POEMS

POEMS 1973-1985  |  TUCKER ZIMMERMAN

HELLO UP THERE

there was an old man down in the field
with a shovel
digging large letters out of the foot-deep snow

when he was finished
his hundred-meter-long message read:
HELLO UP THERE

the neighbors laughed
and a passing airplane pilot
thought it was funny too

am I the only one around here
who knows it’s no joke?

THE DEAD-EYE CHILDREN AGAIN

three young people walked by in front of my house
late teens – a boy, two girls
strangers
I said hello
they stared back at me

ah shit, the dead-eyed children again

I said hello a little louder
they stared back at me again
more unfriendly this time

the day always turns a little sour
a little sad
when I meet people who don’t like
to say hello

he had a death’s head emblem
on the back of his jacket

in my daydream I leapt out at them
flapping my arms
“so it’s not fashionable to say hello
anymore – huh?”
I tickled the boy under his arms
“not fashionable – huh?”
tickle – tickle
he swung his fist at me
I ducked – “ho ho ho!”
in my daydream

I went back inside the house
carrying their gift to me:
a wedge between my eyes

GUEST BOOK

before going to bed on the first night
I made the mistake of reading thru
the guest book

when I crawl into a public bed
I often wonder myself to sleep
with the ghosts of those before me

now I knew their names

“move over, Charlie.”
“Louise?”
“hmm?”

sometimes it gets pretty intimate

but I suppose this happens to everyone

yet again until recently
I assumed that everyone as a child
jumped from their roof
using an umbrella as a parachute
I started checked around and found
that I am maybe the only fool
who managed to float to the ground
like a feather

A BUNCH OF BOYS

a bunch of boys up on the road
were throwing stones at our roof
one stone hit the wall
I ran outside screaming:
“just wait until you grow up
and get married
and settle down
and have finally adjusted
to your wife’s silences
my grandchildren
will be just about the right age
by then
to make your lives miserable”

I’m starting to sound
like my own grandfather

THE PLEASURES OF DOWNHILL GARDENING

it was a simple Sunday afternoon
a perfect day for killing peace
when the assassin drove by our house
in a Japanese car
raising dust at a thousand heartbeats a minute
a foot away from our country road door
nearly not missing my toes
but running over my shadow

he’d been seen around lately
wearing a pencil-thin mustache
and a German shepherd dog
selling small packets of dirty mayonnaise
to the children down at the playground

so when he drove by again
I ran out of the house
waving the crippled shadow of my arms
shouting, “we’ve got a small child etc.”

he stopped and said
“I’ve got seven kids myself
and I’ve never killed one yet.”

I heard later that when he arrived back home
and was walking up his suburban driveway
his garage door opened before him
and he was attacked and run over
by seven small children
driving a steam roller
pulled by thousands
of German shepherd dogs

PAVLOV’S DOG LOOP

I know a man with a mind like Pavlov’s dog
his brain must look like a microscopic warehouse
ring a bell
push any word button
and the response is instantaneous

I say “yesterday I was thinking of buttermilk”
and he says, “buttermilk blah blah blah blah . . . ”
“yes but instead I ate a plate of beans”
“beans blah blah blah blah . . . ”
“Yes and I drank a can of beer”
“beer blah blah blah blah”
I play with him like a puppet on a string
“bullshit!”
‘bullshit blah blah blah blah . . . ”
(burp!)
“burp blah blah blah blah”
“blah?”
“blah blah blah blah blah . . . ”

QUANAH: FIRST YEAR STORIES

1. Midnight

Quanah was born at exactly midnight
no one could figure out
if this was the 24th hour of the old day
or the 1st hour of the new
later this led to a heated argument among friends
to which day does midnight belong?
to the one left behind?
or the one coming up?
Quanah lay on the couch, looking up at the light
reaching out for it
he didn’t give a diaperfull of shit
about the discussion

2. “Watch out for the Reptiles”

Quanah woke up in the night
with what sounded like a zoo
in his throat
we phoned the doctor and told him
we heard frogs
mountain lions, pigeons, and pigs
the doctor said it wasn’t serious
until we had identified
at least 6 more different animals
“watch out for the reptiles,” he said

it was Quanah’s first illness
in his career as a human being

3. We Knew It Would Happen Sooner or Later

Quanah fell out of bed last night
fortunately his bed wasn’t on the balcony
of the of 34th floor apartment
(but then again he may have learned to fly)
it was a mere 4-foot drop

so only about 1pp points were knocked off his IQ
now instead of graduating from M.I.T.
in astrophysics at the age of 11
he’ll probably graduate from high school
as a basketball star at the age of 18
instead of growing up to master the 12-octave
polydigital semi-telepathic oscillatron
he’ll probably grow up to play bass drum
in the marching band

4. Birthday

Quanah’s first birthday present
was the sun
setting thru the branches
of a few pine trees
he tried to blow it out

THE BIRD AND THE BERRY TREE

I watched birds strip the red berries
from the tree that grows outside my window
the ground was frozen solid
maybe the worms were frozen too
and there wasn’t much else for the birds to eat

I watched a bird attack the branch
that hangs down in front of my window
he ate every berry but one
then turned his head
and looked at me
thru the window
then looked back at the last berry
and flew away

it stayed there for over a week
– the only berry on the tree
then the ground thawed
and the creek started running again
and one morning the berry was gone

EASTER NUMBER 30

it’s easter
I’m 33 years old
they’re celebrating the crucifixion
of the christ
who was born
for my sins
on my first christmas
which I don’t remember
because I was zero years old

I can relax
I can look forward to another 3 years
of anonymous crucifixions
they’ve still got the 3 christs lined up
the ones who were born
on the christmas days
when I was one, two, and three years old

SWINE LEGENDS

1.
we peeked thru the wires of the fence
into the animal kingdom
“what is it?” she asked
“it’s a pig,” I said
“oh – I thought it was a dog”
it was a pigdog

2.
there was nothing serious about this baby pig
he had found his place in the straw
and was looking out upon the passing world
grunting and grinning
he knew exactly what he was doing

3.
once when I was small I got very dirty
they told us to get in the bath
and stay there
I washed and washed
and when I came out
I was a clean as a pig’s whistle

4.
violin strings used to be made out of cat gut
I tried to imagine the intestines of a cat
stretched out across the violin
with the rest of the animal attached
and hanging over the side
as the fiddler scraped across the strings
with his horsehair bow
the rest of the horse
was attached too

once upon a time
footballs were called pigskins
perhaps because that’s what they were made of
every time I kicked a football
I wondered what they had done
with the rest of the pig
it felt strange to be kicking
part of a dead animal around

5.
they had this code language
that rolled around my childhood years
called pig latin
– igpay atinlay
I never could pick it up
it was quite simpleminded
but I thought you had to stick in a pig
every once in a while
something like:
“let’s go play baseball”
which was supposed to go:
“etslay ogay laypay aseballbay”
when I tried to say it came out
“let’s go pigplay baseball pig.”

6.
in school some of the girls
had their short hair tied up in back
two little bunches of hair
trapped in rubber bands
they called them pigtails
once I sat behind a girl in class
and stared at her pigtails
she didn’t turn around all day
and I just sat there
staring at the back of her head
thinking about the situation
and saying over to over to myself
“so that’s a pigtail”

7.
they had a lot of chores for me to do
that hot summer day
– clean up the garage
– give the dog a bath
– dig up some weeds in the backyard
– repaint the fence down by the drive
I wanted to go swimming
“I’m going swimming” I said
“in a pig’s ear you will” they said
which caused a minor sensation
in my imagination

8.
my kid likes for me to carry him
piggyback
but he seems to heavier day by day
there’s going to come a day
when I won’t be able to carry him
more than 10 feet
before collapsing
I’ll lay there on the ground
with my face in the dirt
trying to catch my breath
and start to worry about
who’s going to bring home the bacon

9.
I knew a guy who had a hard time
going to sleep
he tried counting sheep
jumping over fences
in his imagination
but that didn’t work
then he tried counting pigs
but that was worse
they kept trying to go under the fence
and getting stuck

10.
“hickory dickory dock
2 pigs ran up the clock
the clock struck 1
and got him right in the eye”

11.
this little pig went to market
this little pig stayed home
this little pig ate roast beef
this little pig had none
what a load of crap
whoever heard of a pig eating roast beef?

12.
of course I heard the story
of the 3 little pigs
who hasn’t?
and who hasn’t heard the story
of the 3 bears?
my problem was
I kept getting then mixed up
it wasn’t so bad
when the wolf blew down the straw house
and chased the first bear across the field
by some stretch of the imagination
that was almost possible
but the story got out of control
when goldilocks woke up
in the big pig’s bed
and saw him standing there
how would you feel
if you woke up
and saw a pig standing over you?

13.
I had a friend who got tired
of saying bullshit
so he started saying pigshit
instead
which got people thinking
about what ‘shit’ really means
they had used it so often
they had forgotten
everyone was living in ignorance
until the pig came along

14.
we were served stuffed pig for dinner
it sat there on the plate for awhile
looking dead
and harmless
then it jumped up
and started dancing on the table
it was hamming it up

LAUSANNE 1981

there was a sign –
a metal plaque
set into the cobblestones of the sidewalk
it said: ne cracher pas sur la trottoir
which in English means
do not spit on the sidewalk
in front of it was a shop
selling men’s clothes
I stood looking at the dummies
in 3-piece grey suits
and thinking about that sign

so I spit on the window instead

IMPORTANT PHONECALLS

after I fell thru the roof of my house
I phoned up an old girlfriend
she asked me
how I was feeling
I told her some tourists had been walking by
when I fell
they had laughed
“I only went in up to the waist” I said
“so the damage was only half complete
I could have lost my face too”
my old friend said to call her back
when I had something important to say

the blackbirds covered their eyes
when I stepped outside
for a breath of fresh air
then the sun went down
and the swallows began to fly like bullets
out of the bushes
at the bottom of the garden

by the time I got around to phoning her back
I had seen a partial eclipse of the moon
and Muhammad Ali had won back
the heavyweight crown
for the 3rd time
on TV
I picked up the phone
and dialed the number
of another old girlfriend

COTTONFIELDS OF CHRISTMAS

they played Joy to the World
on the airplane speakers
first a touch of organ
then the grand piano
and then they told us to stop smoking
and messing around
with the laws of gravity
we climbed up thru the clouds
and made the full moon rise
over the cottonfields of christmas

THE STAND-UP COMIC ON A ONE-NIGHT STAND

everybody was talking about astrology
like it was going out of style
(I hoped it would)
she asked me my sign
and I said “I’m an aquarium
with curtains rising
and my moon in trouble”
it was good for a laugh

then I told her I was a lesbian
that I had a very strong
sexual attraction
to women
that was good for another laugh

then I told her the only joke I know
(the banana joke)
“hey mister, you got a banana in your ear!”
several heads in the room turned to listen
“I can’t hear ya, I got a banana in my ear!”
no one laughed

I considered putting a lampshade on my head
but a guy standing on the coffee table
who was 10 degrees more looped
than anyone else
beat me to it
he got the biggest laugh of the night

LEADBELLY WAS THE GRANDFATHER OF ROCK ‘N ROLL

Leadbelly made it on a 12-dollar Stella guitar
with bedsprings for strings
but I don’t have that kind of talent
or those 9-pound nail-drivin’ hands either
Leadbelly made it after spending half of his life
in prison
and I don’t have that kind of patience
he got famous after he was dead
which is kind of like getting left behind
holding the banana peel
after everyone else has had a chance
to bust his ass on it

IDEAS

I’ve expected very little from life
since the day I found out that Santa Claus
was just a nice idea
or maybe it was later
when JFK was gunned down
for getting ideas

the best Idea Man I ever met
was J.S. Bach

to give you some idea
of how strong his personality was
whenever he walked into a room
everybody’s cigarette went out

AND THE WAITER SPEAKS ONLY CHINESE

you go into a Chinese restaurant
and order a number 37
with a side of 15
your friend orders a number 46
and the waiter brings you 2 plates
of whatever’s left over in the kitchen

DANNY AND THE JUNIORS

Danny and the Juniors in 1958
said that rock ‘n roll will never die
25 years later I find it difficult to believe
their promise
but then again
even a few unlucky animals get stuffed
and sent to museums

there was another line in that song:
it’ll go down in history, just you watch my friend
probably some sociology student in the 21st
will do his doctoral thesis on Danny and the Juniors

I mean some cats are still blowing’ Dixie
but I don’t see any teenage girls
breaking down the gates to get in

A STRANGE MAN

it was a strange night
he would do nothing
so I sat and watched him smoke
and read a book
his expression changed
every other page or so

he didn’t get up and phone home
that night
he didn’t talk about all the things
he didn’t learn in school
he didn’t even complain

ROCKS AND STONES

rocks and stones
stones and rocks
I sit on a rock
with my feet on the GROUND
fuckshit

my wife keeps telling me
I have my head too much in the AIR
she keeps telling me
I should come down the EARTH
once in a while

I’m giving it a try

she bakes bread
from wheat that grew
in the EARTH
shitfuck

MYTH AMERICA

then there were those majorettes
in high school
prancing around
twirling their batons
wearing white satin mini skirts
that cut into their crotches
they walked around school
on the day of a football game
wearing heavy wool coats
(it wasn’t that cold)
they just didn’t want to show off
all that fresh meat
so close up
there had to be some limit to indecent exposure
everyone agreed on that
except all the guys
we sat in English class with hard-ons
thinking about what was under those coats
so close by
the limits were on the football field
the girls were out there
with their coats off
flashing their thighs
and everyman in town under 65
stood on the sidelines
with a pair of binoculars glues to his eyes

I AND THOU AND YOU AND ME

Billy Graham is coming to town next month
so is the American Demolition Derby
a little salvation
a little sacrifice
we’re in good shape on the spiritual side
for the fall season

my wife thinks Billy Graham
is the guy who used to run
the Fillmore Auditorium
maybe she’s right

I’m always getting Billy Graham mixed up
with Bill Haley
since I have never seen the two of them
in the same demolition derby
at the same time
I am inclined to believe
they are one and the same person

I’d rather go and see Martin Buber
but a soft-nose rabbi
will never sell out
the local football stadium

THE WHOLE EARTH POETRY PRIZE

a poet stood in the center of the bridge
spinning a world of culture
on an upraised middle finger

beneath
the years flowed by like water

then the poet burned the bridge
and drowned
refusing to swim to shore

we went down to the river
and tossed in a few flowers
a few children cheered
one or two dogs barked
and a whole lot of ladies rolled by
in wheelchairs
with umbrellas
tossing bones
of previous poets
to the dogs

the dogs stopped barking

INCOMPLETE PORTRAITS OF FORGOTTEN MEN

. . . he had a mustache and 2 eyes
he sat on a park bench unobserved
observing everything
he wore a hearing aid
but when he died they discovered
there hadn’t been a battery in it
for years . . .

