Tuesday, April 19, 2011

tab

my heart felt like drinkin' so i went to the bar
it was time to get stinkin' and soothe some new scars
my arms and my throat were ready to give 'er
i didn't care 'bout no two cents from my self absorbed liver
tonight....i'm runnin' a tab

i sidled on up to the smudgy brass railin'
parked my ass on a barstool, gave the barkeep a hailin'
i want a whiskey, a brewski, and a jack just for fun
i want a gin and a dark rum and i want more than one
tonight....i'm runnin' a tab

the evening wore on and clarity wore thin
i was feelin' so crowded as they kept filin' in
i guess all these folks have been chasing me down
i let 'em catch me and fetch me my next round
tonight....put it on my tab

well my mama showed up and my dad showed up
my sister showed up, a lot of bad showed up
what started out fine at a table for one
had become a banquet or some intervention
tonight....put it on my tab

my heart stopped drinkin' when i fell to the floor
it's clear i weren't thinkin' as i called for one more
my arms and my throat were passed out for the night
just another hangover then i'll be all right
tomorrow....i'll be payin' my tab


Tuesday, February 15, 2011

pigeon haiku

a strip of blue sky
and a pigeon's echoed wings
between tall buildings.          

never really alone

he chases the street
feet hovering perfect vertical circles.
mounted in the pounce position he bounces
rides bareback on the morning chill
a spearhead through the puffy posterior of his own breath.
in the undecided moments before dawn
the sky is frigid and jagged
the light half assed and hiding
still tucked in around some corner somewhere.
there's blue up there just behind the black
and there's white down here
spread out and piled for miles and miles.
bright eyed beasts
wide awake and growling
prowl far too aggressive for a hunting ground so cold
and so lacking in prey.
they approach
assess
grumble and pass by
riding into the dead end of the horizon's reflection.
time is balanced under his wheels
frozen in tears on his cheeks
rippling through sinew and throbbing through muscles.
spandex is armor enough
for a machine that pumps so hard
to keep itself alive and healthy
hot and happy with somewhere to arrive at.
wind whistles windy rhythms past his ears
as he pedals against everything.

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

winter animals and people

so many birds
all black
pointed at the face.
the squirrels
nervous freaks
jittery acrobats
collect and gather
and chase.
the people
fat and bundled
walk slow and erect
through streets of soup
where the vegetables float
and the nuts bob.

pub elk

they stuffed the life out of it
gave it a log to stand on
and a nice high perch above the stairs that sink down

                                                               down

                                                       down  

                                              down
                    
                                     down

                            down

                   down

          down

where the males and females of the species descend
to mark territory mate and regurgitate.
at least it's not a bodyless head on the wall.
it's a complete trophy
a prized possession protected now.
leave it alone it's perfect where it is.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

plaza santa ana

strategically plopped end to end,
steaming canine landmines spread like rampaging acne.
kids play in the remains of a bygone sandbox
making dirty little castles
from tin cans and booze bottles fallen through cracks
of weathered city centre park benches.
knee-high pointy metal fences rust around rain stained flakes
of dusty black enamel
and confine growth patches of lonesome trees
privy to it all.
i sit in their shadows
relaxed and inconspicuous
checking my soles for shrapnel.
a great big grandmother of a woman feeds a piece of bread
to a thousand gobbling pigeons that swallow her up
in a flapping feeding frenzy gulp.
blowing through the mass of happy children and shitty dogs,
moroccan masters of mind manipulating matter
roam like displaced desert wind
in search of a spot to set up shop and peddle their gritty goods
from pockets
socks
empty rucksacks and cigarette packs.
they know their customers-
the people with looks that look like they're looking for something
and know where to go to find it.
on benches
in the shadows of trees
in a park populated with a thousand pigeons
happy children
and sinking mounds of foot-printed  dog shit.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

shotgun

(spoken)mama once told me, now this is not verbatim, that she loved and married daddy because she knew he would never ever put her in a position where she had to choose between her man and her lord. it would be no contest. mama is a good judge of character because her and daddy have been happily married for forty two years. and if i ever find myself an ol' lady to marry, i hope she's just like my ol' man.

(sung)me and the wife in my mazda six 
from the rearview dangles a crucifix 
i feel so safe when i ride with the lord 
slide over baby there's a saviour on board 
this road is paved 
and this road is straight
put the pedal to the metal 
and crash through the pearly gates 
cruisin with jesus at my side 
yeah it's a beautiful ride 
cruisin with jesus at my side 
yeah it's a smooth smooth smooth ride

there's no need for wipers cause the sun will start
like the good ol' red sea i have parted my heart 
the headlights will stay in the off position 
to speak his name is a standard transmission 
this road is wide open 
like the arms of christ 
roll down your window 
cause the fresh air is nice
cruisin with jesus at my side 
yeah it's a beautiful ride
cruisin with jesus at my side 
yeah it's a smooth smooth smooth ride

the road behind me is paved with sin
with faith under my rubber i know i will win
if you call shotgun be sure you are true
and if you ask he'll take the backseat for you
climb aboard but don't pack no junk
if you don't believe me 
join the wife in my trunk
cruisin with jesus at my side
yeah it's a beautiful ride
cruisin with jesus at my side 
yeah it's a smooth smooth smooth ride 

Saturday, April 08, 2006

russ

i know what you did. i know what you did to get it done. i know where you did it after you'd done it. i know everything. you slipped into the meat cooler when no one was looking. you went to the farthest corner. sheltered from light and obstructed from view, you pulled a utility knife from your pocket, opened it a few clicks, and placed it on a box of beef shortloins. you grinned as it flashed a hallogen smile at your glistening eye. dribble dotted your vest. you hid your filthy fingerprints inside a pair of ratty workgloves. you took such preventative measures for a pathetic one wiener job. you grabbed the box and spun it by the corners between your palms. you thought about rotisserie chicken and pig roasts.you set down the box on its this side up side and retrieved the knife. in your best mad doctor voice you whispered 'scalpel'. you slopped your lips and prepared for the incision. you smeared your finger across the strip of tape that kept the bottom of the box intact. the knife descended in a jagged arc and stopped millimeters shy of the tape, beaded with foul bubbles from your anxious breath. then with a quiet 'pip' sound you punctured the tape. you paused and gasped then slid the blade to the other side of the box. the flaps popped up and your eyes widened. barbecues. paper plates. ketchup. chewchew trains going through tunnels. gut grumbles. your appetite swallowed your hunger whole. staccato urges and emotions. the getaway car pulled up and was honking the horn. weakened under pressure, you turned careless. you grabbed for one package but out came two. one of them dropped to the concrete floor. you picked it up but it fell again. you stepped on it and squished it. a foot print. the smoking gun. you cursed and loathed yourself for a moment. you picked up the wieners and stuck both packages halfway down your pants. your belt pinned them to your bloated belly like all beef dynamite. if you didn't leave then, you wouldn't have left. you made a drunken dash out of the cooler then slowed to avoid arousing suspicion. your head was down and a fake smile stuck to your face. you stayed cool and made it to the men's can undetected. you turned the light on then closed the door and locked it. you were home free. nothing but a layer of cellophane between you and your wieners. you reached into your pocket for the knife but it wasn't there. you'd left it back at the scene. so you used your teeth. you pulled up the only seat in the room and put your ass on it. an overflowing garbage can and a greasy sink kept your secret while you ate a dozen wieners.