn softly from my scalp
and tenderly, the clothes were sliced from my limbs.
the muscles in my arms and legs
were gently flayed of their surrounding skin
by the beauty of the rising sun.
my laboring lungs exposed to open air,
were all blue and were brought to a standstill.
my heart split apart and out popped a jack
with a beautiful flower.
my ivory skeleton was picked apart
by several crows
but stood silent as the golden sun
made its daily rounds.

ain’t no way to celebrate Christmas
‘less it’s a Keystone™ drunken Christmas.
ain’t no way to celebrate Christmas
‘less you pass out once or twice.
ain’t no way to celebrate Christmas
‘less you drink the 12 pack to it’s demise
ain’t no way to celebrate Christmas
‘less you’ve toasted the good Lord Jesus Christ.

Ode to the Space-Heater

Posted: December 22, 1990 in Poetry
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glory be to the portable space heater.
in this frigid-ass winter there is nothing neater
to come back to from outside; my room is so toasty.
if left on overnight, it just might roast me.


Posted: December 18, 1990 in Poetry
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the wind is always flowing going by.
moving, testing, pushing, brushing past
around the corners of my eyes.
teasing, breathing secrets like shivers in my ears.
tickling my hair, turning me around to see who’s there.
punching holes in my clothing,
always coming and leaving
merrily and mischievously.
the wind whistles tunelessly, madly
at the corners of houses,
calling the clouds to come play hopscotch.
graceful, insistent, invisible currents;
curious why we don’t fly.

Oh No, Nothing

Posted: December 16, 1990 in Poetry
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silently shrunken
I drive sunken
watching the vapor
of the new fallen rainwater
dance in the straitjacket of my headlights,
eaten by the grinning grille of my car.
smiling madly from my eye sockets,
I motor evilly with my high beams flickering,
churning my way through the growling fog,
ghost tendrils sucking at my car,
corroding away behind the wheel,
slouched in my chair, spoilt by power steering.
hunting, like the demons riding heat lightning
about my sanity.

Talked to Ralph on the Big White Telephone

Posted: December 16, 1990 in Poetry
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yuck but true
in a dream I threw
you up, ralphed,
so to speak, mouth
full of skin and red
hair, I said
sorry and it was
enough because
I love you.

Hopes and Dreams

Posted: December 11, 1990 in Poetry
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There once was a little boy
Who had dreams which danced behind his eyes
Of magic golden cities,
People merry under purple skies;
The trees and hills behind his house
Where the young boy used to play
Would welcome him joyously
Into their arms most every day.
The boy would lay for hours
Watching people living and dying
Delighted in the magic spent
To dream without even trying
But as the boy got older
His imagination began to soften
And out to the hills and trees
He wouldn’t come as often.
Plastic guns and army soldiers,
Matchbox Cars and other toys
Stole the love and keen attention
From the helpless little boy.
The sun set silent one day
Over the lonesome trees and hills
The happy boughs and glades
Wept and sadly stood still.
No one heard their hearts break,
No one knows how they cried,
But some dreams were lost somewhere in time
When the child in Michael died.

Traipsing around
With Jesus Christ,
Shit, and fuckin-a.
Finding vitamin B-37
In liquid form with uranium,
Molesting the gals in the seaport
Village soap shop,
Seeing summer at the taste of Hawaii
Shave ice shop,
Decisions at the bathroom
Hand drying
Methodology offered, encountering (twice)
The dreaded and extremely rare
Elephant-eating white fleshy tree fungus
Looking for a commode.

One of Those Uncaptured Things

Posted: December 4, 1990 in Poetry
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Screaming along on my bike
Pell-mell with the Horde behind me,
Long hat flying in my moon-made shadow
And laughing in a voice unhinged.
Clinging spiderlike to a tree full of crows
Scant moments before in a deciduous web,
Now hurtling away with a mouthful of leaves
Fear just a cape snapping on my back,
Flushed and full of midnight excitement.


Posted: December 4, 1990 in Poetry
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I bet I could find you, Laura,
in the highest branches of a happy tree,
dangling your feet from the lofty limbs
as if they were dipped in a silver stream.

I bet I could find you, Laura,
in the whipped cream meringue of a ticklish tide,
splashing about with a silly grin,
the sea reflecting the stars in your eyes.