. . . all he left behind was a faded photograph
taken when he was a boy:
the boy is squinting into the sun
the shadow of the photographer’s head
was visible at the bottom
the photograph was found
in an otherwise empty suitcase
on the balcony of the hotel room
from which he had jumped . . .

. . . stiff silver steel rim glasses
and flat lenses that flashed sunlight
when he turned his head
a black wool stocking cap
rolled up above his ears
he was good with a chainsaw
and missing the first finger of his left hand
he’d chopped it off with an ax
when a rattlesnake bit him . . .

. . . he played saxophone is a 1930’s dance band
white tux and red handkerchief in his breast pocket
slicked back black hair, smooth with the ladies
between sets he stood at the bar
with the sax cord around the collar of his tux
joking with the customers
later he lived on welfare and cornflakes . . .

. . . he was an old crippled black guy
a night janitor
in one of those industrial park buildings
(offices upstairs, warehouse in the basement)
after he’d finish waxing and polishing the office floors
he’d go down to the basement
and watch a wall
of 35 different TV sets
broadcasting the same baseball game
in living color . . .

. . . “there was this guy used to come in here
every afternoon about this time
sit at the bar, have a few beers
he claimed he’d high jumped in the Berlin Olympics
or something like that
he said he’d come in third place
or something like that
he was a tall with a pot belly”
said a short man with a potbelly
wearing a white short-sleeve knit shirt
with a green alligator on the pocket
but no one was listening to him
he usually came in here about the same time
every afternoon
sat alone
talking to himself . . .

. . . he drifted in from out of state
driving a broken-down Ford pick-up truck
the letters on the door spelled
FAST DELIVERY
WE DELIVER ANYWHERE – ANYTIME
but the sign had been washed by the rain
you had to get close to read it . . .

THEY SAY TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS

I was raised by an uncle who once upon a time
was offered a chance to play 1st base
with the New York Giants

but his wife said it was either her
or baseball
so they moved to the west coast
where he got a job in the shipyards
as a welder

he was usually in a mean mood
treated me badly
slapped me around at least once a week
just to keep in practice

he could find an excuse for punishing me
almost anywhere

once I forgot to water the rabbits
he knocked me around and around
until my head felt like a punching bag
there was a moment in there
when it didn’t have anything to do
with the rabbits

I hated him
I promised myself that when I grew up
I’d kill him
with one of his baseball bats

I just got a letter
that says he’s in the hospital
it’s pretty serious
he’s an old man now
he might not make it
suddenly
I don’t want him to die

EUROPE ON ONE HEARTBREAK A DAY

in Germany
in a public washroom
along the autobahn
I saw a man in thermal underwear
washing his face

in Hungary
across an open-air dance floor
I saw a woman
carrying a package of meat

the streets of Switzerland
were so clean
that I was embarrassed
soon I found out why
the dogs had been trained
to eat their own shit

a post office in Belgium:
everyone was licking stamps

friends came back from a vacation in Spain
they brought me a little wooden flute
it cracked when I pressed down on the fingerholes
it wasn’t meant to be played

the 12-year old boy
who served us dinner
in the Italian outdoor restaurant
looked as old as his father
neither had ever been a child

this rough, tough American stud
pulled into the Greek youth hostel
on the heaviest motorcycle in the world
and we spent the night listening to him
scream for his mama in his sleep

on a train thru Yugoslavia
I sat across from a young married couple
they wanted to share the bottle of wine
that had been their wedding present
he searched everywhere in their suitcase
but couldn’t find the corkscrew

the Dutch soccer team
lost the 1974 World Cup final
by 1 point
on a color TV set
in a crowded French cafe

THE END

I put my hands in my pockets and slowly walked away

what happened before that
is not worth talking about

FAME

these people drop by and ask me if I want to be famous
I say I want to be honest
if I should say no
I would be a liar
I explain that it takes a lot of work to be famous
it just doesn’t happen to you

these people don’t understand
I explain it again and again
it takes a lot of work to be honest

THE FIRST TO KNOW

Anton Webern, the obscure but great
composer of serial music
lived in the American Military Occupied Zone
of Austria
after the war

one night when the blackout
and curfew rules
were being strictly enforced
he stepped out onto his porch
and absent-mindedly
lit a cigarette

he was shot dead by an army private

Webern was one of the first to know
that smoking can be dangerous to your health

AMERICAN OPTICAL

taking a closer look at my glasses
I find
along the inside of the right temple piece
this cryptic message:

American Optical 1-10 12K G.F. 6½

yes, this is obviously a cryptic message
but since I have been wearing these glasses
for 10 years
I know what it means

A CHANGE OF SEASONS

winter creeps in like a pointy-toed hedgehog
summer sneaks out like a flat-footed caterpillar
and people just stand around
like pot-bellied stoves

DRUGSTORE BEST SELLER

it was one of those white cover
deceptively virginal
paperbacks
about the ills of our society
the kind of cheap, sensational writing
that sells millions of copies

who reads this kind of crap?
cracked-up widows
down and out gamblers
unemployed peanut vendors
over-the-hill shortstops
sag-breasted former Miss Americas
and other assorted low riders
it was the kind of book that makes me feel good

TERRITORIAL IMPERATIVE

we have it on solid, honest, hard-earned $1.25
copyright paperback AUTHORITY
that the song of a bird
is a territorial marker
a sort of melodic city limit sign
as it were

but don’t believe it
those birds sing for the hell of it
just like the rest of us

THE MISSING WEREWOLF

sometimes I miss the werewolves
who used to peek in my window

and the vampires who used to tip-toe
across my roof late at night

and the King of Chaos himself
who used to slide down my chimney
leap into the room
speaking like he had a mouth
full of wet cement

once I went into grandma’s walk-in closet
and came face to face
with a GIANT TURD
4 feet tall
grinning at me
grandma had told me not to go in there
now I knew why

but the ghosts, vampires, and werewolves
have heard the whistle of their masters
and have cleared out
I miss them

I’ll trade you one werewolf
for a whole shelf of philosophy books

Summer, 1975

WEREWOLVES IN THE WIND

tonight the revolution’s in town
there’s a time bomb on my wrist
and my tongue’s in a bottle of rum
there is no reason for getting drunk
there never has been

the church bells ring at 6 o’clock
I look at my wrist watch
and can’t figure out if time
is passing fast
or slow

I look down at my arm
and stare at the patch of skin
I had once considered
a choice spot
for an eagle tattoo
the fly which has been buzzing around the room
lands on that patch of skin

who in his right mind
would choose to live in as unfurnished apartment
and entertain dungeonous ideas?

there is a piece of paper at my elbow
on it is written:
there are werewolves in the wind
who could have written that?
who would choose to be so complicated?

Summer, 1975

LOOK AT THE WEREWOLF

humans equal werewolves in masks
the mask is paper thin
a strong wind can lift up the edge
flash!
an instant vision
of chin with thick greasy hair
the corner of a beastly mouth snarl
then the mask settles back in place
i put the book of photographs back on the shelf
and think about men wearing hard hats
atop of atomic bomb brains

Summer, 1975

THE BIG HYDROGEN DUDE RANCH IN THE SKY

the only thing wrong with the bomb
is that they won’t drop it

meanwhile back at the ranch
the cowboys are restless
the boss wants them that way
he wants them uneasy
frustrated
hopeless
punching each other out
for relief

the boss holds that big whip in the sky
keeping them in their saddles
rounding up the cattle
day after day
after day
they ride the range
after day
and repair the fences
after day

a ton of bricks
hanging over your head
is a lot more effective
if it never falls

COWBOY

he rides into town on his horse
the row of houses on main street
looks like a set in a western movie
the buildings seen from the side
are only a few inches thick
held up by props

he ties his horse to the rail
in front of the saloon
heads for the swinging doors
and walks into a bar
in West Hollywood, 1973

COLLEGE

ah, the college of my choice
programmed me so well
it’s taken me years
to get over the blooze

I’m still taking exams
everytime someone asks me a question

MIRROR

I am a mirror

that used to bother me a lot
especially when I first found out

you get back what you put in

after 20 years
the mirror has become tarnished
it doesn’t reflect the dirt anymore
strong light still gets thru

BACKGAMMON

we sat up til dawn playing backgammon
the set had been purchased in the Copenhagen airport
and was designed especially for travelers
it was about as big as a paperback book
with pieces the size of fingernails
we needed tweezers to move them around

THE NEWS

the ground froze up solid about a week ago
I would have needed a flame thrower
to bury my pet hedgehog if he had died
(and if I’d had one)
so I was hoping he wouldn’t

a macrobiotic mountain man set up a tent
halfway up the hillside behind our house
and moved in
we hear him every morning eating breakfast
usually he chews on an old pinetree stump
but occasionally he takes down a live oak
for a change of diet

the atmosphere is so simple
so plain and ordinary
I have to invent the news

MOVIE

the old lady stands in front of her shack
on the opposite hill
looking at me thru binoculars

I wave
but she doesn’t wave back

she has been living alone so long
that the world has become a movie

I can’t blame her for not responding
I never wave at a movie screen either

NEW YEAR’S EVE, 1975

it’s been
1,038, 771, 100 minutes
(give or take a few)
since Christ’s big bang

FASHION SHOW

in times past
women’s fashions changed by the decade
no one thought less than 10 years in advance

by popular demand fashions began to change by the year
and soon by the season
women speculated in advance
about next season’s styles
and a few daring ones
attempted to be ahead of their times

this set off a new reaction
and fashion designers began changing their styles
by the month
announcements would read:
THIS MONTH: SHORT SKIRTS, LONG HAIR, LOW SHOES

then would come the announcement for the following month:
LONG SKIRTS. LONG HAIR, NO SHOES

and so on by the month until women
became so restless for new clothes
the competition became more intense
and style changes began to happen by the week

then by the day

still this wasn’t enough
designers, shop keepers, and advertisers
got it down to the hour:
SHORT SKIRTS
SHORT HAIR
LONG SHOES
LONG SKIRTS
LOW SHOES
LOW SKIRTS
HAIR
SHORT SHOES
then down to the minute:
LONG SHORT SKIRTS
SHOES
HIGH HAIR
LOW LOW
HIGH SKIRTS
NO HAIR
NO SKIRTS
then down to the second:
LOW
LONG
HAIR SHOES
SHOE SKIRTS
SKIRT SHOES
SHOE HAIR
HAIR SKIRTS

it’s difficult to walk the streets these days
all these women changing clothes
as fast as they can
they keep bumping into you and each other
it’s a fast-action strip show in rush hour

a few women have given up
they stand on street corners, naked
ignored
forgotten
can you imagine how it feels to have become old fashioned?

JANE FONDOO

Jane Fonda came on my TV
and told me to be spontaneous
“be spontaneous” she said
she said I could do whatever I feel like
whenever I feel like doing it

the next time I see Jane Fonda
I think I’ll punch her in the face
but it won’t be spontaneous
I’ve been thinking about that punch
for a long time

POSTCARD

I got a postcard from TUCSON ARIZONA
the picture on the front was of a lightning storm
over Kitt’s Observatory

I had an eccentric uncle
who lived his last years in Tucson
he was an inventor
when I was 5 or 6 years old
he started sending me
freaky scientific magazines
with significant passages underlined

I remember one picture in one magazine
a man sitting in a Studebaker
as thousands of volts of electricity
were discharged onto the roof of his car
from a big ball overhead
the man was smiling
to show he wasn’t afraid

INSTANT CHRISTIANITY

I used to think that jesus was born on Christmas
and died on Easter Day
the stories in the bible were read to me
and made me wonder
how one man could do so much
in four or five months

LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR

our neighbors are still alive
they seem to be obsessed by
keeping us aware
of that fact

a big storm passed over last night
thunder and lightning
maybe their house would get hit?
no luck

the other day they had a fierce knockdown
and drag-out brawl
the husband punched the wife in the guts
the wife picked up an ax handle
and chased the husband into the house
their seven children stayed outside
screaming
and throwing rocks at the windows
when the fight was over
we heard someone over there
hammering nails into wood
a coffin perhaps?

yesterday the oldest kid
the one who tore down our mailbox
the one who dug up our garden
and threw the plants all over the road
the one who snuck into our house
and carved up our walls with a pocketknife
was swinging on a rope
and collided head-on with a tree
prefrontal lobotomy?
no way

but I should stop thinking about our neighbors
I just don’t love ’em that much

THE NEIGHBOR’S CLOTHESLINE

these people who live across the way
are celebrations of laziness
after 4 years they decided one day
to put up a clothesline

they washed a whole lot of dirty clothes
(some of them for the 1st time in 4 years)
and hung them out to dry

