Crossroads
Jukebox, there, you open
with a church key. Press
that freebie button. Play
as many songs as you like.
Bass presses you into dirt,
pounds your chest. Little
sprigs of grass vibrating
near your nose, you're prone
as a platypus: hat's bill
flapping up and down:
set your cap. Sun beats
on you: beat down like rain
no more. Record changes
on the platter: "Violence
of the sun" and the rest: no
more "crimson shell." Nod.
Here
Now,
books I'm reading
and my dreams
are what
I have to remain
without you.
Holmgren
He was dating my gal's
roommate for awhile,
so we were all blessed
by Eric's unique frenzy,
riffs on just about any
thing Tidewater-based,
rapped up in humidity,
and that bright green
hell of omnipresent July.
One day he was telling
me he and his pals got
into a little Plymouth
and drove the wrong
way down the Colonial
Parkway, uncaringly,
as though that day'd be
come Destruction Derby
day at the dirt track.
The roommate and Eric
fell out over her ecstasy
for him and for Beirut,
both being burnt inside
out by manic souls. "Evil's
destroying my beauties,"
she sobbed. He just stared.
Later Eric gave me his
copy of A Feast of Snakes.
He thought it the funniest
novel he'd ever read.
Craver
After some party of suffocating
convo, drunk or something,
found myself in your parking lot.
Yo, as night manager
at that Quarterpath Inn, y'all set me
up with a room that night
when I was beat. Now I'm reading
The Mountain in the Sea and thought
of you —been over twenty
years since I last spoke to you—
reminiscing about things…
I live a few miles
from where writers we loved
lived —I still can't imagine
you gone as well.
Remember you in Vienna
rescuing Dan and me
when we were trying to hoist
that I-beam into a crawlspace?
Don't know what we were thinking.
You just chuckled.
Today I don't know why
I'm worried about all
this stuff, this goings on—
the bona fides rehearsed—
the pervasive environment
around and within us
summed up as widespread.
Folks avoid needy people
who impinge on folks,
but not you, confidant of opposites,
confident of well being—
still can't recall whether you
ever called your bike a hog.
Stir
While stars begin
to glimmer, pilgrims
break stone in the yard.
When they faint,
the bulls' horns poke
them to wake.
To help each other
to sleep at night,
pilgrims share dreams.
Last Night
I dreamt I'd lost
my textbook which was
a library
book that since I was
using it
in the library I had
essentially lost it
in the library.
So I frantically
searched
all the library tables
where some of my
class
were still seated,
but I don't know
where my tutor
had gone,
and I'm sure s/he'd have
helped me
look for the book
(if around)
but didn't —therefore I
searched
all alone like a nut,
and when I awoke
my right
eyelid was swollen
almost shut
like a spider bit me
or something else
dreamt I was in class
with Kim Jung Un,
but I was older than
him and was some kind
of a teaching
assistant or something.
And I grabbed Kim
by the shoulders
(which even in the
dream I knew
was a dumb thing
to do) and yelled,
"Stop!" in his face,
then I looked
around the room,
gestured as though
my forthcoming pronoun-
cement would encompass
him and all his Korean
classmates, and said,
"The world has changed—
you can be anything you
want to be in life just as I,
just like me when I
was growing up." Snapped
awake, thought, wow, my
dream just revived me:
I dreamt I'd lost my
belief in the American
Dream— such a dope!
Nightfall
Lowing in the backyard:
cows have come again to visit
Ma and Pa deep in the wilds
of Lake Buenavista where farm
and crepe myrtle meet purple martin
birdhouses erected to fight mosquitos,
St Augustine grass so coarse
it slices your foot pads and hides
sand spurs, fire ants, and rattlers.
Even Aunt's place on the golf course
has its dangers: once Hurricane
Charlie almost crashed her chimney.
She died before repairs were made:
her jewelry abandoned at St Paul's.
Pilgrim
Pilgrim,
left, right, left,
next cellblock,
eyes ahead,
side glances,
back straight,
no schlumps,
bulls over
watch these
only survivors,
rise to that
occasional law,
unleashed,
pilgrim.
We Have Done
We did what you made us do.
Now we lie in darkness beneath
the winter sun: crisp air
absent from cheeks, rocks piled
above: hymns forgot.
Retreat troubled us more than gore.
We endure what your god decreed:
one might say we threw our
lives away: hope gone, empty.
