Have you gone to the moon?
Are you floating on a white fluffy carpet
somewhere above Erie Avenue?
That’s where you danced to the music
of your breathing, smiled a gypsy smile
only you could smile. Damn I miss you
little girl in a big girl world
laughing with each cloud sweeping pass your rooftop.
How can I now dance or think of nightclubs
where you laughed and played the fools
to buy you another stiff one?
The boys always wanted to share theirs
making you laugh still louder
you baby girl in a big girl’s world.
Mortgage lovers take my home
repossess it all amigos
smile that groovy thing you do.
go ahead and grease me
I’ve been bending since Vietnam
Banker my friend
take my car
you’ve already hit a jackpot
Walmart I’ve bought more food than needed,
take my card.
Electricity boys and girls
fuck me some more
I’ve nothing left to do.
Chase, Capital I’ve cut my cards,
turned them into guitar picks,
works nice Benito.
Seems to me
are way too hungry.
Keep it in your pants Josef
Four in the morning
birds are still sleep dead
the river still moves like silk
lamenting the cry
of eternal matched
first vein of light
reveals the nudity
of our village
I live here
sadly you too.
Six and I’ve decided
my oven hangs
its mouth with enticement.
I prefer to write in catacomb silence
under an inky night sky
hearing only batwing whispers,
puppy dog tales of yesteryear.
I long to see your ethereal nudity,
transparent lace across your face
it is you of course I long for
oh sweet lady of sin and coveting.
We spoke of god so many times
I fell weakened to my knees
only to realize that god is me
praying to the coverlets of existence.
Humanism is not given like a birthday gift.
It is there or it is not. Thirty-seven million nots
crawl this teeming land of ours, straight laced MGM lovers.
They love the black and white of existence. Gray is dead.
Humanists are hated by cowboys. Zane Grey created humanist
bartenders with a shotgun under the bar just in case one of the nots
gets rowdy, blows a gasket and shoots a lousy card dealer.
It was the right thing to do after all, evangelically of course.
Is there another right? “Mortician man, come measure me a coffin.”
Acne covered moon
would a clean night
clear your face
or are the scars
like scars of rape
if you see the pebbles
in my soul?