defatigable

i used to be somebody
or at least anybody
or maybe not nobody but
so high up on alveraz's list
that i was actually visible
on his profile page
christian listed me as his
number four friend
but i quit
cancelled
threw in the towel
then came back
bottom rung
cheek in tongue
lost many friends
and friendlies

i called you goddess
and you and you and you
and you were offended
and you were flattered
and you were sure
i was mistaken
and you just didn't care
one way or another
and all i meant
was that each you were
worthy of admiration
for your talent
and style
intelligence
outlook
and any number of
other special qualities
or combinations of

i don't hear much from
you anymore
and nothing at all from
you and you don't
return my messages
and you worst of all
are completely indifferent
but you are all still
goddesses

i don't write much anymore
i don't feel the muse
i don't like what i write
or what i have to say
which is really nothing at all
and none of that is anything new
i don't read much anymore
and comment even less
and expect to hear nothing
or precious little
very precious but
very little and
i'm fast becoming
what's worst of all
too

4:05 AM - 6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

well, I thought it was funny . . .

MR. RYBER​G'S SURVE​Y FOR ALL POETS​.​

1) What are you curre​ntly readi​ng?​ Anyth​ing you' d espec​ially​ recom​mend?​

I'm curre​ntly readi​ng sever​al books​:​ 1) Devel​opmen​t in Dairy​ Cow Breed​ing and Management​:​ New Oppor​tunit​ies to Widen​ the Uses of Straw​ (​Nuffi​eld Farmi​ng Schol​arshi​p Trust​)​;​ 2) Lesbi​an Sadom​asoch​ism Safet​y Manua​l (​Lace Publi​catio​ns)​;​ 3) Proce​eding​s of the Secon​d Inter​natio​nal Works​hop on Nude Mice (​Unive​rsity​ of Tokyo​ Press​)​;​ 4) Mein Kampf​ (​can't​ remem​ber the autho​r for certa​in,​ but I think​ it was Rabbi​ Avsha​lom Ephra​in Finke​lstei​n)​;​ and 5) Where​'s Waldo​ (​Marti​n Handf​ord)​.​

I'd espec​ially​ recom​mend numbe​r 5. That Waldo​ is a SCAMP​!​ (Or I guess​ you could​ try anyth​ing by John P. McAfe​e or Roddy​ Doyle​.​)

2) Who/​what made you want to write​?​

Besid​es Waldo​?​ Hmm. James​ Thurb​er comes​ to mind as an early​ fave.​ And, yes, Salin​ger's​ Catch​er in the Rye rocke​d my world​ way back when.​

3) What are you tryin​g to achie​ve (if anyth​ing)​ with your art? What great​ "​thing​"​ do you have to say?

Achie​ve = Incre​dible​ wealt​h.​ Say = Never​ use pumpe​rnick​el when makin​g a grape​ jelly​ and chees​e sandw​ich.​ That'​s just gross​.​

4) Who are your (​curre​nt)​ top 10 livin​g poets​?​

In no parti​cular​ order​:​ Brave​ Revol​ver,​ Elly,​ Prett​y Words​,​ Alver​az Ricar​dez,​ Seamu​s Heane​y,​ Ian Astbury,​ Nipse​y Russe​ll,​ Snap,​ Krack​le,​ and Pop.

5) Top 10 dead poets​?​

Again​,​ in no parti​cular​ order​:​ Walt Whitm​an,​ Carl Sandb​urg,​ e. e. cummi​ngs,​ Randa​ll Jarre​ll,​ John Lennon,​ Edgar​ Allan​ Poe, Dylan​ Thoma​s,​ Pablo​ Nerud​a,​ W. B. Yeats​,​ Willi​am Carlo​s Willi​ams.​

6) Why shoul​d someo​ne care about​ poetr​y?​ About​ your poetr​y?​

Becau​se it is a way of learn​ing about​ the past and the prese​nt as witne​ssed/​exper​ience​d by peopl​e we artis​tic types​ aspir​e to emula​te.​ It isn't​ the histo​rian'​s dry docum​entat​ion of dates​ and place​s,​ or the polit​ical propa​ganda​ of gover​nment​s,​ or the diabo​lic dogma​ of relig​ions (OK, enoug​h allit​erati​on alrea​dy-​-​oops!​)​.​ It is the shedd​ing of ink from the veins​ of peopl​e who dare to think​ for thems​elves​ and then speak​ their​ minds​,​ conse​quenc​es be damne​d.​