3 months later
THE CLOTHES WERE STILL THERE

meantime it had rained about 150 times
and near the end of the 3rd month
God decided to snow

when we were into our 3rd day
of the magic white powder
I looked out my window and saw those clothes
they had been washed by God 150 times
dried by God 150 times
and powdered by God
I could only sit there thinking:
WHAT MORE DO THEY WANT?

maybe they were waiting for God to come along
and take the washing off the line
bring it in
iron it
fold it and stack it in the cupboard

the snow piled up on the clothesline
between the pairs of stiff underwear
the next day our neighbors went out
and bought a dump truck

AN ANGRY REPLY TO A LETTER I NEVER RECEIVED
FROM GREGORY BATESON

the mailbox was empty
there was nothing there
I hadn’t been expecting anyone to write
but the mailman could have left
a little junk mail
or something

the breadbox was empty too
not a slice
not a crust
not a crumb
nothing at all

I glanced thru the newspaper
but there was nothing there
worth reading

I punched on the TV
and all the channels were blank
not even a test pattern
nothing

then the phone rang
I jerked up the receiver
and shouted hello
it was an old friend on the line
he asked me what I was angry about
“it’s nothing” I said

I can see now
how easy it is
to get steamed up
over nothing

DYLAN’S BOOTLEG

I listened to the Dylan bootleg album

after the record shut off
I carried on
making up words for his songs

” . . . with her neck in a noose
her knees in a knot
her tongue in a trap
and her thighs in your thoughts . . . ”

good stuff

Dylan should get hold of me
if he gets short of lyrics on his next album

PENIS AND THE BEACH BALLS

a double bill at the Forum tonight
first
Russian River Richard and the Metaphysical Epistemologists
(a rock ‘n roll revival band)
show up
and play a lot of golden oldies
they sing like neanderthals on vacation

then
a punk band comes on
with safety pins in their noses
“HEY I’M PENIS!’ says one into the microphone
“AND WE ARE THE BEACHBALLS!” says the rest of the group
in unison
Penis turns out to be an 8-year old girl
with orange hair
and the Beach Balls look like left-overs
from a drunken Chinese dinner

Penis sings 3 songs
I Don’t Care
I Can Do What I Wanna Do
and Fuck You
she sings the words like she means them
which is more than anyone could say
about Russian River Richard

this is a big year for the group
all the girls want to look like Penis
all the boys imitate the Beach Balls
boy and girls walk around their rooms
slouched-out
with safety pins in their noses
and orange hair
nobody is dancing

I remember Janis Joplin
Tina Turner
The Ronettes
on stage
but none of the guys here
are thinking about fucking penis

well, she’s only 8
that could be the difference

REUNION OF THE CLASS OF 1958

I was 6000 miles away
when the invitation to the 20th reunion
of my high school graduation class
came in the mail
I don’t know how they got my address
I thought I was well-hidden

the letter said it was going to be a picnic

I thought of all those kids
to whom I had nothing to say then
we were 20 years older
and we would have even less
to talk about now

in the envelope was a questionnaire
first a series of multiple choice questions
such as: FOOD (check one) I WILL BRING
MEATS OR POULTRY □
POTATO SALAD □
CAKES AND/OR PIES □
BEVERAGES □

I checked them all
I was back in English IV 20 years ago
taking a test
I was having fun

then came a series of “fill in the blanks”
that was a good game too
I wrote in anything that came to mind
I was having fun
until I came to this:
HOW MANY CHILDREN WILL YOU BRING? □
HOW MANY GRANDCHILDREN? □

grandchildren ?
I suppose it’s possible
some of the girls got married just out of school
already knocked up
if they’d raised their kids to act the same way
there probably would be a few grandchildren
staggering around the picnic
pissing in the potato salad

I threw the whole thing in the wastebasket
I had already decided I wouldn’t go
now I knew
I would even watch it if it was on TV

SIGNS OF LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS

he rides up the trail on a mule
which is pulling a housetrailer
a sign by the side of the road tells him:

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING
THE PARADISE VALLEY
WILDERNESS AREA

there’s also a sign on the side of his trailer:

HORSE TRAILER RENTALS
(MULES CAN PULL ‘EM TOO)

he dots the I of WILDERNESS
with a bullet from his Colt 45
and rides on down the trail
into Paradise Valley

THE BALLAD OF JUNKYARD JOE

Junkyard Joe slouched over
the handlebars
of his 2nd-hand
stripped-down
Harley XLCH
a White Owl cigar dangled from his jaw

“dirty deals and greasy wheels”
he hummed around the edge of his White Owl
and straightening up
he slammed down
on the starter
of his bike
and kicking his hog to life
and letting it idle in the polluted sunshine
he watched Bad Breath Bob
roll out from under a totaled
’55 Chevy
convertible

“what’s shakin’?” said Bad Breath Bob
flipping a crescent wrench
“gotta get outta dis junkyard, Triple B”
said J.J.
“cruise down t’inner city
t’ see a doc abouta
PER-SCRIP-SHUN!”

but as J.J. rode the backstreets
his bike leaning on the corners
his long hair blowing back in the wind
he fell back into his old dream:
wife, kids, home in the suburbs
white christmas
4th of july picnic
Joe Junior’s little league
Little Sally’s birthday party
Johnny Carson on the tube
a round of golf on Sunday morning

he slid his Harley to a stop
in front of the 3rd Street Bar & Grill
where a half dozen other Reptile Brains
were hangin’ out
and wiped the smile offa his face
“shit, fuck, man, I mean, shit . . . ”
J.J. was the self-proclaimed leader of the Reptile Brains
he had an image to keep polished
his slouch had to be MAINTAINED
QUANTUM MECHANICS

in the window of Joe’s Quantum Garage
is a sign:
HELP WANTED
ONLY QUANTUM MECHANICS NEED APPLY

inside the garage
a Chevy Impala is up on the racks
Jimmy Heisenberg is giving it a lube job

at a workbench
Frankie Schrodinger is taking a transmission apart

the gear box of a Ford Fairlane
is giving Bobby Plank a lot of trouble

if Joe could hire a few more guys
they’d get these jobs done a lot faster
get home to their wives
and frozen pizza dinners
and maybe get in a little bowling
or shoot a little pool with the boys
later on tonight

but as it stands
they’re gonna be doin’ overtime
for the 3rd night in a row
these cars keep comin’ in off the streets
and their owners want ’em repaired RIGHT NOW!

for example:
this lilac Lincoln Continental
that’s being towed in
with 2 front flat tires
it’s driver still behind the wheel

Frank and Jimmy and Booby
take one look at it
and throw up their hands

to see grown men vomiting their hands
is more than the driver can take

he starts his lilac Lincoln
breaks away from the tow truck
ripping off his front bumper
backs into the street
and speeds away into the night
his 2 front tires flapping
from side to side

no one knows what’s going to happen next

WHAT DID WE HAVE IN COMMON?

what did we have in common?
– a deep love for symphonic music
– a carefully cultivated taste for 12-year old French wines
– an unending fascination for the writings of Anais Nin
– a superstitious but sentimental obsession
for flying kites
and making wishes on a rainbow
– an uninhibited appreciation of Salvador Dali’s paintings
– an overflowing compassion for stray dogs and cats
– a careless tendency to speak only the truth
and a pathological need to be liked by everyone we met
apart from that we were total strangers

THE FACTS OF LIFE VS THE ACCIDENTS OF YOUTH

Part 1: in which the autoharp is invented

perhaps you’re wondering about my childhood
but then again there’s an even greater chance that you’re not
maybe you’d like some facts for a change?

I recently celebrated by 35th birthday
that’s a fact
there were candles on the cake that helped me celebrate
my 35th birthday
I noticed the box from which they came
contained 36 candles
the question is: what will I do when I’m 37?
the answer is simple:
buy 2 boxes of candles

would you like some more facts?
I was the oldest of several cousins
once a year we sat around patiently
after a thanksgiving supper
while one of our uncles showed his home movies
on a sheet tacked to the wall
the part we liked the best
was when he showed the movies backwards
that’s a fact

I saw my first and only 3-D movie in 1953
we, the people in the theater, sat there
with those idiot paper glasses on
and watched people on the screen
throw knives and swords
and barrels of water at us
the best part of that movie
was when one of the actors spit
the glob of goo came out of the screen
right at us
everybody ducked
Hollywood was finally telling its audience
how it felt about them

another uncle, Uncle Chuck
who had once been an all-American guard
used to bring me footballs for Christmas
footballs and football uniforms
the uniforms weighed more than I
and when he tossed me a football
it knocked me over
I was only 4, 5, 6, and 7 but even then, I knew
I’d never be all-American

America dropped the bomb when I was 4
I don’t remember that
I had to take their word for it
evidence, however, has filtered down over the years

I never knew my paternal grandfather
I didn’t even know my father very well
I was told that my grandfather’s brother
invented the autoharp
it was hard to believe
at school we were forced to play those instruments
everyone in music class
had an autoharp
each one out of tune
with all those untuned autoharps
in all those school across America
we should have been rich
I found it hard to believe also
because I was being told a lot of lies
about other things too

lies were all over the place
just lying around
but only the adults got to tell them
they told us kids:
“always tell the truth
and you won’t get into trouble”
which was the biggest lie of all

my other grandfather gave me a dictionary
and a pair of fingernail scissors when I was 10
35 years later I still cut my fingernails
and toenails with those clippers
tho they haven’t been sharpened once in all that time
but you didn’t come in here
to hear about my fingernails and toenails
the part you want to hear about is the dictionary:
the dictionary ceased to be a useful reference book
long ago
now it’s nothing more
than an interesting historical document

the only thing I learned in school that did me any good
was a song that circulated at recess
behind the baseball backstop
I can remember only the last line:
if you ever get hit with a bucket of shit
be sure to close your eyes
everything else they taught us was in the bucket

I got my first pair of glasses in the 3rd grade
since the classes were seated alphabetically
that put me in the back row
so
with my 20/800 natural eyesight
I’d already had 2
full years of useless education by then
the blackboard was so far away
it could have been in outer space
but there was the good side of it:
2 + 2 could equal anything I wanted

every kid had a dog
mine was named Tippy
except he wasn’t mine
he belonged to himself
I brought him into the house one day
and held him up in front of the mirror
he didn’t pay any attention to his reflection
a wise dog
I couldn’t teach him any tricks either
my respect for him increased after each try

when I turned on the radio one day
and picked up a black station from Oakland
and heard Hank Ballard & the Midnighters
sing Annie Had a Baby
I knew the end of my childhood
was close at hand

when I was 12 I heard a story about a man
who committed suicide
gas
asphyxiation
he ate a can of beans
locked himself in a closet
and farted himself to death
but by then I had given up trying
to separate the truth from the lies
it didn’t make any difference anymore

Part 2: in which German shepherd dogs lick little kids faces

in the 1st grade kids from the 8th grade
waited for me outside after school, grabbed me
held me down on the pavement
and encouraged their German shepherd dog to lick my face
they were had a good time
even the dog

in the 2nd grade they took my picture and I had to make
a frame for it to give my parents
they handed me a small paper plate
the kind you get at picnics full of potato salad
I had to glue my picture in there
where the potato salad was supposed to go

in the 3rd grade I picked up a lead pipe at recess
and bashed in another guy’s skull with it
that was the 1st time I’d fought back
it was generally agreed that I had gone too far

I skipped the 4th grade, they tell me I didn’t miss much

in the 5th grade I signed up for school band
I wanted to play trumpet but the teacher took one look
and stuck a trombone in my hands
“you look like a trombone” he said
the truth was he couldn’t get anyone else to play it
it was too heavy to carry around
and it didn’t have any of the hot-shit melodies
so I carried around my trombone
which was bigger than me
and which looked like me
and started getting good at the things
the other kids didn’t want to do

in the 6th grade at one lunch hour when it was raining
we were tossing a football around the class room
where others were still eating lunch
I flipped a pass which fell short
and landed in a girl’s potatoes and gravy
we were punished of course
but I’ll never forget the game
it was the closest I ever came to making the team

in the 7th grade the kids started
getting to my lunch sack
with my name printed on it
and adding a cross to the initial of my 1st name
2 years later
it would have been taken as a compliment

in the 8th grade some kids from my class
waited for the 1st graders
outside after school
and held them down while a German shepherd dog
licked their faces
but I was into more important things by then
like telling the teacher in class he was full of shit

after we left the 8th grade
they decided to start a junior high school
so we were 9th graders instead of freshmen
2 years in a row
we were the kings of crap mountain
we weren’t prepared for that 1st year in high school

in high school we were introduced to
smoking in the student parking lot
school dances
football games
basketball games
and big tits
they all went together somehow
but I was a poor student
and looked at them as separate things
I’d brought along my rhythm ‘n blues 45’s
from jr. high
but nobody there was interested in these tunes
Elvis Presley was just being invented

in my junior year we discovered
that the class behind us was twice our size
– war babies they called them
(some were OK considering their fathers
had been in a panic to leave them behind)
so we looked at the big tits instead of the books
there was no way we could fail
they just didn’t have enough space

in my senior year we had a special class
we each took turns privately with the teacher
who usually taught drivers education
we went out alone with him in the school Pontiac
which he parked on a lonely country road
he took a small sack of marijuana from the glove compartment
and held in front of my face
“one puff of this” he said
“and you will be hopelessly addicted for life”

I graduated from high school with a D average
in a class of 128 students
I came in 122
the teachers didn’t think much of me
by that I mean
they didn’t even know I was there
I would probably get a job at the sawmill
or the packing plant
and stay there forever
I surprised no one but myself
my leaving town
and never going back

TEN YEARS LATER

10 years later I met a guy about my age
who wished there was some way to go back in time
to high school
knowing what he knew now
and do it again

“man, I’d take along some Beatles
and Stones and Doors and blow
their minds”

“man, I’d go back with long hair
and really freak ’em out”