As men we enjoyed food and love.
Your shame won't be buried with us.
DH Lawrence at Kiowa Ranch
Dorothy will
prepare the trout
that Tony snagged.
Save the heads for stock.
Mabel wants to use fennel
instead of celery
in the stock, Dear.
Frieda argues that trout
isn’t a fine enough fish
for stock, not white.
Georgia says one reduces
stock more in New York,
Oyster House, remember?
If you must do charades
this evening,
mop your brow
with fennel, Dear.
Georgia is outside
under your tree.
Why? What’s she doing?
Praying, or...
No one’s asked you
what you think
of Pablo or Paul,
and that’s a pity.
One can’t believe,
looking at your
paintings, you know
anything about art.
Gargano can’t be better
with tomato than Santa
Fe, you know.
Before la dolce vita there
was la dolce
Kiowa Ranch, eh?
Gin gives you gas,
rum, constipation,
and whisky has you
on your knees.
But soon must you abandon
your new home for Europe,
September, this year.
Brett, Mabel, and Frieda
vie for your attention.
You’d rather bake bread.
The rosy cast of the bread’s
crust
reminds you of stucco,
so you muse.
All hot and bothered
then abrupt.
Not a recipe for love,
much less
staring at that sun
through lead glass windows
really does nothing for you.
You must believe
in your writing
though critics may
shit on it.
Sit. Write.
Your poems are presents
without irony,
with pasts. Write,
then have lunch.
Morning hurts so
that Frieda
can’t bear being near
you or your moaning.
Go, punctuate your
spiritual dearth by dancing
on your car’s roof. Start it!
How strange to be putting,
sputtering in a Ford
when you could hike it.
If you could breathe
well, that is.
Yet the air here
draws you up, fills
your heart.
Here, this wind
is your spirit,
sugar that rises,
oxygen to limbs.
Your soul, your deep,
inner sweetness springs
even to your fingertips,
nails.
Park at the lookout
outside the ruins:
remember, fill your canteen.
Clean your pockets
before the trailhead
then listen to coyotes cry.
Sandstone runs close
to the road
and steel nets hold
back the mountain.
It slides.
Darker veins could be
igneous. The hills ride
over a caldera.
Above the canyon,
you follow paths
littered with bones
then pause inside.
One cannot long look
into the sun
or black dots your view.
You know this.
Yet you stare at the sunset
as though it were
your papa gone to ground.
The sunset rays your vista
with red as one white
thunderhead passes.
The cloud pierces the dark
blue sky with lightning
and shimmers sheets of rain.
After it rains, spider
webs glisten
upon the fallen pine needles.
Ladders crosshatch adobe
walls and frame tufts
of cotton that blow past.
No longer will macaws
brighten their rooms
nor will corn fill
their great houses.
Don’t slip off the cliff tonight.
Dorothy will
not look for you, again.
Marat To His Audience
For my skin, a bath was not
a luxury but a kindness
and a necessity, drawn by you,
my lovers who had motives
other than my healthy flesh.
The lukewarm water chilled so soon.
My blood, spilt by you,
congealed.
The Marquis sewed
me tight to my shroud,
and my shroud to thee.
Mercredi
No slave whispers in a Cæsar's
ear any longer: "You are mortal."
Once, I admitted a homeless woman
to our Grand Opening Party
because she said, "I know your owner."
Then I was reprimanded as
gullible: but which is worse:
believe in a tramp?
Believe yourself to be a god?
Spotting
My mother and I used to look
for coins on the ground when we
walked to the grocery store.
"This is what Bet Steece and I did,"
she said. "So we could afford
some cigarettes."
No Sparks
When I die,
don't picture me
popping into sparks.
I have no essence.
Ghosts
Spawn of cares
defeated,
ghosts chirr to us.
Ghosts like cumulus
draw to bedsteads.
Dead fathers spin
like dust devils
around crosses
in dens and loos.
If a candle's lit, they
hover, purr.
Your Father's Dead
1
“We no longer consider a person
to be property
as in the past when slavery was
our custom.”