You proba​bly shoul​dn't care about​ my "poet​ry",​ and judgi​ng by the sheer​ deart​h of reade​rs and/​or comme​nts,​ you damn well don't​.​

7) To what exten​t does knowl​edge about​ the write​r'​s life enlig​hten reade​rs/​liste​ners about​ their​ work?​ How impor​tant is the "I" in your poetr​y?​

It isn't​ at all neces​sary to know anyth​ing about​ the life of a write​r;​ it is the work that matte​rs.​ And we all know it is never​ good to assum​e that the subje​ct or speak​er of a poem is the write​r him/​herse​lf.​ But, in some insta​nces,​ knowi​ng where​ they are "comi​ng from"​ can shed light​ on motiv​es,​ motiv​ation​s,​ that type of thing​.​

The "I" in my poetr​y is espec​ially​ impor​tant when using​ a phras​e like:​ In Icela​ndic igloo​s,​ idiot​s inch idly into ignom​iniou​s insom​nia.​

8) Does poetr​y have any more busin​ess meddl​ing in polit​ics than relig​ion,​ and if so, can you name 5 polit​ical poems​?​

While​ I can't​ name 5 polit​ical poems​ off the top of my head,​ I belie​ve poetr​y has much more busin​ess meddl​ing in polit​ics than does Jorge​ Crotc​hhair​ and his ilk. Relig​ion tends​ to muddl​e rathe​r than meddl​e whate​ver it gets into.​

9) Revis​e or "​first​ thoug​ht-​best thoug​ht?​"​

Defin​itely​ first​ thoug​ht-​best thoug​ht.​ No, maybe​ it shoul​d be best thoug​ht-​first​ thoug​ht.​ Or thoug​ht first​-​thoug​ht best.​ Or . . . . Tell you what,​ lemme​ work on it awhil​e and I'll get back to you.

10) What is your favor​ite meal?​ Close​ secon​d?​

Unsal​ted slugs​ in a phleg​m becha​mel with a side of roadk​ill surpr​ise.​ A bowl of scrap​ple.​

8:09 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

bang bang

shotgun
murder in america
handgun
nothing more to say
big fun
who am i to criticize
can't run
with you standing in the way
big bang
bang bang
bang-a-lang
doo-wah

drive-by
ricochet
martyrize
kid sent out to play
land mine
makes it hard to socialize
don't mind
got nothing else to say
gang bang
bang-a-lang
shoobie-doobie
mayday

uzi
schmoozy
you move-y you lose-y
guns don't kill
people
bullets is the bad
guy
guns don't judge
guns don't budge
put sludge in your fudge
guns don't lie
bang bang
bang-a-lang
shoot-y shoot-y
tutti-frutti

shot gun
murdering america

5:14 AM - 6 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

the albatross of reason

people say i look much
younger than i am but
i feel so much older
than that while my
mind can't seem to
grow up at all but
there was a time as
recent as recently
when i thought i wanted
to go back and do it
all over again and
relive every second that's
been dealt to me so far
with the stipulation of
knowing then what i
know now so that i
wouldn't end up here
and as i am
even though doing so
would bring back every
miserable circumstance
fate twisted my way and
i still wouldn't be able
to choose my parents
and would still have
mom and the catholicism
she chose knowing
it meant being ostracized
from her southern baptist
family who then never
knew her nine kids
or they them
and who worked between
birthings to pay tuition
for catholic school
so that we could learn
respect for nuns and
priests who occasionally
ran off together and left
the church to get married
and had a child that
died of sudden infant
death syndrome because
god got even with them
and that there were no
such things as dinosaurs
because the bible didn't
mention them and that
skeletons of the fictional
beasts were just a bunch
of old bones dug up by
scientists who only found
a few and made the rest
out of plaster of paris and
made them look like
whatever they wanted
them to look like
and that the grand canyon
was created just as it is
today and didn't require
millions of years to be
formed when the world
is only five thousand years
old to begin with and that
god put fossils and whatnot
in the canyon walls because
he wanted to and that that
was reason enough and only
christians get into heaven
and the only real christians
are catholics and that
you don't ask how
we all came from adam
and eve without there
being (incest) or speak
of certain parts of your
body that you should
be ashamed of and
that (sex) is strictly
for procreation and
should cease immediately
upon (menopause) much
to the chagrin of
dad who married her
to get laid and told me
she said on their wedding
night that she knew he was
going to put it in but that
she didn't know he was
going to move it up and down
and how can an adult be so
uninformed but they both
were and he chose
the marines over
what little family he had
been abandoned by and
landed on guadalcanal
at seventeen years naive
to get shot and malaria
and always remember
and never forget and
wonder why the hell
anyone would drive a
car made in japan
regardless of mpg
when he bled and shed
blood in vengeance
over treachery prior
to having six sons
(and three girls)
who were never as
dear to him as the
corps that refused to
let him re-enlist due
to his having had
malaria on an island
they sent him to in the
first place and he
could not remember
late in his life to take
his pills but could still
spout off thirteen
digits of a marine's
serial number without
a second's hesitation
and never believed
his duty to his
family extended
beyond providing
food and shelter and
clothing and discipline
by the belt when he
got home from his
second full-time job
and always scared the
hell out of me and
never once said he loved
anything or anyone
including those men
he'd fought beside
because it wasn't manly
but i knew he did love
them dearly and i'm
not sure when i
stepped over the line
and started to think
that i wouldn't go back
after all because i'd
still end up the same
in many ways and be
like the picture from kc
where tj seems to have
a bubble around him
while couples and groups
are formed everywhere else
but he's got this space he
stands alone in that no one
fills and that he's not sure
he even wants filled because
it would make him and me
self-conscious and insecure
and we both are too
socially retarded anyway
and too brutally honest
and too frank and too
open and too stupid to
realize that all of those
things make me seem
creepy especially to
those i admire most
because i open my
mouth and self up
to them more than others
who just think i'm an
asshole who thinks he's
too good to talk when
the truth is i really don't
know what to say or even
what subject to broach
and the ones i do open
up to wonder why i'm so
weird and i wonder the
same thing even though
i think i already know
i think.

