From the 2018 Collection "The Dead Dog Parish"
#comedy #debt #drunk #loser #winner
The cicada, once with the humility of a barnac… weeping beneath the fern,
I have this sensation when remembering the poignant noteworthy moments, Lovers, the Dead, crimes—
This day, there is no ONE to beat your fist… No party, no tyrant, not even a faction—
Ten days secluded now, improper and unshaven inside a black and gold hole, dope den of sultry sound and opiate mood.
I wept at the sight of my guru’s picture, Praise God, He is always with me, a Holy thing,
That one more, chasing the dragon, carrot dangling,
The moon lulls me as I wade through poppy fields, dragging limp hands behind me, catching each pod long enough before it snaps upright again
I remember being unmoved at more than one funeral at more than one memorial looking about impatiently impervious to the cries of the cry…
A Sacred Site is the ultimate emblem, a trophy of the horizon’s finitude… No better a final gate, no more wiser a runway,
Upon that special mound there is a cleanliness, a purity sanctimonious, something so perfect it’s numerological—
As far as the eye can see— Limitless blue nowhere to be found.
Ancient meadow preadolescence, burgeoning and righteous never-ending dimension first sighted past your fingertips… is stolen by ambition,
Whether you’re preaching to the ch… or your words fall on deaf ears, just know you won’t swing a single vote.
I saw a man and his crumb snatcher… sprawled on the porch of their hom… it was painted a bright ocher with… small, modest, humble, clean, givi… A joy, in short.
Like a Somali pirate just pull up on the Grim Reaper, surprise him