I've reported our troubles to you
and my crinkly voice
grinds from only this throat only one
larynx
like a box organ wound tight
like chattering in our park
my reports flitter from these park benches
waver through the air on these black
wires to you
when will you answer this
now that your father's dead
and your father's dead
Put your teeth in baby, I’m gonna give
you somethin’
To chew on baby, I’m gonna give
you somethin’ tasty
2
“The US Supreme Court has extended
the rights of personhood
to corporations where certain necessities
of speech occur.”
grief not all it’s cracked up to be
my balls ache
probably the universe chugging
me and dipping my big toe
into a black hole
but I digress
father in heaven have I sinned against thee
father in heaven forgive me
I need your help to hand me to lower hell
father in heaven forgive me
forgetting your face shines in mine
my nose larger than a frankfurter
my hands twisting my middle
finger poking my stomach stretching
my knees bowing
father passed but not past
still living in me rosy spots
brown stains on my ankles
crusts on my lips
eyes running
vision narrowing
watching your flat screen
watching your Red Sox
remembering your girlfriend
remembering your vases
made from Quaker Oats’ cartons
your pencil holders made from ‘der ders’
borderless heaven spread across the sky
home to flies and gnats and gods
tightening the belt
watching the budget
how did you get to Jerusalem
in one night?
staph A in the lungs in the blood
the machine dripping opiate
dialed up and up
your oxygen pulsed up and up
I held your hand
I prayed to God
I knelt against your bed
your eyes above the plastic mask
stirred somewhat
Naomi prayed beside you
ein sof absorbs us all
now and always
before and after
rocks dirt and worms
moon
sun
sparks
grease guts
stars
sludge land
dough crawfish bass
and crabs
through and through
the bells ring to wake us
the bells ring to send us
love our fleshless songs
shades sing beats ring
from sass
and glances
love us deep in the bucket
of our sorrow
if ever thou thy dear father loved
the love of tenors
old songs tomatoes in Aunt Cora’s patch
clowns drawn on envelopes
you were a giant on the earth
trudging out to be a messenger
wading out into the Indian River
to hook trout redfish and blues
singing loudly
singing loudly
purging yourself of any greed
yet critical
critical and angry
unwilling to surrender
'widow and orphan and tramp
protect them
protect them'
then rest rest
Put your teeth in baby, I’m gonna
give you somethin’
To chew on baby, I’m gonna
give you somethin’ tasty
3
“Therefore, corporations being
persons should not be
considered property rightfully held
by stock holders.”
I had to come back again to look at him
I missed so much
his nose had shifted aside as though
the mortician
decided this early in his death
his nostrils should focus right not straight
ahead
I counted his fingers
how thin they had become
how sallow the skin over his hands
except the bruises on top where
phlebotomists had searched
for one good vein and imposed their
own stigmata
I saw his face as if for the first time
his round globelike forehead gleamed
and some rough hairs ran back combed to lie
closer to his scalp
your eyes are closed
Put your teeth in baby,
I’m gonna
give you somethin’
To chew on baby,
I’m gonna
give you somethin’ tasty
When We Look
When we look
at photos in clippings
or family pics,
what we seek
has gone,
yet seems preserved:
tomorrow, we'll
watch
mist
rising above
our mountain's peak.
Once
Seas swayed
against keels filled
with ballast stone
that now mark
walks in Wellesley.
Stoned
In Peter's living room,
Cathy, Ken, Dan, and I were
laughing: an uproar.
Peter was chatting
up Levertov on the phone,
so he came into the room,
waved his arms, 'shut up,'
frantic: he had this thing
about appearances though he
considered himself an outlaw.
We tried to silence the weed,
but I can't say we succeeded.
I was bartending: nothing
as stressful as academe.
School Bus
for Mike George
— I had run into a guy down
in Oceanside and he lived in a bus.
At that time, Oceanside was okay
with folks living on the beach in
whatever they had. This guy's name
was Carol. He looked like a
Marine.
— I sort of interviewed him.
— Carol was a surfer. He complained
about his daughter who wanted to
live in a condo. He drove down to
Baja in the winter and lived in San
Diego in the summer. His school bus
was a standard one with a porch on
the back that somebody had built.
— He and his wife were sitting there.
— For example, 'Did you live on this
bus, was that your home?'
— 'Yeah.'
— He'd quit his job in corporate
America.
— I thought it could be the
answer. Mike was having trouble in
second grade and I thought it would
be good to keep the kids out of
school. We went to a weekend
afternoon on the beach and a lot of
people there lived in buses. It
was a Sunday. I talked to them and
thought I could do that. Get Mike
out of school and live on a bus.
— That was 1977.
