Heartbreak Jive

Left arm jiving

motel swinging sign

fingers popcorn poppin’

feet sliding doors dancing

to a tune in my head.

Rhythm ruckus like mob love

sixth avenue never gave a hoot

about singing my heartache.

I Walk on Water

It’s a lovely day in my hometown

think I’ll take a walk across the Jordan

walk on water for awhile, heal a leper

and bend the rules of Jesus

for just an hour maybe two

I am God and no one knows it

the soil of it all wipes clean

my miseries and unclean fantasies.

Plunge my nakedness into the river

deep and pungent the smell of man

never leaves the swirling slicks

oil of our fathers and their fathers

Mother Mary stopped by in her Vera Wang

fresh off the hangers at Saks on Fifth

snug yet quite revealing

the cross of her father.

City lights burn yellow in darkness

the lights leave but not the yellow

LA my kind of town

pimps and whores and rock n roll

designer jeans for short fat men

like me and my uncle

he’s dead now

I’m next.

A Vinyl Night

You and I sat cold by the tent

you were stoned

I didn’t know

California nights

could be so bone cracking cold.

We watched campers

moving in and out like ants

on a drop of sweet

it was a vinyl gypsy night

as campfires curled snake smoke

against a carbon ink sky.

The beach was stark empty

you needed friendship

I offered only silence

silence and a beer

you wanted neither.

We smiled as laughter

rolled from nearby tents,

love laughter, bare skin giggles.

No stars shined in a bleak darkness

just a gnawing void never leaving.

God I feel it again today.

Forever is a Fish

I stare sometimes into a starry night and I swear I can see forever.  I can see broken children of the Holocaust, the Black slaves being tossed off slave ships into a watery death.  Sometimes I see my brother, eyeless, and destroyed by the insidious effects of diabetes.  My father visits me in the pitched night and wants to know how life is going after his death fifty years ago.  The mind works in strange ways.

What keeps an old depressed man going?  My wife of over twenty years, Debbie, has been my rock and I would take a bullet for her.  I would crawl through broken shards of glass for her as she would for me.  We are tied to the same rope, the same love we’ve had since our chance encounter.  For me, life is serendipitous.  I see no God reaching his finger down and stopping the slaughter of children, the rape of women, and the unspeakable collective Catholic molestation.  If ever there was a God he’s skipped town and is now living on an island paradise as a sea turtle.  Sea turtles are smart and non-aggressive.  The earth is my home and always will be until my body is purified by the crematorium fire.  My ashes will be blown in the wind whipping through Cape Hatteras for I am a fish and I must return from whence I came.

Voices from the Furnace

I packed my bags.

Doctor said you gotta go boy.

I left my love for you dear,

locked up my memories,

sang my last song,

and followed the needle.

My last drip, now a blur

trailed by midnight blue

the only suit I owned.

I am sand and stones, all gifts

from the crematorium.

His Memory

His Memory

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.

City Graves

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God.”  Luke 12:6

Somewhere in the big city slush

in snow covered alcoves

a sparrow lies crushed and trampled,

unseen, unknown by busy citizens of God’s green marble.

No obituary given.

No seven p.m. news report

on channel three with Cathy McGee

proclaiming “Local bird is murdered in Manhattan.”

Apathy, a state of no mind

in predominantly God look-a-likes,

an incurable addiction crushing

man’s soul like a vise.

The city streets keep humming

melodies of coming and going.

The sparrow’s friends mourn their brother’s frozen corpse

Disfigured and wedged to his concrete grave.

Twenty Bullets

Welcome to the hemisphere

twenty bullets will take your cell phone

black twisted licorice as far as the eye can see

triple K brothers and sisters sit where they want

fuck where they want, and shit where they want

God bless each and every one.

“If you aint white you aint right,” comes the thunderous

Alabamian crowd tramping on the holiest bridge in the world.

“Aint nothin’ a good AR Fifteen can’t fix in seconds flat.”

The K boys don’t care about an Alabama minute or a dead boy

only took twenty bullets to drop his cell phone.

 

Mortal Jesus

I declared “I will fight forever for you.”

She smiled, hanged her head, deep socket eyes

moistened until fall breezes stilled them.

Life is  bounteous and bursting

ripe with words from her god.

“I cannot cheat on my Husband.”

“He is not here, I said, “never will be.”

“Your faith is weak,” she declared.

“But I walked the Sea of Galilee and chose you.”

“I have not chosen thee, you are not the Son of God.

You are but Jesus, a man of no means and few words.

You will die in an auto wreck.  I see it in your hands.