“man, I’d fuck all the chicks
who were just begging for it then
but which us guys were too stupid
or scared to do anything about”

but he was forgetting something:
the endless hours
in those classes
when NOTHING was happening
except maybe a fly
buzzing around the room
and we just sat
and watched the hand
of the clock
click slowly
around and around
and around
waiting hours
for the click of each minute

I can’t think of a more perfect torture
than to be sent back
knowing what I know now
to that cesspool of boredom
and besides I’m sure
the girls fucked much better
in our imaginations
than they would have
in the backseat
of some used ’51 Ford

ANOTHER USELESS ARGUMENT

mother: you should be grateful
after everything i did for you
child: then you didn’t do it for me
you did it for yourself

I wish they were on television
so I could shut them off

it’s a useless argument

vegetarians remind us: Buddha died
after eating a meal of pork
I reply: christ dies after eating a meal
of bread and water

another useless argument

on the 1st page of the book is the word
“OM!”
then a short explanation saying
that OM is the beginning
the middle
and the end
of everything in the universe
I flip thru the remaining 467 pages of the book
and ask the author
who is not in the room
why he bothered to write all the rest
of this crap

another useless argument

I lift my hand from the table
on which my fingers have been tapping
and try the bent edges of a faded photograph
it’s a picture of a guy in a swimsuit
sitting next to a pool
blowing into a trombone
I don’t know where this picture came from
I don’t even know anything about this guy
in fact, he doesn’t interest me at all
but I continue to study the picture
it’s better than another useless argument

2 DOWN IN THE BOTTOM OF THE 9TH
WITH THE STRIKEOUT KING AT THE PLATE

to start with the club was lousy
the audience was lousy
and the meal afterwards was lousy too

then the organizer told me
he’d forgotten to book a hotel
so I had to sleep in his living room
on a couch that was about 6 inches too short
so far it was a normal evening
it was 3 a.m.
I had to catch a train at 7

things started getting rough about 3:30
when the hamster across the room
decided he needed some exercise
he had one of those wheels he could get inside of
and run and run forever
but with the hamster clicking away
I fell to sleep anyway

that is until about 4
when the cat attacked my barefeet
hanging over the end of the couch

I put the cat in the kitchen
limped back to the couch
curled up
and was just getting into my first good dream
when small hard candies in cellophane wrappers
started landing on my face and body

I leaned up and looked over the couch
it was the guy’s little kid
about 5 years of spoiled rotten
with a shit-eating grin on his face
he kept tossing

I picked up an orange from the coffee table
and threw it with my left hand
I threw it as hard as I could
it hit the kid square between the eyes
– strike one!
there was no way I was going to lose this ballgame

THINGSGIVING

she was a fan of mine
she had a poster of me on the wall
she had all my albums
– one with an autograph

I don’t know how that got there
I’m always giving things away
without knowing it

PEOPLE ACT IN STRANGE AND CONTRADICTORY WAYS

they burn Vonnegut’s books
in South Dakota
the janitor takes them off the library shelves
and dumps them in the incinerator
the kids stand around
watching the flames

then they go down to the drugstore
and buy copies of Slaughterhouse 5
just to see what the smoke was all about

PEOPLE ACT IN STRANGE AND CONTRADICTORY WAYS

you’re in the hospital
you’ve just had your appendix out
it’s after midnight
you’re having your 1st good sleep
in weeks
when the nurse shakes you by the shoulder
“wake up!”
“huh?”
“come on, wake up!”
“huh? what is it?”
“time to take your sleeping pill”

THE SENSORY DEPRIVATION TANK

the U.S. Navy has come up with
THE SENSORY DEPRIVATION TANK
(evil poetic images rise in my brain)
they talk about green beret commandos
back from the far east
with their private collections of earlobes
dumped into its isolated waters
and being turned into screaming
hysterical
teenage housewives
in a matter of 21½ seconds flat

the scientists who run this project
have high IQs
and high ambitions
they speak of man’s evolution
as easily as you or I
cut the grass with a lawn mower
they speak of transcending the human body
as easily as you or me
sweep up the dirt with a vacuum cleaner
only the best minds will survive
they say
(they’re talking about themselves)

now by no means do I feel
(or at least most of the time I don’t)
that Arnold Schwarzenegger is the perfect model
for the house that awaits man
on his next swing across the jungle
on a vine
or, as they say in the Old West University,
the last step
on the human evolutionary
spiral staircase
but there are those still among us
who need a little extra armpit sweat
where would the Chicago Bears be without it?
Sam Peckinpah?
King Kong?

so how about it, boys?
fill up the pool
give it another name
and I might even give it a try myself
if you’ll let me bring along
my rubber gorilla

DESCARTES WAS A CLEAN MAN

perhaps it starts like this:
you sense that there exists
in the world around you
great confusion
you seek to understand the confusion
you read books
you think a lot
you read more books
and sooner or later you bump into Descartes
he confirms the power of thought
but you discover that
ideas such as his
have created the confusion

stated explicitly:
the means by which
you seek to understand
are revealed as faults
in the system of understanding

or as Descartes’ acquaintances
used to whisper behind his back
“every time he takes a shower
he complains about getting wet”

USEFUL PIECE

you’re a useful piece of information
you’re a peaceful use of information
come on, baby, hold my hand
you’re a useful piece of information
come on, baby, hold me tight
you’re a peaceful use of information
you . . . you . . . you . . . useful
piece of information
don’t tell me about it
you’re a useful piece of information
I don’t want to know about you
cause you’re a useful piece
of information
ah, forget about the information
you’re a useful piece of ass

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

brain research hasn’t come up
with anything solid
it could be electricity
it could be liquid
one authority sticks out his neck and says
memories could be stored
in tiny gas bubbles
that sounds as good as anything else
I’ve read in these books lately

I can imagine all my childhood memories
each inside a tiny gas bubble
packed into the cells of my brain
like transparent 8 balls
in the pockets
of an organic pool table

but recently I’ve been having a hard time
with memories
my kid says, “tell me about when you were small”
and I can’t remember anything but a few
empty side pockets

instead I fart (poot!)
and another childhood memories escapes
and rises past my nose (sniff!)
I’m losing my mind

THE SLEEPING BAG FART

there’s a certain kind of fart
which I call the sleeping bag fart
it used to smell delicious

it got its name from those summer camp
2-week affairs in the woods
when we were fed platefuls of beans
everyday
which bubbled down
thru the inner tubes
in a matter of hours

a plateful of beans was perfectly timed
for lights out down in your sleeping bag
R-I-I-I-I-P-P-P-P!
(a sleeping bag fart)

some critics say there is a kind of writing
which they call muscular prose
there must be obese prose too
but probably only a thin man
would make that observation
in fact there must be
90-pound weakling prose
long, tall Texan prose
short fat Fanny prose
as well as diarhetic
and constipated prose

but the sleeping bag fart is pure poetry

WHAT GOES IN HAS GOTTA COME OUT . . . SOMETIME

why is it in the movies
you almost never see the characters
shitting, pissing, or farting?
and even then it’s not the hero
and never a woman
(one scene in Fellini
one in Wim Wenders
and, yes I know, Blazing Saddles
– but Mel Brookes
is no ordinary man)

here’s a typical scene:
the man gets up, he’s late for the office
he shaves, has a quick cup of coffee
and he’s into his car and off to work
what’s wrong?
he forgot to piss
I mean, everybody takes a piss in the morning
it’s the 1st thing you do

I think John Travolta
dancing around in Saturday Night Fever
letting off a few well-timed ass-rippers
would have added spice to that film
or Marlon Brando in The Godfather
in a high-level conference with the dons
lifting up his leg to cut the cheese
would have been appropriate
(everything else in there was pretty realistic)

my little boy answers my question:
“they got more interesting things to show”
like what?
car crashes
rapes
shootouts
I agree, those are pretty exciting things

they say we spend a 3rd of our life
sleeping
I get the impression
that I spend 10 percent of the rest
pissing, shitting, and farting
it may not always be exciting
but I’m usually having a good time
in fact some of my favorite ideas
occur to me when I’m standing here
taking a leak

DROPPING NAMES

I’ve got all these misprounced names
which I’ve given to movie stars
I don’t know why I do it
the names just slip out:

Henry Fondoo
Orson Wellsfargo
Gregory Woodpecker
Steve McQueenofengland
Cary Granite
Dustbin Hoffmanhole
Audrey Heartburn
Marilyn Skidrow
William Holdup
Raquel Belch
Jean-Paul Melbongo
Ursula Undress
Barbra Stretchpants
and
Fade Runaway

maybe it’s because some of the originals
are too perfect
or maybe I’m out to get revenge
for the name I got stuck with
who knows?
who’s to blame?
Warren Beastie
and Charlotte Rampage
– that’s who

W.C. FIELDS’ SECRET

I try to imitate W.C. Fields’ voice
and my friends laugh
even tho it comes out
sounding like Henry Kissinger

“you are a funny man” they say

but we all know it came out wrong

the secret of W.C. Fields’ voice
was the cigar
in the other corner
of his mouth

LETTER

I was glad when she wrote

it reminded me that I’d been thinking
about her
a lot
lately

WEATHERMEN IN THEIR WEATHERSTATIONS

few people realize
in this great age of technology
that weathermen in their weatherstations
do not predict the weather
anymore

they control it

they work for the ruling powers
whose main job is to keep the people
under control

I don’t know how they do it
(I’m talking about
the weathermen in their weatherstations
and not the ruling powers)
but they’re getting pretty good
at controlling the weather

and controlling our emotions along with it

word comes down
from the ruling powers
“excessive rain
to cause severe states
of depression
a little sunshine
to give a little hope
then hit ’em with
buckets of rain
to really shatter their spirits”

unfortunately for them
(I’m talking about the ruling powers
and not the weathermen in their weatherstations)
I love the rain
but I’m sure they’ll find some way
to get me

I hear they’ve got these machines
that broadcast special radio waves
that make people paranoid

DREAMS

when I go to bed
and lay down to sleep
the dreams from the night before
are waiting for me
they’re hiding in the sheets
they’re all over the pillow

but when I wake in the morning
those old dreams are gone
wiped out
erased
they’ve been replaced by new ones:
a tree in a courtyard
a spiderweb
a curved stone wall
a field of tall grass

I get up and go about my day
gradually forgetting about these new dreams

but when I go back to sleep at night
the tree and the spiderweb
the stone wall and the grass
are waiting for me
hiding in the sheets
all over the pillow

it’s a different bed
it keeps changing night after night

DALLAS GETS INTO MY DREAMS

I dreamed I fucked Sue Ellen
J.R. was in the other room
helpless
completely defeated

I know the American imagination
has given the world
much greater fictional characters:
Moby Dick
The Great Gatsby
Philip Marlowe
Holden Caufield
Randle McMurphy
Bob Slocum
Billy Pilgrim
and Montana Wildhack

but Montana Wildhack on the cover
of a Kilgore Trout novel
is nothing compared to Sue Ellen in bed

PORTABLE QUARTZ ALARM CLOCKS

on the way to the station
in Geneva
I bought an expensive
portable
quartz alarm clock
it stopped running
soon after I got on the train
I changed its batteries
tapped it against the heel of my boot
but there was nothing I could do
to get it going again

farther down the line
in Neuchatel
I went straight out
and bought another
portable quartz alarm clock
this time a cheap one
I took it back to the hotel
and looked at it
for a couple of hours
it worked fine

but at precisely 4:17 that night
it stopped running
I found this out when I woke up
too late for breakfast
no longer being served
after 10 a.m.

I threw it in the garbage
and decided to take the train
back to Geneva
and get the expensive one replaced

as I was walking thru the station
its alarm went off inside my suitcase

THIS IS NO ORDINARY HOT AIR BALLOON

they’ve commercialized alienation
they’re selling us alienation
they’re making a profit from alienation
ALIEN underarm deodorants
ALIEN floor wax
ALIEN detergents
ALIEN Japanese motor bikes
ALIEN dog foods
you can brush your teeth with ALIEN toothpaste
you can send ALIEN greeting cards if you care enough
you can shave with ALIEN electric razors
you can take fast-acting ALIEN
for instant relief
you can lose weight the ALIEN way
you can fly ALIEN airlines
and watch an ALIEN movie in mid-flight

but I wouldn’t walk a mile for an ALIEN
I wouldn’t even walk outside
I’ll just sit here in front of my ALIEN TV
with a can of ALIEN beer in my hand
and watch some guy on the screen
try to sell me
and ALIEN insurance policy

when the flying saucers land
there shouldn’t be any problem
they’ll feel right at home
at they drive down Sunset Blvd.
in their ALIEN rent-a-cars

MARY SAID SHE HAD TO DO SOME PUSH-UPS ON THE FLOOR WITH THE BOY SHE BROUGHT HOME FROM SCHOOL

one – two – one – two
“ouch!”
one – two – one – two
“wait, hold it, that hurts!”
one – two
“that better?”
“yeah”
one – two
“yeah”
one – two – three – four
“hope my dad doesn’t catch us”
one-two-three-four-five-six
“hope I don’t get pregnant”
onetwo onetwo
“shit, I think I hear my mom’s car!”
four three two ONE!
“Mary . . . is that you?”

IN FLAGRANTE DELICTO

the cops caught up with me in the park
I was sitting on a bench in front of the fountain
I’d been walking around the city all day
daydreaming

I had already scored the winning touchdown
for the Miami Dolphins
in the Superbowl
I had already disrobed and successfully seduced
the girl behind the counter at Hamburger Heaven
2 young divorcees window shopping in the mall
and 3 secretaries in mini-skirts
leisurely returning from their lunch break
I had already been chosen by extra-terrestrials
as the only human being they wished to meet
(the rendez-vous had taken place
on a deserted mountain top
late at night
with great spiritual rewards
for all who showed up)
I had already out-danced John Travolta
in a disco contest
(while browsing thru a record boutique)
and I was in the Monaco Grand Prix
driving my Ferrari Formula One
across the finish line in first place
when the police chief’s voice came blasting
thru the bullhorn:
“we have the park surrounded
you are under arrest
put your hands on your head
and surrender peacefully”

he was right
I looked around and saw a SWAT team in every tree
the National Guard was laying a strip of land mines
between me and the sand box
a division of U.S. Marines had set up a ring
of machine guns and tanks
on the perimeter of the park
choppers were hovering overhead
and the U.S. Airforce was standing by
to do a little low-level napalm bombing
if things got out of control
somehow the U.S. Navy had managed to get
into the fountain
undetected
and had set up a surface-to-air nuclear warhead

of course I hadn’t noticed that last one
that must have happened about the time
my 1st Piano Concerto
was being performed by the N.Y. Philharmonic
Herbert van Karajan, guest conductor
Glenn Gould, soloist
I was in the front row of Carnegie Hall
helping van Karajan keep time
by waving my arms around in the air

there wasn’t much I could do
they had caught me in the act

I put my hands on my head
and guarded closely by a special squad
of F.B.I. agents I was hustled
into an unmarked armored car
and driven down streets lined with angry citizens
shouting insults
and throwing rocks and bottles
to the city prison
where I was locked in maximum security

but the judge in court dismissed the charges
“there’s not a law in the books” he said
“to punish this despicable
anti-social
and (I might add)
obscene sort of behavior”

walking out of court i fell into a daydream
i imagined in was living in a world
where daydreaming was a crime
men with black sacks over their heads
were strapping me down
they were getting ready
to fry me
in that old electric rocking chair

I’M GLAD IT WASN’T MICKEY MOUSE

we couldn’t think of the actor’s name
the one who’d played in Pat Garret and Billy the Kid
who’d played in Long Day’s Journey into Night
who’d played in Once Upon a Time in the West

we walked around for hours but the name wouldn’t come
I stopped to tie my shoelaces
while she stared at a garbage can
then she said it, quietly, as if no one cared
“Jason Robards”

after that Jason Robards was everywhere
Jason Robards on the radio
Jason Robards on the phone
Jason Robards out jogging
Jason Robards walking his dog

the postman was Jason Robards
the gas station attendant was Jason Robards
the man living upstairs was Jason Robards

we had Jason Robards ham and eggs for breakfast
we had Jason Robards spaghetti for dinner
we had Jason Robards coming out our ears
and then the inevitable happened:
I, myself, became Jason Robards

later I went back alone
to find that garbage can
hoping to discover the piece of trash
that had started it all

but the garbage can was empty
Jason Robards, the garbage collector
had been around since then

NO, BUT I READ THE BOOK

I answered the phone
in my best Humphrey Bogart
Lee Marvin
Robert Mitchum voice
“make it quick, I got a gun pointed at my head”
“hi, honey . . . how you been?”
it was a woman I didn’t know
giving me her best Mae West
Marlene Dietrich
Dolly Parton voice
she had the wrong number
but we kept up the conversation
each waiting for the other to give in

finally we decided to meet that night
have a couple of drinks
talk about old times
we agreed on a sleazy bar
just off skid row

she was already there when I arrived
a thin, delicate girl
who looked like she’d just stepped out
of The Shining
as Shelly Duvall
I was wearing my plastic anorak
and white sneakers
“hi” I said, sounding like Richard Dreyfus
in Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind
“is it really you?” she asked sounding
like Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz
“that’s right . . . you must be . . . ”
“gee!”
I was Woody Allen
in Play it Again Sam
she was Mia Farrow
in Rosemary’s Baby

we each had a coke
talked about the weather
and decided to get married

“do you take this woman to be your wife?”
said the preacher
who was Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones
“I wouldn’t be here wasting everybody’s time if I didn’t”
replied Marlon Brando’s Godfather
“skip the formalities, mister, can’t you see
he’s got a gun pointed at his head?”
said Anne Bancroft’s Mrs. Robinson

HE FLOATS LIKE A FLY IN BUTTERMILK
AND SINGS LIKE A DROWNING STOOL PIGEON

I can hear it already:
“he writes like Brautigan
and he reads like Bukowski”
and it’s not intended to be a compliment

before I got into this
I had other things on my mind, like:
I hope it doesn’t rain
and
yes, those pot seeds turned out to be beans
and
don’t forget, garbage day tomorrow
and
that’s right, my kid’s been after me all week
to raise the seat on his bike
and
why not? a cup of coffee would be nice
and
look at the clock, I’ve gotta get into town
and get those books back to the library
and
I wonder, will I get back in time
for the half finals of the U.S. Open on TV?

but now that you mention it
I just may go down to the tracks this afternoon
lose a few bucks on the horses
pick up a couple of 6-packs
and one lonely hooker
on the way back
and
next week
maybe do a little trout fishing in Japan
after all

THE U.S. OPEN

Borg and McEnroe were going at it on my TV
when there was a knock on my door
it was the finals of the U.S. Open
Borg was playing like the cool cat he was
but it looked like the Mac was going to win
the knocking came again
“come in” I shouted
McEnroe was whining at the line judges
frowning at his racket between serves
and looking like he’d rather use it on Borg’s head
instead of that small tennis ball
the knocking continued
I got up
my eyes still glued to the screen
I reached without looking
and opened the door
“come in” I said
my back still turned
as I walked back to the TV
McEnroe bounced the ball a couple of times
and served an ace into Borg’s outside corner
I was hoping McEnroe would lose
but it didn’t look like I was going to get my wish
“he serves well
– for a kid”
the voice was familiar
I turned around
Jimmy Conners was standing there
a scotch on the rocks in his hand
“make yourself at home”
I said
“thanks, I already have”
said Jimmy
“who’s ahead?”

TUNNEL VISION

I’m the doubtful owner if a new pair
of gold frames for my old lenses

I’ve only looked at trees and birds thru them so far
so I don’t know how people are going to turn out

I suppose they’ll look about the same
as they did thru the old pair
that is to say –
a little worried

ANIMALS

1.
human beings are not my favorite animals
dolphins are more graceful
lemurs more pure
horses have more beauty
wolves have more dignity

elephants, tho enormous,
aren’t interested in pushing anyone around
badgers, tho small,
don’t take shit from anyone

rattlesnakes, tho dangerous,
are always reasonable
pigs have a better sense of humor
even a good dog or cat has more sense

but once in a while I meet a human being
who does not make me ashamed of my species
once in a while I meet one
who had grace, purity, beauty, and dignity
and it’s usually a child

2.
humans built this ladder
and then declared
the top rung
was their private property

all the other animals sat around
looking at the ladder
that led down into a hole in the ground
wondering why
anyone would want to climb down there

THOSE WEAR CLOTHES

cats don’t wear hats
flies don’t wear ties
pigs don’t wear wigs
doves don’t wear gloves

ants don’t wear pants
goats don’t wear coats
men don’t go naked
those wear clothes

STEAM BATH

I’d never been to a steam bath before
but I’ll try anything once
as long as it doesn’t include
standing in front of a moving car
or mainlining a gallon of red wine
to see if I can get drunk
without getting the stomach involved

the room was tiled and smelled of chlorine
the girl behind the counter
had on a white uniform
the kind nurses wear
I paid my buck fifty, got my locker key
and strolled down the hall
thru the swinging doors
into a room full of steam

I undressed, put my stuff in the locker
hung the key around my neck
and wandered around, wondering
what I was supposed to do

naked men were strolling around
with towels around their necks
one with glasses
kept wiping the moisture away
with the corner of his towel
at the end of the room
sat a fat man
in a plastic sun deck chair
reading a newspaper
looking like a degenerate Buddha
“first time?”
I nodded
“trying to figure out what to do?”
I nodded again
he pointed to a wooden bench
“sit down and sweat it out –
or if it gets to be too much
you can take a cold shower
they’re by the door where you came in”
I said “thanks” and walked back down the hall
“hey” said the fat man
“you forgot to pick up a towel”

he was right
I was already sweating so much
that even without a shower
I was too wet to put on my clothes
I walked back thru the swinging door
and up to the counter
“can I have a towel, please?”
she looked up from her crossword puzzle
her eyes traveling from my face
to my dangling genitalia
she put her hand over her mouth
and with her eyes wide open
backed out of the room

how about that?
I’d forgotten I was a man
and that she was a woman
I wished that would happen more often

SEVEN FAILED ROMANCES

1.

I had my tongue in my cheek
and the lights turned down low
she had nothing but time
and a bad reputation
after that we just sort of
drifted apart

2.

she sat up in bed knitting
I lay on the couch in the next room
listening to the Ronettes on the radio
she kept calling for me to come to bed
but I knew she was knitting baby clothes
so I went to sleep where I was

3.

I was just off the plane from San Francisco
arriving at the house
where some friends were staying

she was coming out the door
as I was going in

she was on her way to catch a plane
to New York City

4.

she was 18 and looked 27
I was 42 and felt like 33
if I’d been 3 years younger
and she’d been 3 years older
we would have been perfect for each other

5.

I was tired of being alone
and happy to be alive
I was ready to fall in love with anyone

she was at the end
of a string of broken hearts
and looking for solitude

6.

everything was going fine
until the next morning
when she ate a huge breakfast
then put her fingers down her throat
and puked it up
saying she had to watch her weight

7.

we had an electric attraction
every time we touched
there was a spark
we got a shock
we tried to imagine a future
of gum boots
and rubber gloves
it was too much
for either one of us

TIME LIMITS

people are always putting time limits
on themselves and others
“you have exactly one minute
to make up your mind”
“if you’re not out of town by sunset
you’re going to be in big trouble”
“I’ll give you 48 hours
to think it over”
“we have one week to come up with a solution
or we’ll all be out of a job”

it’s always round numbers
a day, a week, a minute, an hour
sometimes it’s a second
“if you’re not out of this room
in ten seconds flat
I’ll throw you out the window”
you never hear:
“I’ll give you 47 hours and 52 minutes
to get out of town”
it’s always 48
or 24
or 12
it’s never ten minutes before or after
sunset
it’s always sunset

I sometimes think
that if I had to make up my mind
a minute would not be enough
maybe it would take a minute and a half
other times it wouldn’t take any time at all
I would already know the answer
I would have been thinking about it
for the past 3 years

THAT MAGIC TRICK SET

walking down a street when I was a kid
I used to play a game with myself
if I don’t make it to the next lamp post
before that car I hear coming gets there
then . . .
the punishments were always unusual and unjust
they’ll drop the atomic bomb
or I’ll never grow any taller
I’ll be a midget all my life
or worse I won’t get that magic trick set
for my birthday

sometimes I won, sometimes I lost
it was hard losing

now I just walk down the street
it’s all different
I hear the cars pass
without looking up
and I don’t even see the lamp posts

WHITE NOISE

we need noise
we’d go crazy without it
it’s always there
a refrigerator humming
an airplane passing
a dog’s bark
the sound of the radio next door
even those embarrassing so-called silences
at the dinner table with invited guests
when no one knows what to say
you can always hear someone
swallow their food

you get the kids out of the house
the phone rings
when the conversation in the bar dies down
someone cranks up the pinball
when the singer’s finished his song
you can’t help clapping your hands
even when a TV station goes off the air
it leaves behind all that beautiful
white
noise

imagine silence
no noise – nothing at all
it would be a total
screaming
silence

ANOTHER AGE ANOTHER CENTURY

I was born in 1941
everything that happened before that
seems remote
even the 30’s belong to another age
another century
the depression years, the names
of Al Capone and John Dillinger
seem far removed in time
they don’t have anything to do with me

my son was born in 1976
the 60’s will seem the same to him
Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix
will be quaint names from a distant past
even the disco music
we’re listening to on the radio right now
will seem to him someday
as the music of Glenn Miller
and Benny Goodman seem to me
remote
of another age
belonging to another century

RINGS OF FIRE AND AN ASSHOLE FULL OF ICE

I read in a book that when you take a shot of whiskey
in cold weather
it’s only your imagination that warms you up
(quote) alcohol takes blood away from the surface of the skin
if anything it causes a fall in body temperature (unquote)

I quoted this passage to a guy
who was raised in a strict puritan family
he told me this:
“I don’t know
every time I drink a drop of the Devil’s Temptation
I see rings of fire rise up around me
lord, it’s enough to keep me warm all winter”

now when I take a shot of whiskey
I don’t see rings of fire
but by the end of the bottle
I can sit out in the snow, naked
eating vanilla ice cream cones
and ask the lord when he’s gonna send
a little cool weather my way
for a change

AUTOGRAPHED GRAFFITI
(copied from the walls of imaginary men’s toilets
all over the imaginary world)

it’s wake up in the morning
with mung (!) on your tongue
zof (!) in your eyes
and flatch (!) in your dung

the old toilet papers
are slices of truth
you brush your teeth
and lose another tooth
(Burma Shave)

I am a bear
I live in bear land
bear skin I wear
what a bear I am
(anon.)

whoever wrote the above
is full of shit
he’s also such an anus
that all the laxatives in the world
won’t help him unload
(Winnie-the-Pooh)

well, let me tell you folks
that shit blew my head off
man, I was flying
(Timothy Leary, Ph.D.)

if you don’t like solitaire
why don’t you try passing the time
by playing a little 4-hand canasta?
(the Manchurian Candidate)

(hastily scrawled in ball point
beneath a pair of dirty underwear
nailed to the wall)
here hangs Paganini’s bikini
she was a great lady
and she sure as hell could play the fiddle
(Yehudi Menuhin)

after the third beep
the perfect obscene phone call
will become a thing of the past
((signed) the Third Beep

several secretaries
in a subway chewing gum
advertising athlete’s feet
and dreams for deaf and dumb
oh lord, why hast speech forsaken me?
(Matthew 6, Verse 35)

in this life I am a freak
in the one before I guess I was a Greek
the time before that I must’ve had a beak
next time around I think I’ll learn to speak
but right now, friends, I’ve gotta take a leak
– The Bar-Bell Buddha
alias the Mystical Weight Lifter

for those who are interested
in low-cost harmonica lessons
please sign below –
Scarlet O’Hara
Buffalo Bill
Che Guevara
Cecil B. de Mille

Don Quixote
Short Fat Fanny
Casanova
Little Orphan Annie

Zarathustra
Ali McGraw
Romeo and Juliet
and Sam Peckinpaw

Joan Baez
Sigmund Freud
Aunt Jemima
Harold Lloyd

Vincent Price
the Virgin Mary
Mahalia Jackson
Dirty Harry

Jerry Lee Lewis
and Christine Keeler
Dolly Parton
and the Pittsburgh Steelers

a rabbit in the fields
seen thru the squares of a wire fence
jumps from frame to frame
– Waylon Jennings

a fly walks on my window
behind the window
telephone wires?
– Willie Nelson

these Nelson and Jennings characters
don’t know nothin’ about haiku
here’s one to show y’all
how it’s done:

let me give you a hand
let me give you a mojo hand
let me give you a mojo handshake
– Toshiro Mifune

my record collection is full of dead people
– Philip Marlowe

I guess I got the wrong door
but now that I’m here
I’m gonna make the best
of a good situation
and show you boys
exactly how I want that grape peeled
– Alice in Wonderland

listen Alice
I don’t mind you quoting me
but I think you should know
I’ve been in her long before you
and I’ve just been too busy
to do any serious letter writing
– Mae West

I’ve been standing in here all day
staring at the wall
trying to think
of something
to write on it
but all I can think of
is that roses are red
and violets are blue thing
I learned in school
I can’t remember how the rest of it goes
please help me
– Richard M. Nixon

Dear Dick
I think it goes like this:
roses are red
violets are blue
let’s ride into town
on a fat kangaroo
– Frank Sinatra
p.s. but I’m not sure
could someone check it out?

well, I checked it out
and you got it wrong
here’s the original version:
the moving finger writes
and having writ – moves on
roses are red
and violets are blue
– Omar Khayyam Jr.

Japanese and Chinese poets
used to write their poems
then cast them into rivers
and watch them float away
when you’re finished reading this wall
please flush it down the toilet
(the management)

IF I’D BEEN AROUND

if I’d been around when Einstein was struggling
with the final equations of his Unified Field Theory
I would have made a few rapid calculations
and had it wrapped up in a couple of hours
and we could have gone out for a drink

if I’d been around when Leonardo da Vinci
was painting the Mona Lisa
he would have handed me the brush and said
“here – you do the smile”

if I’d been around when Christ was crucified
I would have talked P.Pilate out of the whole thing
which would have saved the Roman Empire
the cost of a bag of nails
and the rest of the world a lot of needless pain

if I’d been around when the Wright Brothers
were leaning to fly
I would have showed them how to skip
the greasy kid’s stuff
and have a man on the moon
by the end of the week

if I’d been around when the Sheik of Arabia
was having trouble with his harem
I would have taken 2 dozen
of his best girls aside
for an evening of pleasure and instruction
and left them walking bow-legged
for the rest of their lives

if I’d been around for the 1936 Olympics in Berlin
Jesse Owens would have been standing
on the 2nd step of the podium
watching me also bring home world’s records
in the high jump, the mile, and the marathon
all of which would have remained unbroken
well into the 22nd century

if I’d been around when everybody thought the world was flat
I would have beaten Columbus by a thousand years
and been elected the first president
I would have been affectionately known as
the father of our country
and today my picture would be on the dollar bill

you may think I’m a little outspoken
when I say all this
but I say it in all humility
modesty has always been
one of my most outstanding qualities

OKLAHOMA SIX-PACK
(or an Honest Film Critic is Hard to Find)

my last year in high school
6 of us guys went out one night
and got drunk
it was something to do
we got in Pete’s car
3 in front, 3 in back
and drove around town drinking beer
there were 2 cases in the trunk
we kept getting out to piss
and get new supplies
then someone said we should go to Santa Rosa
so we did
it was something to do
we drove around Santa Rosa for a while
drinking beer, getting drunk
then someone said we should go to a movie
so Pete pulled over at the first show we came to
and we staggered in
each with a couple of cans of beer under his jacket
the movie theater was crowded
but we stumbled around in the dark
and managed to find 6 seats in a row
the movie was somewhere in the middle
it took about 10 minutes
before one of us discovered the name of the movie
“hey! it’s Oklahoma!”
we were all seeing double
sitting in a row, still hitting the beer
it was about the worst choice we could have made
a musical
none of us ever went to see musicals
even when we were sober
we sat there in a row, seeing double
trying to figure out how we got there
up on the screen there was a dancing scene
a bunch of innocent-looking girls
in white lace petticoats
were trying to act virginal
and sexy at the same time
then came a song
fake sad voices poured out of the screen
“poor Jud is dead”
and Charlie, who was 2 seats down,
puked all over the row in front of us
that was when we decided
we’d seen enough of Oklahoma
we were moving too fast at the time
for me to ask Charlie
if it was the beer or the movie
that had made him sick
and later I forgot about it
but now I’m sure it was the movie

RHYTHM ‘N BLUES FOOTBALL

in the 8th grade I wanted to play football
I got on the team as the 4th string quarterback
the coach invented that position for me
the main job of the 4th string quarterback
was to keep the bench warm
and stay out of everybody’s way

the last game of a losing season
we were playing a team from the orphan’s home
they had a black guy in their back field
he was strong and fast and good
we were losing 75-0
with one minute to play
the coach put me into the game
at defensive left guard
I took off my glasses and trotted in
thinking this was how my Uncle Chuck
must have felt as an all-American lineman

on the next play the orphan home team
ran a play over left guard
the lineman on the other side pulled out
leaving a hole
I stood up, blinking
trying to figure out
what was going on
without my glasses
I could see about a foot in front of me
and that’s when a black ball of fire
hit me face on
ran right over me
knocked me flat
he didn’t stick around
to see my lights go out

I woke up on the sidelines
final score 82-0
that was the last time
I had a job as a 4th-string quarterback
and it was the first time
I’d seen a black guy
– up close that is
you might say it was my first taste
of racial conflict
later that night
James Brown on my radio
sounded different

I turned on the radio
and heard this black ball of fire
coming at me
I knew if I was going to win any games
I would have to change sides
I turned up the volume
and lay back on my bed
as James Brown
the nation’s number 1 Rhythm ‘n Blues Fullback
plowed thru my room
and scored another touchdown

THE SIXTIES

I don’t like to think about the 60s
those years were too important then
they were too complex
and now it’s too late
no one will ever figure out
what went down
the 60s was an unzipped pair of pants

the 70s was a slap in the face
a slap in the face is easy to understand

I prefer the 80s
there’s nothing to understand

SEQUOIA NATIONAL PARK
CROSSING OVER INTO KINGS CANYON NATIONAL

backpacking in the High Sierras
John and I were 6 days out
Sequoia National Park
crossing over into Kings Canyon National
we hadn’t seen another human
or man-made thing all that time
that’s what we wanted
pine trees
waterfalls
granite rocks
streams from snow meltdowns
that’s what we’d come for

we came to a wide wooden bridge
someone had built across the Kern River
we were standing in the middle
looking upstream
at the fast-moving water
over jagged rocks
6 days out
70 miles from the nearest human
when we were attacked from behind
by 3 jet fighter planes
coming in low
using that bridge for target practice
they bombed the shit out of that bridge
with rolls of toilet paper

BACK ROOM STRATEGY

speaking of toilet paper
I had a temporary job one summer
at the army depot in Oakland
packing CONEX boxes
(metal containers
6 feet high, wide, and deep)
with whatever was on the list I had been given

one week I packed nothing but toilet paper
tons and tons of it

it was all being shipped to Japan and Korea
none of it to Vietnam
where there was a war going on

from this I learned an important lesson:
you’ve got to finish a war
before you’re allowed to wipe your ass

THE FACELESS CHEERING SECTION

“give me an I!”
“I!”
“give me a D!”
“D!”
“give me an E!”
“E!”
“give me an N!”
“N!”
“give me a T!”
“T!”
“give me another I!”
“I!”
“give me another T!”
“T!”
“give me a Y!”
“Y!”
“what’s that spell?”
“I don’t know”

TALK ABOUT COINCIDENCE

after dinner I tilted back
my chair and we exchanged stories
I was talking about the winter
but I was thinking about the spring

the conversation shifted
to ordinary misfortune
I was talking about the forest
but I was thinking about the trees

someone turned the record over
a joint was passed around
I was talking about smoke
but I was thinking about fire

the conversation died down
someone got up to leave
I was talking about me
but I was thinking about you

CHINESE CULTURE EXHIBITION

I saw an exhibition of Chinese culture

they had a bunch of mechanical birds
that bounced around
when you wound them up

they had miniature playing cards
you had to look at
thru a microscope

they had a few rows of plates
cups
and saucers

it ended with a demonstration
of a guy who crushed
a light bulb
into tiny bits
with his bare hands

I always thought western culture
was in trouble
but we’ve still saved a few things
for the mind
(I think)

THE MEETING OF GREAT MINDS AND BODIES

thousands of years ago
2 people were walking an open road
approaching each other from miles away
neither had seen another human being for days
(for there weren’t many people in those times)

as these 2 people approached each other
they had the same thoughts we have today
when we pass one another in crowds?
will he rob me?
kill me?
man or woman?
can i fuck it?

as the 2 people drew nearer
more definitions were created
“hey, he’s got one of those
fancy new shirts!”
“jesus, she’s got a nice ass”
“wow, he’s got a crippled leg”
“man, what’s that perfume she’s wearing?”

it was definite now
one was a man
the other was a woman
they got closer until finally
they stood face to face

and in the moment that followed
the events of the next one hundred thousand years
for the entire human race
were determined

AND THE END IS NOT IN SIGHT

you tell your story
but it doesn’t come out right
so you tell it again

but you’re not satisfied
with the way you told it
so you tell it again

but you forgot to include
some of the most interesting parts
so you tell it again

and when you’re finished
you realize
that all the fun you had
trying to tell your story
should be included too
so you start over
and tell your story again

POEMS 1986-2001  |  TUCKER ZIMMERMAN

CREDO

I believe in the power of words
(I’d be wasting my time here if I didn’t)

I believe in the force of language
(I’d be a fool to stick around if I didn’t)

I believe in the Lone Ranger
(he had such a faithful Indian companion)

I believe in the holiness of the human spirit
and forget about the limits we burden ourselves with

I believe in the mythological Jesus Christ
(I must or I wouldn’t be taking his name in vain)

I believe in the werewolf
He has lived inside of me for as long as I can remember
We’re old friends.
I believe in the magic of music
I believe in the music of words

APPROACHING WISDOM

approaching 60
feel myself slowing down
muscles
blood
brain
tongue and bowels

they’ve still got this idea
that the Old Man is wise
that his words are pearls
of perfection

there he sits – on his throne
choosing his words carefully
spinning webs of wisdom

DON’T YOU BELIEVE IT

the geezer is just slowing down
pillaging an empty memory box
or just maybe
trying to think of something to say

[ February, 2001 ]

ASHTRAY GARDEN

She stopped smoking one day.

A week later, mysteriously
a flower garden appeared
in the ashtray of her car.

I wanted to see it for myself.

She drove me along the river road
past fishermen and boats drifting
on the slow-moving water.
Cautiously I pulled out the ashtray.
Inside were dozens of tiny red roses,
just blossomed, freshly watered.
Their scent filled the car.

“I don’t know where they come from,”
she said, “And I never know
what I’m going to get next.”

On the way home
I opened the ashtray again.
This time it was buttercups.

AMAZING MINDS

A man and a woman
watched people throwing trash in the woods

The man said, “If I ever figured out
why people do that
I’d probably go crazy.”

The woman grunted.

The man said, “If Harrison Ford came on TV
and said something like that in an interview
you’d clap your hands
and say, ‘What an amazing mind.'”

The woman said, “Harrison Ford
does have an amazing mind.
He knows what he’s talking about.
With you it’s just accidental.”

1984

Orwell gave the year a lot of advance publicity
(tho George was not entirely to blame –
he wanted to call the book 1946)

Richard Brautigan ceased to be a living writer in 1984.
Suddenly the number of his published works
were definite and my collection was sadly complete.
We don’t know if his death was accidental or intentional.
We do know that he wrote in a way that made absurd
a distinction between the two.

In 1984 I read books published in 1972,
1978, 1941, 1956, 1951, 1952, 1937, and 1946.
But none published in 1984.

APRIL FOOLS TO HALLOWEEN

1.
From April to October
I listened to the ballgames on the radio
American Forces Radio from Frankfurt.
Because I lived in Europe they were always
night games. Sometimes the ninth inning
didn’t roll round until 5 AM. I’d come
up from my studio and tune in for a few
innings or occasionally an entire game
settle back on the couch and let the voices
flow over and into my ears, the voices
of Ernie Harwell of the Detroit Tigers
and Jack Buck of the St. Louis Cards
and Vin Skully when the Dodgers
were playing the Giants. Their voices
floated in and out of focus
on the shifting airwaves, the signal
receding to a blur
and mixing in with Slavic voices
and Greek jumping bean accordions
and a snatch of a Verdi opera as
an Italian station jingled in
at two ten a.m. on the dot.
Then the signal would return
so strongly so clearly
I could hear the crack of a bat.
Once I heard a vendor in the background
calling out to sell his hotdogs
halfway around the world.
I didn’t care about the scores
about who won or lost
I just liked the sound of the game
and the way it took me back
and connected me with myself
when I was ten, eleven, twelve
lying in bed on a summer night
and listening to the Giants
go after the Dodgers
with Willie Mays out in centerfield
and Juan Marechal on the mound.
Tho one year by the end of the playoffs
and the start of the World Series
I was rooting for the Boston Red Sox.
Ken Coleman promised me the Sox
would pull it out. Ken was wrong.
But nothing was lost.
It was the ritual that attracted me.
The rules, the flow of voices
and that pocket of comfort I’d drop
down inside of like a foul ball
into a well-oiled first baseman’s glove.