— Anaheim County had open schools
with no grades for kids under
twelve, but they lost their
funding. All my four kids were in
the open schools program. We
decided to take the kids out of the
education system and travel. We got
a range from a friend's mother who
was renovating her kitchen. This
was in Brea.
— Jim was a neighbor.
— We played chess together. We'd get
a six pack of beer and play chess.
His father worked for Flour, a
think tank, and he died of
insanity. That's not right. He
was crazy. He retired. Then he
died. He was really smart, but he
died anyway.
— We had to hang around
southern California. I had to
borrow Jim's car. He worked at a
lumber yard as a night watchman. I
got free plywood from there. Jim's
transmission went out and it only
worked in reverse. I drove it in
reverse about ten miles in the
daytime. I would get in the turn
lane and look backward. I was
going in the slow lane. I didn't
get stopped by the cops so that was
kind of funny. People didn't know
what the fuck I was doing. I
didn't know what I'd say if
somebody asked me.
— Jim was working
at a liquor store, too. He
supplied me with boxes of wine. He
helped me put the headliner in the
bus. We drank wine and put the
lining in the bus.
— We got stuck
near the Salton Sea. We threw
sagebrush under the wheels and got
out. We went to Tucson. We'd been
there before. We knew what to
expect. It was November.
That time was invigorating! There was a
half inch of snow on the ground.
We parked in a lot there on Grant
and First. We didn't want to pay.
Some guy ran over my daughter's
foot but didn't hurt her,
but she came back to the bus
and she was crying and the guy came
behind her and apologized. No
harm, really. Near a bar, we met
Jack who was living on a bus. He'd
left a note on our bus: 'We live
on a bus, too,' and he was a local
so we got in touch with him. His
girl's name was Mary.
— It was so
great to hook up with somebody else
who was living on a bus.
— He showed
us some of the things you could do
with a bus. We met people near
the 300 block of West Congress Street.
Jesse who was a hobo got stuff
from a chicken packer by bartering our
produce. Then he traded
the chicken to a meat packer for beef.
We were able to procure all our
groceries by going to the warehouse
and trading their scraps to others
for beef.
— We'd also sell our blood
at the blood bank.
Cant
Preachers
still eat,
so worry not:
vestments
adorn
lives subdued
by jingles.
Horns
Curse the ones
cloaked in white
stoles stained
by ramps
and fiddleheads'
curly horns.
How Long O Lord
Look in the sky!
Hurry!
Look in the sky!
How many more months
Till we're back to a future
With all-in-all being
((not thug) no gangs)
ordinary shlubs but :
Can't home. Can't job.
Can't NO. Can't signify.
Can't saunter. Can't YES.
Can't jive. Can't scarf.
Can't wait. Can't coffee.
Can't run.
Everything, broke:
"Daddy, Daddy,
they're comin'
to get you,
and I can't
stop them!"
Tasha
Web node constellation cluster still lines and points
PRECAUTIONARY/PREPAREDNESS ACTIONS.
Melisa: u remember the hooker who used to walk the streets downtown, Tasha I think her name was?
Like Follow Post August 16 at 7:56pm via mobile
8 people like this
Giant rooster attacked me and I kicked it
Donni: yeah i seen her a couple of times hustling down us1 by the save a lot, unfortunately she died in sharpes she had aides!
August 16 at 7:58pm Like
Life will kill you
Carla: My Son and I would see her at the Southern Bell Telephone Building on the South bound side of US 1 Hwy and South Street. Rain OR Shine......
August 16 at 8:45pm Like 2
MAKE AN EXTRA EFFORT TO FULLY EXTINGUISH CAMPFIRES
Red flag warning flag or your lifeguard flag
Melisa: That's sad to hear, prolly got it when we still had no idea what it was.
August 16 at 8:47pm via mobile Like
You don't have to pay for it
Michael: I talked to her once. She was a very disturbed and lost soul.
August 16 at 8:52pm via mobile Like
There's a Benz out on the sidewalk
Allison: She was a very lost soul . I dont want to go into alot of detail but I can tell you she had a good heart and saved my life one horrible night. She could have run but she didnt. I will always be grateful.
August 16 at 10:09pm Like 1
As soon as you have something to live for they take it
Steve: She tried to hit me with a bar stool one night in the bar that was in Big Apple Plaza.