8:34 PM - 6 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

. . . or not

sorry i could be there only
when you needed me most

the purpose of a poet is
to present reality truthfully

peace is not possible as
long as alternatives exist

if not for the pain it causes
life would not be worth living

mediocrity is the sum
of all existence

rape takes nothing
so much as trust

the brutality of evolution
has made animals of us all

a minority rules
with majority tools

religion encourages
our own extinction

the word of god came
from the mouths of men

the soldier is not to be
blamed for the war

women can be more
like men than men are

men can never be
as much as women

some words are worth
a thousand pictures

it takes a village
to foster genocide

what you do when alone means little
compared to what you do when not

wisdom is knowing
how little you know

walking a mile in another's shoes
leaves them to walk barefoot

apathy comes from
caring too much

darkness defines light
much more so than vice versa

abnormality is a blessing
only if normalcy is a curse

6:05 AM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

bold rotation

earth moves
in bold rotation
shrugs off the past
with insouciance
three guys walked into a
desert and had a revelation
one met with a burning bush
whose voice was yahweh
another withstood temptation
in a battle of wills with satan
the third saw gabriel
who told him to speak for allah
and so were launched
a thousand wars
whether world or civil
crusades or revolutions
rebellions or revolts
uprisings or insurrections
conflicts or campaigns
movements or massacres
engagements or insurgencies
for whatever reason
or lack thereof
too young to remember
but in my life
a crisis of missiles
a bay of pigs
shots in dealy plaza
(who knows how many
and from where)
back when the world
was in black and white
colored toilets
water fountains
sit-ins, marches, lynchings
it all seems as foreign as
mesopotamia
assyria
babylonia
persia
macedonia
sparta
or rome
as alien as
vandals
huns
saxons
visigoths
franks
moors
vikings
mongols
and turks
do we blame
helen of troy
tokyo rose
hanoi jane
do we forget
nagasaki
in favor of hiroshima
do we lie
about my lai
avenge beirut
somalia
deny bhopal
abu ghraib
emulate cain
while cursing abel
i've vague recollections
of killing a king
bobby's train ride
the crippling of wallace
feats of clay
cassius's gold medal
worn with pride for days
then cast away for want
of a sandwich
earth moves
in bold rotation
shoulders a future
where man will continue
with appetite insatiable
to fight over crumbs
where still we will all want it all
where still we will all end with nothing
the gilt of our lives left
behind with our bones
under stones
while earth moves
in bold rotation
and leaves us only the present
here and now
to squander

6:56 AM - 10 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

mine eyes . . .

boy scout festival
local college gymnasium
"indian" "fight"
the main event.
i wove around legs
for a better view
up front and fascinated
as each held a knife
(a bowie, inauthentically)
wore paint
on their faces
lunged and thrust
in well-rehearsed
savagery and moccasins.
one fell on his back
in planned submission
the other straddled
his foe for the climax
blade raised
plunged down but
missed the mark
of the plywood
mat on which they
did battle and
penetrated flesh
instead.
both froze their
four eyes wide and
two inches of neck
pierced and purpled over
one inch of steel
buried in the wound not
three feet away.

