2 Poems

sitting alone begrudgingly moving your vowels and bowels to dislodge a sorry

little rhyme that barely makes a splash.

but you soldier on

a powerful urge takes you over and before you know it, you are at it again, aping

Whitman, picking Baldwin’s pockets for precious lint that you attempt to fashion

into a brand new silk top hat that will never cover your shortcomings and goings.

but you soldier on

you turn to the bottle to loosen up your guts, maybe roll out a fresh loaf you can

pinch a tiny diamond out of, but Charles’ bluebird has flown the coop.

but you soldier on

saddle up a little horse to ride into Kaufman’s lyrical sunset but she bucks and

twists, knocks the snot out if you, leaves you flat on your back with a snoot full of

hollow.

but you soldier on

you play it square and fair

narrow and straight

ease on down

to the cold morning’s hoarfrost

stinging your back bone

counting the goose bumps

on your chune.

brave enough

to let nature

take its course.

fear not,

faith and fiber will bring you joy.

the day is mostly spent lassoing words into a tipped jigsaw puzzle

that has no pit-cher guide nor story to paint a pit-cher on or of

there is too much to grasp in a lifetime

too many connections

too many loose ends

everything is lyrical

everything is not

nothing is lyrical

nothing is not

why didn’t I write about this yesterday

because yesterday I was a blind man who

thought he could

see the mountains from the smell of drunken coyotes squatting above sunset

thought he could

touch the wind from the blush of shoplifted condoms and horny white chicks

thought he could

taste the blood of childish rhymes dripping from rare swingin’ monkey bar air

guitar geeks

thought he could

free-style a spitting sharper image but the 80s got in the way of history and

histrionics due to the best books being out of finger prints

all the traps are sprung

set to go

all the buckets are full of holes

the bullets are blanks

the butterflies don’t use a net in the circus

and the peanuts are free of charge to children and word stiffs

the booby prize is immortality for life

in the end

the crows and the grackles will sing a simple song for you while they shit on the

head of your statue in the city park

it will go something like this