[ the 1986 World Series ended on Monday, October 27,
when the New York Mets beat the Boston Red Sox 8 to 5 ]

2.
From April to October he watched his hair grow.
In April he got a crew cut. The comb lay flat
against his skull and snipping scissors
took off every sprout of hair above it.
Each hair was now of equal length
and the length was measured in millimeters.
He had a thin carpet covering his head.
He patted it with the palm of his hand
and the hedgehog carpet came to life.
By October each of those hairs growing
out to equal length were standing
six inches above his scalp.
He couldn’t get a single hair to lie down.
He thought of his friend in high school
who kept getting sent from classroom
to the wash room to wet down
his wild and unwilling hair
to make it toe the line
and make him look like all the
rest of us junior Bing Crosbys.
The teachers called it insubordination.
They almost threw him out of school.
I thought about my friend as I soaked my head
under the faucet and brushed the wet rug
back until I looked like a blues singer
from Chicago.

[ This is what happened in 1986 between April Fools and Halloween ]

BACKYARD COLLECTION OF PENDULUMS

How can you say this is normal?
A 2-car garage and a 6-air mattress swimming pool
a cell phone in every pocket
a TV screen sucking at your eyes
from every room?
You call that normal?

Why don’t you trade in your cars
and buy 200 motorcycles
and crash-park them in your garage?
Why don’t you stock your pool
with beavers, toss in a few trees
watch them build a dam
then sit on your back porch swing
and shoot them with slingshot golf balls?
That would be a lot closer to normal.

Or maybe toss out all your cell phones
and join a sect that wears electric pink
satin underwear and worships slow motion
candid camera tapes of pregnant mothers
trying to stop smoking

Or why don’t you just put a bullet
thru each of your TV screens
(it’s not true, they don’t implode
and imploding suck everything
into the vast void of the networks beyond
including your face
and the contents of your skull.
It’s just not true. Elvis did it all the time
and he never lost any weight).

If you did all that
and told me you lead a normal life
I’d have to agree,
but only if you came over to my place
and played with my collection of pendulums
in the backyard
and danced upon the live polar bear rug
in the bath room
(“Hard to get that critter to lay down,”
I’d tell you).
then stepped into my telephone booth
in the kitchen (squeezed between
the fridge and the stove)
dropped a quarter in the slot, dialed
a number at random and listened
to some idiot in Idaho scream your ears off
about how many yo-yos it takes to power
a parachute after you’ve jumped off a cliff.

THE BELGIANS

the Belgians are a peaceful people

what more can I say?

I can say:
they eat tons of waffles
with whipped cream daily
they eat megatons of frits
they drink a several lakes of beer
and smoke 22 million packs a day

I can say:
of course they’re peaceful
after consuming all that crap
it’s a miracle they’re not comatose

From the BOOK OF ROCK AND ROLL

And they came
the electric guitar wizards and magicians
they came with their tidal waves of lust
that almost uprooted the entire
western harmonic tradition
Jerry Garcia, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton
Johnny Winters, Neil Young.
Who would have thought
that B.B. King and Chuck Berry
could have started such an avalanche of musical lava.

And the Magicians and Wizards
brought with them their Dynamic Drummers
who brought their thundering drums
that almost uprooted the History of Music
those nameless, faceless SHADOWS
at the back of the stage
who powered the engines
that powered the huge
Trucks and Trailers
of ROCK and ROLL

And they brought with them their Singers
Singers whose words and voices
almost swamped the History of Poetry
Singer Shamans. Singer Snakes.
Singer Wolves, Singer Werewolves
Singer Weasels, Eagles, Beagles.
Singer Dolphins, Bats and Bears,
Fireflies, Butterflies
Dogs, Cats and Lemurs
the Singers came, they sung, they conquered.
Jim Morrison, Van Morrison, Bob Dylan,
Joe Cocker, Richie Havens, Tim Hardin
Joni Mitchell, Marvin Gaye,
Otis Redding, Neil Young
Grace Slick, Aretha Franklin

And they gathered into Powerful Tribal Groups
The Beach Boys, The Band, Creedence, Chambers
Brothers, Rolling Stones, Ronettes, Beatles,
Buffalo Springfield, The Grateful Dead,
Loving Spoonful, Sir Douglas Quintet,
Canned Heat, Love, The Fugs, The Doors

Who could have imagined
that Ray Charles and Mahalia Jackson
would give birth to such off-spring?

BREAKFAST IN CHINATOWN

Sneaking out of North Beach 3 a.m.
along Grant Ave. with my sack
of brand new City Lights paperbacks
(Kerouac (35¢),Kierkegaard, Albion Moonlight)
deep into Chinatown, headless chickens
hanging behind dark shop windows
down 5 steps into a side street cellar
it’s Hooey Looie Gooey’s 4 rows
of old, body-worn wooden booths.
I’m the only white face in the place
grab a bowl, head back to the kitchen
where the cook ladles my bowl
full of beef rice and gravy, a sprinkle
of chopped onions 25¢
full meal, all you can eat
squeeze into a booth surrounded by 3 a.m
chopstick Chinese coming from work,
going to work, breakfast and dinner
the same. Beef Rice! 25¢!

CHARLES BUKOWSKI : 1920-1994

Chinaski’s dead.
He talked about it
wrote about it
and now
he’s gone over
to see what it’s really like.

Over to where
critics are not allowed,
landlords never collect rent
and there’s always a parking place
for a beat-up Volks.

Over to where
horses have wings
and the players never miss a bet,
where the beer drinkers
wine drinkers
whiskey drinkers
never wake up with a hangover, over
to where the used-up whores are angels
and poems
are leaves from angel trees
and the leaves are so plentiful that nobody
bothers bending over to pick them up
except once a year when everybody
gets out their brooms
and sweeps them into a big pile
and sings while they burn
and the smoke pours up to heaven
as if from a big cigar.

[ March 10, 1994 ]

CATS

Lumberjack
Tom the Sneaker
Bird Abortion
Rat Puke
Chunga
Breakdance
Tip Tail
Burnt Rentals
Shortstop
Moon

It doesn’t matter what you call your cat
he’ll come whenever he feels like it

CORKY POEMS
for Ellen

I. DOG LOG

I took the dog out to the back garden
he pissed on the grass
he sniffed at a bush
he barked at a bird
no shit

II. DAWG LAWG

Corky leaps into the garden!
sprays the entire lawn
with voluminous amounts of urine!
devours a few birds
and a couple of cats!
howls at the moon
until he sees there is no moon visible
so he screams at the sun instead!
waves his tail at a couple of passing planes,
then races back inside
to cop a few more Zs.
Once again, no shit

CHINESE ROOM MATE

Her roommate was crying out in her sleep
in Chinese.
She said, “It’s OK. Don’t worry,” and she
rushed out of the darkened room into the hall.
I wondered how I could get to know this girl
now that she had a Chinese roommate
who went to bed so early
and had so much influence over her.

HOW TO WRITE A CHINESE POEM

go to china
take the plane
forget your name
come home flapping
your own wings

HOW TO WRITE A JAPANESE POEM

go to Japan
take the train
listen to the temple bells
get out your old marimba
and join in

sometime late at night
you will hear the cry
of the ancient Chip Monk

ignore the ancient Chip Monk

CYBERPUNK POEM

She was 15 the first time she jacked.
(That’s jack, Jack: as in plugged in)
Someday you will give your love away
Tokyo airport flashing past
contained in chains of
virtual molecules. The doctor
in mirrorshades at the baggage
claim carrousel: You got the face
of a 16-year old girl and the spine
of a 70-year old android.
Flying in from Seattle.
The boy with the chrome fingernails.
The fiberoptic co-axial cable
trailing away from the socket
in the back of his skull
trailing away into infinity
smoke rising from a plastic pack
of fake cigarettes
strapped to his bicep.
Some days you can’t give your love away

CYNICISM
for Quanah

cynicism is a waste of good mind;
a futile attempt to protect yourself
from a cruel, harsh world.
What can you do?
Don’t worry.
You’ll get over it.

DATE

she was shorter than he imagined
she had buck teeth
and she was blind

DOG TROT

the dog trots down the frozen street
tiny puffs of steam
popping out of his anus
as he farts along

DREAMS

come on kids, dream

and keep your dreams alive
let’s make them all come true
that’s what they’re for

all you got to do
is dream a little more

DRUMMERS
for Ditch

All over the world there are mountains
and valleys and forests.
There are lakes and rivers
and oceans. There are towns and villages
and cities. And everywhere you go, it seems,
every time you turn around, every time
you get settled down and start counting
on a little peace and quiet
YOU BUMP INTO A DRUMMER.

On the road, in roadside cafes. Drummers.
In five & dimes and supermarkets. Drummers.
Banks, car washes, drive-in movies. Drummers.
Even in your kitchen they’re in your face
beating their tom toms, whisking their skins
and tapping their cymbals.
This morning I went in to take a leak
and found a cool beater in my bathtub.
I sent him out to the garage
to smash in the back end
of my old pickup truck.

Tomorrow I’ll drive to the south
in search of a harmonica player.

[ Gig Harbor Washington, Oct. 1996 ]

ELEPHANT STORM

thunder from across the flatlands
vague flashes of lightning in the cloudy sky
It booms closer
and we count the seconds between the
flash
and the
boom
“one elephant . . . two elephants . . . ”
(and so forth right up to)
“12 elephants!”

12 miles away.

the storm creeps closer
8 elephants
4 elephants
the lightning strikes are visible now
huge electronic snakes curling out of the sky.

“only 3 elephants.”

then
Flash! Bang!
Right on top of us.
NO ELEPHANTS!

EULOGY

How’s this for a eulogy at my funeral

Delivered by an eleven-year old street urchin.

“He always stopped in the street and talked to us. He didn’t have to. We knew he was a real smart dude because he read books and he composed music and stuff like that, maybe he was even a genius or something, and most dudes like that are snobs and would never talk to the likes of us. But not him. He was real cool. He always asked us how we were doing. He wanted to make sure we were doing OK.”

Not a dry eye in the house.

WHAT KIND OF FATHER WAS I? (PART ONE)

Me (age 38): Hey, man. Want to stop
and climb around on that stack of boxes?
My Son (age 3): I don’t think so, dad. It looks kind of dangerous.

WHAT KIND OF FATHER WAS I? (PART TWO)

Me (age 41, in the front seat, smoking a joint): Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this is some kind of dangerous drug, that I might start acting strange and say a few goofy things. But don’t be alarmed. I won’t go berserk or anything like that. Everything’s undercontrol. Completely . . . even tho those polar bears who just drove by in that pickup truck looked a little weird . . . and that semi we just passed, I know, it was about three miles long. But that’s OK. None of this is real or at least I don’t think it is -except you and me, we’re real, that much I’m certain of, and maybe those bees buzzing around in the glove compartment are real too, but I’m NOT going to open the glove compartment, not at this particular junction of our life at least . . . cause like I said, I’ve got everything under control -everything.”

My son (age 5, from the backseat): “Where’s mom?”

WHAT KIND OF FATHER WAS I? (PART HREE)

My Son (age 13, while walking the streets of Amsterdam on a warm summer day): That’s just some old hippie stoned on grass

Me (age 48): Yeah but thank god he’s there.

WHAT KIND OF FATHER WAS I? (PART FOUR)

My Son (age 15): That sounds like something Marshall McLuhan would say.

Me (age 50): What do you know about Marshall McLuhan?

FLASHION SHOW

She was shrugging her fist
and twisting her teeth.
She was blinking her butt
and telescoping her belly button.

What kind of woman is this
(I asked myself) who can perform
such original feats of entropy?
Is she the kind of woman
I’d want as a daughter in law?

It was some kind of show on TV.
They called it The Flashion Show
and not even the ordinary freaks
were invited to strut their stuff
This was a special event
for a rare species
of human mutation.

Those who could wrinkle their kneelobes
and flex their eyelips.

FLUPILL

“Wo ist der flupill?”
“Rat unter your tunk!”

GAUFRES

“Laquelle, m’sieur?”
“La Cerise, s’il vous please.”

REPORT CARD

How good is my French?

If I were to get my report card now
I’d get a C minus

THE REST OF THE REPORT CARD

a B minor headache in English
a riptide sine wave in Music
a four-minute bike mile in PE
redundancy upon redundancy in World History
denial upon denial in American Politics
shifting borders in Geography
a lot of zeros, followed by many more zeros in Math
a matchbox model of a Pontiac Convertible
with power steering in Driver’s Ed
a mistletoe kiss and a busted toenail in Drama

FROGS WITH WINGS
in memory of Marion McMahon

I never met Catherine Deneuve.
I don’t know why I told you I did.
The word just jumped out of my mouth
like a frog without legs
and landed on the wet pavement between us.
I looked down at the frog
and wished it would grow wings and fly away.

I worked long hours on the music
for that movie about Marilyn Monroe.
I had a video tape of it
playing in my studio,
right in front of my face,
day and night for 2 weeks.
I remember a couple of times
Catherine Deneuve jumped out of the screen
and landed in my face.
I can’t that she was beautiful
but I must say she was no frog.
Frogs don’t jump like that.

The girl I worked with on that movie
(who was my only link to C. Deneuve)
was definitely not beautiful.
She never washed her hair
and she had several clumps of bristles
on her upper lip. I kept hoping
she would grow a mustache
and make it complete.
She reminded me of a Bulgarian
long-distance runner in the 1976 Olympics.
She had met Catherine Deneuve many times.
If Catherine Deneuve was beautiful
it didn’t rub off.