nighttime detour
to see the intersection
just reopened and
the new hardware
store adjacent
(small-town thrills).
fire engine siren
forced us aside
in the backseat
station wagon
and followed us ahead
to our destination
where one crumpled
car lay upside
down and another
stood bleeding
gasoline and it
being summer
our windows were down
so i heard the lady
scream that there was a
baby underneath the
bleeding car just as
i made out what that
something down
there was.

elementary school bus
full of elementary
school kids with faces
fixed in horror staring
at the little boy who'd
arrived at the bus stop
late and tried to chase
down the departing vehicle
beating on the side until
he fell and the back wheel
ran over his head.

there was plenty of time
for tommy to turn left after
the grand prix passed
and before the motorcycle
got too close but
our car turning blocked the
view of the motorcycle for
the guy turning right
onto the main drag
at myrtle beach
and the motorcycle
had to swerve off the
road to avoid his car
and the girl on the back
somehow landed in the
narrow space between
the telephone pole and
the no parking sign and
was just coming to her
senses when we both saw
the half of a calf
that was still attached
to her leg and the crescent-
shaped empty where the
other half wasn't and then
i couldn't even finish my
twenty-fourth beer.

2:15 AM - 6 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

German Cockroach (circa 1995)

(reposted as the companion piece to indelible instincts)

Buddy and I are sitting in the breakroom,
a pack of Twinkies on the table in front of him,
a cup of bitter, vending-machine coffee facing me.
Katrina tromps in from the half-gallon press,
her fingers hooked around the handles of three milk jugs
she rattles in Buddy's face.
"Nein, nein. You fix, Buddy. Schlecht, Buddy. Bad."
Buddy nods, reaches for another Twinkie.
A little roach crawls from the pack as he crinkles back the cellophane.
He whaps at it with his palm, but it escapes,
scurries to the edge of the table and under.
Katrina screams, tugs at the front of her blouse furiously
with both hands. Jugs hit the floor as Buddy and I stare.
She regains her composure as quickly as she'd lost it.
"Bugs. They crawl from seams. At train station. Soldat—soldier—he see.
He know we come from camp. He take us back."
She picks the jugs from the floor,
shakes them again in Buddy's face. "You fix."
Katrina tramps out to the half-gallon press as the roach
goosesteps its way back across half a century
to nibble on Buddy's Twinkie.

2:50 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

indelible instincts

pigeon shit waxed down the factory
silo, a steel taper whose foul mounts
forced undue maintenance for men
who scraped, scoured, and re-painted ad
nauseam. the expense demanded a solution.
plastic owls were introduced,
and the pigeons never lit there again.
city birds who'd never even seen
an owl, much less been threatened by one,
whose ancestors for who knows how
long had never known such rural predators, yet
feared them enough to abandon their perch
forever. what power for one to hold over another.

Katrina labored inside, she of goose-stepping
cockroach infamy, the German Jew,
little girl in WWII, encamped,
left forearm number tattooed,
built like a bulldog with a mediocre
moustache and hands
that could crack a walnut.

Rosie worked alongside, not 3
feet away, 8 hours a day,
6 days a week. Her
lineage indeterminable by
most, eyes nearly as black
as her hair, long and straight
when un-netted, skin coffee
with cream, meek, tiny,
slouch shouldered,
spoke rarely to anyone
and to Katrina only
when an answer was
demanded of her
with a contemptuous sneer.

"JEEP-see" Katrina spat
when speech was deigned at all.
the two never even looked at each other
unless absolutely necessary.
Katrina, so pleasant to everyone else,
with a smile for all but
Rosie, as withdrawn as
Katrina was extroverted.

2:21 AM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

drinking and writ(h)ing

thoughts come
and go
flow and ebb in tide
tomorrow (he thought)
is a good day
to die
so i'll work on it
(i think)

my aura deserted me
my shadow had somewhere
else to be
left standing alone
to face the sun
that took umbrage
and my umbra

she rolls her eyes
dice in the game of
life's crap
the bullet
in the chamber
hammer drawn

"anyone want
a white cross?"
"me."
"one or two?"
"two."
chaste
with a beer.
"btw, what's a white cross?"

a better person
you than me
me because of you
or want to be
and don't want to be
trying
prying
crying
lying
whying
as i lay dying
and hear the flies buzz

the better man
she
when she wants to be

a blind man sees
no beauty
but loves everything
else about her
but it's not enough
to please

please me

please.

5:41 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment