Summer Day

Zamboni.SilouetteI

 

 

Summer Day

Remember we played at your dad’s funeral home

you hid in coffins scaring the shit out of me

laughing your deep belly laugh

my body trembled as each lid opened slowly.

Where are you now Bobby, new games for you to play?

Did Vietnam strike you down like so many friends?

I’d rather think not, feels better that way

Where’s your horse sister?  I laughed as she galloped

the sidewalks of our neighborhood, a stallion with two legs.

Memories so dear to me now, I relive them every now and then

I hope you do too.

 

Funeral Song

Zamboni.SilouetteI

 

Funeral Song

If you planted a tree for me

I would be happy

send you rain to make it grow

like trees should

with lonesome groans so quiet

not even earth could hear

such natural industry.

If you planted a garden

I would be so happy

I’d sing with thunder

and dance like lightening.

I’d visit with humming bird

silence and together with winged vibrato

we could sing the hungry masses.

If you had a baby I would sing

hosanna to a god of your choosing

give you a silver hammer to swing,

to praise the pope or Malcom X.

Let me be your silent servant,

your communist lover

Sieg Heil sweety and party on.

Welcome

Zamboni.SilouetteI

 

Bare baby slapped
twisted and gagged
born in violence
scabbing belly button
here you are
what’s next
momma’s tit
daddy’s gift to you
more violence
welcome to this world
don’t cry
don’t be hungry
don’t need
for god’s sake
don’t need.

Stoned

Zamboni.SilouetteI

 

Stoned

 

I wonder what I dreamt last night

did I sing a slurry song

full of love and dirty words,

sex on the rocks and losin’ my socks?

 

Did you paint my lips with yours

tequila love between our legs

burning fingers squeezing on a blunt

dreaming in a fog of purple haze?

 

I can’t remember my eyelids

dropping like curtains on a funeral bed

drop they did for now awake

I see what we both cared not to see.

 

The birthing of another day pitched

with crow eyed blackness

we forgot the ugliness of now,

our disentanglement of hope.

The Scrotum of Eternity

Zamboni.SilouetteI

The Scrotum of Eternity

I’ve heard the melody

the one about a rock of ages,

the one Jesus wrote for Mary

while she slept in a cheap hotel room

near the Ocean City boardwalk.

The words melted onto his notepad.

Their children lay sleeping in this lion’s lair

of a world, a world he didn’t know nor understand.

Son of God?  No, son of no one.

He was the bastard child of a myth.

Mary stirred in her sleep and Jesus stirred in places

myths are born.

Tomorrow he would search the dumpsters.

This king of kings starved while his fans ate escargot.

He and his family would travel the coast

nowhere near the Galilee.

Nowhere near the book of fiction

written by kings and scribes with bellies full of pizza.

His Memory

 

 

 

Zamboni.SilouetteI

The lantern cast shadows

like so many tentacles

reaching to each corner

in the dank dusty room.

An old woman stared sadly

a young man’s picture

framed and time yellowed

she once loved him fiercely.

Outside wind whispered life

through cracked windows

with eyes vacant

time robbed her of expression.

Secretly she kissed the picture

tucking it deep inside

her heart broken chest

and slowly began to die.