August 16 at 10:20pm Like 1
A towel has to be wet to quickly pick up a spill
Gary: Geez...I missed that. Grew older too soon!
August 16 at 10:46pm Like
Fog fuzz spray mist gas rain as it falls
Samantha: Ha. I think everyone in titusville has heard a story or two about tasha. lol.
August 16 at 11:37pm Like 1
One time my dad was fishing in Mosquito Lagoon and he saw a UFO but he didn't tell me until forty years later
Sabrina: I remember Tasha....what a sad life
November 20 at 10:30pm via mobile Like
Sometimes a stranger is an angel in disguise
Allison: But for the grace of God... Couldve been me. And the correct spelling... AIDS... God rest her soul.
November 21 at 11:00am via mobile Like
Repetition like ambient music boop boop boop
Aaron: Ah, Tasha. I bet most long time residents remember her first name. Her last name, now that's another story. Melisa, I wish I had your last name. lol
November 21 at 9:01pm Like 1
REPORT ANY NEW WILDFIRES WHICH YOU MIGHT SEE. FIREFIGHTING AGENCIES SHOULD BE READY FOR SEVERAL BUSY DAYS OF INITIAL ATTACK.
James: Avoid hookers at all costs...unless you're in Thailand.
November 22 at 7:23am Like
Giant transparent immersion tank shielded by vertical blinds by curtains too behind the altar at Park Av Baptist
Richard: if your in thailand 9 out of 10 of them have aids you really wanna stay away from them thats what they told us when i was in the navy
November 22 at 7:28am Like
Phlox in the median on the way to Mister Donut
James: Not when I was there :)
November 22 at 7:59am Like
You don't have snare drums on AY Y'N AMA DJ DAY remix
Richard: i was there 1991
November 22 at 8:03am Like
This cup of matcha this box of baseball cards
James: ?1973-74
November 22 at 8:03am Like
Richard: i bet it was way better back then lol
November 22 at 8:04am Like
Nudist magazines under John McIntosh's bed
Richard: i was a BT i didn't see much liberty ha ha ha
November 22 at 8:05am Like
PEOPLE WHO WILL BE OUTDOORS FROM THIS AFTERNOON THROUGH TONIGHT SHOULD BE AWARE OF THE LIGHTNING THREAT AND THE ENHANCED THREAT OF WILDFIRES.
James: I was in the mountains near the Cambodian border. Spook site.
November 22 at 8:06am Like
Richard: I Was On the coast at the beach
November 22 at 8:07am Like
UNLIKE EASTERN BREVARD'S TYPICAL LIGHTNING PATTERN IN WHICH LIGHTNING IS FOLLOWED BY COOL MARINE AIR...THIS LIGHTNING PATTERN WILL BE FOLLOWED INSTEAD BY HOT...DRY AND INCREASINGLY UNSTABLE WEATHER ON SUNDAY.
James: Probably the Sattahip area. I frequented Korat and Bangkok.
November 22 at 8:08am Like
Richard: i went to bangkok i know the name of the beach just can't spell it ? lol
November 22 at 8:09am Like
Fucked by her fellow seamen
Richard: Pattaya Beach Thailand
November 22 at 8:10am Like
James: Yep. Sattahip was the Army area, Pattya was more USAF and apparently Navy. All down south.
November 22 at 8:12am Like
MONDAY AND TUESDAY. THIS WILL MAKE HOLDOVER AND SLEEPER FIRES A GREAT CONCERN IN THE DAYS TO COME.
Richard: thanks for your service
November 22 at 8:13am Like 2
James: Right back at you :)
November 22 at 8:14am Like 2
ONE THING THAT MAKES THIS ROUND OF LIGHTNING SO CRITICAL IS THAT IT WILL BE FOLLOWED UP ON SUNDAY AND MONDAY BY A BUILDING AND PROLONGED HEAT WAVE.
Kathryn: OMG! Tasha, she was always "advertizing" at 400pm wearing mostly short red skirts, stillettos and always carried an umbrella. Felt sorry for that little gal!
4 hours ago via mobile Like
Cat that swaggers past my open window at 4am
Eric: I think she was arrested and the rumor got out she had AIDS don't know if it was true but she was arrested and alot of peaple where worried about her condition. That was the mid to late 1980s
8 minutes ago Like
PLEASE RELAY THIS MESSAGE TO FIRE AND ENGINE CREWS IN THE FIELD.
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