dirty faced kids in the back….
you could tell they’d been crying.
‘you got gas money, bud?
have them kids eaten? ‘….
‘we’re fine… thanks for the help…’
and they drove off on
fifteen dollar tires…
to find a new life!
and it’s Christmas
all over the world!
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the book…
for twenty five years!opened with care,the musky smellhangs in the air.the ink brittle,yet sharp,the words like ghosts.i run my tonguedown the page,and swallow a life!
reading…
in a room put togetherlike second hand clothes,or a mad thrift store.the shade on the lamp gone,lost to the years…the bare bulb flickersfrom time to time,as if to catch its breath.and the worlds still ona runaway train to hell.people pass each otherlike unaffiliated ghosts,sucking on plastic nipples.the plate in the sink,chipped on the edges.the cabinets…
i want Townes Van Zandt
a couple songs at my funeral…one by Woody Guthrie,and maybe one by Billie Holiday…just stepping through the veil.a poem read aloud by Walt Whitman,and one by Ranier Rilke…then light the pyre,and step back…let the flames riseto meet the wind.do what you want with the ashes,my heart will finally be free!
you can place
on my gravewhen i’m gone…bring in a preacher,sing a couple old hymns…if it makes you feel better….but my testament,and my only word,lies in the things i’ve done,the things i’ve given,the people i’ve eitherhurt or helped….the things i’ve fought for,win or lose….everything else, just wrappingson an old turtle’s shell….i wont live there anymore….but in everything that…
love is the part of me that dies,
the lip crusted with obscurity,the finger gnarled in the oak.the glance that parts the clouds,the broom forgotten on the porch.the single parent cooking macaroni,the dog curled at the foot of the bed.the rent receipt in the ashtray,grass that needs to be mowed.the same jeans the third day,dirty laundry, and shoes left by the door.the book…
thunder and lightning, gunfire,
we race towards oblivion,cant feel, cant get our breath!drum beat and shadows,lost in the blinding heat.dead poets and childrens’ bodies,rubble beneath our feet.smoke fills the air-trees fall, rivers run dry.fighting over a loaf of bread,and the last bowl of rice.ghoulish gasoline prophetsring the bell, count the cost…old people put out on the streets,now all is…