The Dead Side of Spring

the dead side of spring

down river,

she’s busted her banks!

 

full and high

carrying

broken limbs,

a girl,

bloated up

as if she was pregnant

 

young

pale

squashed between branches

pushed past

the mud

that keeps the alive,

alive

 

full

deep

and

naked

as a lover’s eyes,

only the dam

will stop her

 

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Betrayal

Creeping up on cat paws

past the acorns on the window still

past the thunder

through the

back of beyond

 

a hole in the screen

which is meant to keep the flies out

steals air

from my pressed

lungs

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Send us Wolves

On the water

dissidence

send us wolves!

soldiers in black shorts

 

they do not care about us

so, know no comfort

see no redemption

because a heavy curse

is drawn into the swells and breaks

 

later in dark streets

they crash down

insistent

territorial

 

chemical-reactions

floating on the surf

coming-together

like the pack

absorbed

into violent waves

 

something has gone wrong

someone is turned out

driven to the sand

outside of the mist

bloodied

 

the wolves rise and sink

with the sun

 

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Filed under america, poetry

The Living Graveyard

Here is where I exist

a dung heap of

wood panelling

Nick knacks

and

dead appliances

 

Watching my reflection

In a smoke grey table top

Gnashing into a cheesesteak

 

Out in the shed

A box filled with Dad’s hidden stash of ‘70’s Penthouse Magazines

and a half a case of ancient Schmidt’s

 

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Filed under Outlaw poetry, poetry

Remote as the Moon

Remote

as the moon

 

beyond

barns

and busted fences

 

drawn to

open streams

and springs

 

through weeds

sending out shooters

thick in damp

I go in

 

Guts twisted like a vine

from a dew

that brings men from drier places

 

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Filed under History, Outlaw poetry, poetry

Violations 

1964

Lenny Bruce

bankrupt

and guilty
up against the wall

rejected

by Jew

and Catholic alike
dangerously

ironic
burning

all the symbolism

in a

crudely poetic

monologue
busted laughter

escapes

old beats,

business men

in unfamiliar surrounds

and cashed up strippers
terrorized and

sleepless,

outside

this time

and

amongst garbage,

I wrap my skin

in skins

a kinda make shift

protection

from

constant

ass kickings
THUD!

another busted head
Fuck,

just

page after page

of violations
It’s all make believe,

all of it,

even if it happens

at 1 in the morning

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Filed under History, Outlaw poetry, poetry

Taco 

She was a bit like a taco. 

Lots of stuff crammed in there. 

Meaty, 

cheesy, 

spicy, 
and all in a hard shell. 
And just like a taco, 
she fell all over the place 
when I bit into her.

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