To prevent any more legless frogs
jumping from my mouth,
I could make list of famous people
I have met and what I did with them.
If you saw this list, you would say
“You had no need to tell me
that you met Catherine Deneuve.”

The point is:
I didn’t WANT to meet her at all.
I’m not attracted to Catherine Deneuve
and I don’t especially like her.

What I do WANT to know, however, is this:
What happened to the stone
you skipped 6 times
across Lake Kawashawigamah.
I’m sure the stone hit each of the syllables

KA – WA – SHA – WI – GA – MAH

but what happened to the stone after that?

Did it just fall into the water and sink
to the bottom like a tiny lost treasure island?
Or did Catherine Deneuve, dive into the lake,
and catch it in her hands, saying,
“I ask for a cool cucumber and you give me this?”

Or did a frog leap out of the water,
catch the stone in his mouth,
then grow wings and fly away?

THREE GIRLFRIENDS IN THE DARK

The first tripped over my shoe
which I’d left in the middle of the room.
The moment she hit the floor
she bounced up and shouted, “YOU SLOPPY
BASTARD!” and other pissed-off exclamations
that went on and on for at least ten minutes

The second tripped over the same shoe,
fell to the floor and lay there,
rolling around, moaning,
trying to make me feel bad.

The third just stumbled
and trotted on into the bathroom.
“Hey, you got any toothpaste?” she shouted.
I knew she was looking into the mirror
and smiling like a pregnant goose.

“GOD BLESS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA”
(R. Reagan’s last public words as president)

In Jan. 1989, after 8 years in the White House
R. Reagan gave a farewell speech

What is significant here
is not the speech
but that I listened to it

I figured I was safe

7 more days in office
and he’d be swept away
with all the other presidential trash

up until that night
I hadn’t listened to any of his speeches

not a single one

when one would come on the radio
I’d hit the dial
faster than Ronnie
could hit the red button

if my dial had been a red button
I would have blown up the world
several times

I couldn’t listen
I didn’t dare
I was sure I’d be so scared
I wouldn’t be able to sleep

and I’m glad I never did

8 years without sleep
would have been a long time

so old Ronnie said goodbye
on the radio
and I listened
and sure enough
there it was
the rhetoric
the double talk
the lies
and other samples
of ordinary bullshit
“Aw shucks I’m just
a kid with freckles skateboard
under one arm slingshot
in a back pocket, a coke-guzzling
bubble gum popping baseball card
trading kind of next-door used
lemon-aid salesman and when
I grow I swear I’m gonna drop
the bomb on all those commies
over there in Europe and Asia
and South America and Cuba
and make sure God blesses
the United States of America.”

my reaction was predictable
7 days and nights without sleep

it wasn’t too bad
nothing compared to my reaction
when George Bush gave his Inaugural
address a few days later

TALKING TO THE RADIO

Peter Gabriel came on the radio
and said he wanted to be my sledge hammer

I said to Peter, “I don’t want you
to be my sledge hammer.”

Peter said, “I want to be
your chauffer.”

And I said, “Forget it
I don’t want a sledge hammer
driving my car.”

Then Jimi Hendrix came on
and Jimi said he was stone free

“I’m stone free,” he said

I said, “OK, Jimi, that’s nice
you’re stone free
some people are stone free
and some are not.”

“Yeah, I’m stone free,” said Jimi

then I tweaked the dial
and Lynn Anderson told me
she never promised me a rose garden
but I already knew that
– she never promised me anything

another tweak
and Credence Clearwater Revival came on
singing “Have you ever seen the rain
comin’ down on a sunny day?”
And I said: “Mr. Revival,
not only have I seen the rain
comin’ down on a sunny day
I have also seen the rain
comin’ down on a Later Day Saint
so don’t try to impress me
with meteorological phenomena
that metaphorically suggest
the existence
of a Supreme Being.”

and Mr. Revival faded out
and Lou Reed faded in
telling me to take a walk
on the wild side.

and I before I could say
“Lou, can’t do
– I’ll walk with you
all the way to New Orleans
and back to Kalamazoo
but I ain’t getting no tattoo – ”

Todd Rundgren jumped in
and told me he saw the light
in my eyes
and I said, “Todd, I know
how you feel. I too
see the light
in my eyes, I see it
everytime I look in the mirror
and find I’m stuck
in the middle with you.”

so I switched off the radio

more musical excitement
from beyond the extremes
of the atmosphere
from all those alien creatures
in their space ships
from UFO Land
would change the shape of my face
and ruin my natural sense
of rhythm forever

I’ll need both
when it comes time
to twist again
like we did last summer

GUN FREE

Kid with Z.Z. Top
turned up full blast
on his walkman
ears plugged in
singing along:
“Gun free . . .
gun free and Steve.”
Actually the song goes:
“Concrete . . .
concrete and steel,”
but what’s the difference?

THE OPRAH WINFREY SHOW

I watched Oprah on TV tonight
and saw a bunch of mothers
who had 4 or 5
or 6 kids each
sit around and bitch
about how hard it is
to raise a bunch of kids.
“My kids are out of control,”
said one mom
who was out of control herself.

None of the moms were satisfied
with their lives.
Some felt threatened,
cheated, imposed upon, blackmailed.
“Every time we go to the mall,”
said one, “I have to buy my kid a toy.”

And as usual everybody in the audience
had an opinion which they did not hesitate
to let everybody else know.

Of course I wasn’t there
but if I had been, I too would have had
an opinion.

If Oprah had asked me for my opinion
I would have said, “You don’t want to hear
my opinion.”

And of course Oprah would have said,
“But yes – let’s please hear it.”

And I would have said,
“I see a lot of stupid people
complaining
because someone made them aware
of their stupidity.”

I would have been booed out of the TV studio.
Those moms would have sprayed my face
with under-arm deodorant, they would have
slashed at my mouth with their tubes of
lipstick, they would have smeared my eyes
with cold cream.

It’s tough to be reminded of your stupidity.

Then they would have gone home
and beat their kids for the same reason
Good thing I wasn’t there.

HIROHITO

what’s all this noise about Hirohito?

he dies
and world leaders flock to Japan
to honor his memory

the president of the U.S.
jets in to stand by his tomb

what the hell is going on?

the man was a tyrant
he sent planes to bomb Pearl Harbor
he walked all over the South Pacific
until we sent in the Marines
thousands upon thousands of Americans
died stopping this maniac

so what the fuck is the prez doing
walking in Hirohito’s funeral parade?
standing by his grave and weeping?

the fanatic was in bed with Hitler
and Mussolini they signed pacts
they were going to get together
and fuck up the world
completely

next thing you know we’ll have
Hitler monuments on Washington D.C.
why not?
if you’re going to honor one fascist
then get out the confetti
and celebrate the whole hog of psychopaths
statues of Adolph in schoolyards
all across America
Mussolini Memorial Freeways
Stalin bridges and Tito national parks

“And over here on the left
we have the Hirohito Memorial ballpark
(used to be Yankee Stadium some of you
may remember) and over here on our right
(pardon the pun) we have the Benito
Mussolini International Airport
(used to be JFK, but that’s the way
things go) and straight ahead
we will soon be entering
the Adolph Hitler Tunnel
featuring slide projections from
his concentration camps
upon the walls.
So sit back, relax
and enjoy the show”

[February 1989 ]

HEADACHE

a bunch of guys
are tearing down the house
inside my head

they walked in
thru the tunnels of my eyes
and started swinging
sledgehammers

GIVE THAT HUMANOID A BANANA SPLIT

I.
We humans have such a shallow comprehension
of the world we live in
its age
its immensity
both micro & macroscopic
its place in a vast universe
is far beyond the highest IQ’s
conception of infinity.

We can barely tie our shoes
(so to speak)
we just manage to lift our forks
and feed our faces.
We are so fucking dumb
it’s a miracle we just don’t evaporate
into thin air.

We walk on our tongues
we rub our eyes back into our sockets
and stumble blindly
deeper into ignorance

the caterpillar, the glowworm, the turtle
are too wise to mock us.
The horse, the wolf, the wild geese
too smart to even pay attention
to our futile imbecilities

I have a cat.
He’s kind of stupid,
but compared to people
he’s a genius

II.
ON THE OTHER HAND
have you ever heard such music?
Bach’s Art of the Fugue
The Beach Boys’ Good Vibrations
Beethoven’s 4th & 5th pianos
Brahms Cello Sonatas
The Grateful Dead & Gesualdo
Ginsberg & Glenn Gould
Gabrielli & George Gershwin
Basho & Baudelaire
Browning & James Brown
Bukowski & Tim Buckley
William Blake & Bela Bartok
and that’s just a few of the Bee and Gees

Have you ever touched and tasted
such paintings, such sculptures
such poems and pastries?
such beer & wine
such rums & tequilas
such ice creams & chocolates?
Ice cream is a miracle.
Man invented it.
Man invented tractors
dentist drills & scissors
hot air balloons & bicycles.
Small miracles all
(the bicycle may be his best invention
almost as perfect as some of the creations
nature comes up with)
but man too is nature
and he’s come up with
chessboards & chesspieces
eye glasses & wrist watches
computers & saran wrap
harmonicas & submarines
mirrors, movies, moccasins, aspirins,
calendars, algebra, stirrups
kaleidoscopes & CDs
Q-tips & E-flat seven chords
He has explored the deepest seas
and put machines on Mars
even tho he can barely tie his shoes
count to three
and possibly conceive
that two men with differing opinions
can both be right & need not argue.

ICE PLANTS

I stand on ocean front property
already thought of as my own,
and gaze down at the thousands
of ice plants that lay spread
out in all directions from my toes.

On the other side of the dune
the surf smashes and rumbles.
SH-BOOM

But an ocean view is not the reason
I want to live here. I want to live
with the ice plants.
I don’t want to build a house.
I don’t even have enough money
to buy a tent.
I just want to dig a hole
and make my home in the middle
of this vast green vegetable carpet.

My friends will drop by
and we will have ice plant conversations.
If somebody wants to watch TV
he’ll have to go somewhere else.
In my home there will be
only ice plants to watch.
And I will say: who needs a radio
when you have all this ice plant music
to listen to?
If I ever get tired of thinking
about myself,
it will be easy to think of ice plants.

When I get hungry I’ll pluck
an ice plant and chew the cool cud
of frozen glacier memories.
When I get sleepy
I will lie down in the hole
and pull a blanket
of ice plants over me.
Life will be easy.
Life will be a dream.
SH-BOOM

ICH BIN LADEN

But let’s not talk about politics.
Our mouths are too small, too fragile,
they’re just tiny boxes
and they can hold only so much.
There’s no room for garbage.
There’s no room for conspiracies
plotted by the secret leaders
of the powerful Right Wing in America
who’ve finally got Congress
and a puppet president
under their thumbs these
oil-rich Republicans
who’ve been plotting the overthrow
of the U.S. Government
and the abolition of the Constitution
for the past 50 years
the most recent phase of which began
when they hired Monica Lewinsky
to get a Democrat President impeached
and having failed to disgrace his party
to such a degree that no one would cast their vote
for such a pack of sexual perverts
in the up-coming election
and having failed to obtain a majority
of votes legally, they went into Florida
with millions of dollars and bought the election
at which point they got down to the real serious shit
of bombing America
by sending two planes with full tanks of fuel
loaded with sacrificial lambs
and brainwashed pilots
into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center
in New York City, September 11, 2001
then followed up by bombing the Pentagon
to create a war with anybody, it didn’t matter
which country Afghanistan was a convenient
90-pound weakling in the sand easy to bully
just as long as it created panic and fear
in the populace and gave the leaders
an excuse to put the country under military law
and to justify their suspension of basic freedoms
(temporary they say, but we all know
we’ll never get them back)
and to force ordinary citizens into a position
where they voluntarily demand the protection
of a police state,
as we all plunge head-on and deeper
into the most absolute dictatorship
in the history of the world.

No, there is no room for any of that kind of garbage.
in a mouth.
A mouth is much too small.

THE JAZZ AGE

I. THE KINGS OF SWING

Tommy Dorsey strangled by a scarf
in his sleep
Glenn Miller with mud on his shoes
playing for the president
then disappearing into a fog bank
over the English Channel
Benny Goodman looking across
racial lines and grooving
with Charlie Christian
and Lionel Hampton
Count Basie signing over his orchestra
to pay a gambling debt to the mob
and continuing to play as a paid musician
in his own band.

Who were these Kings of Swing?
Where did they get all those
trombones and clarinets?
What were they thinking about
when they looked out
on the dance floor
and saw all those couples
doing the mambo?
Did they really believe
their drums came from the jungle?
Did they ever get sick
of the smell of gardenias?

We’ll never know.
The Kings of Swing
now live in their pyramids
drinking down darkness
wrapped in sheet music like mummies
talking about all the blind dancing dummies
who sucked in clarinet notes with open mouths
and found their feet in turmoiled delirium.
They’re laughing, heads bobbing,
and one king is snapping his fingers while
the baritone sax line of MOONLIGHT SERENADE
wiggles down the side of one leg
the string bass part of STRING OF PEARLS
crawls down the back of the other.
the trumpet riff from TUXEDO JUNCTION
wraps around one arm
and the piano chart of IN THE MOOD,
tattooed to his chest, begins to glow.

And what about that Zoot Suit Bop Boy over in the corner?

II. COOL AND HARD BOPPERS

Then came the Cool and Hard Boppers.
Miles, Bird, Dizzy,
later Cannonball and Trane,
Charlie Mingus, Art Blakey
the Five Spot, Blue Note Records,
the Village Vanguard, Birdland,
Blackhawk, Bop City.
Smoke, smack and bourbon.
Horace Silver and Thelonius Monk.
Hard Bop and Cool Blues.
Sweat and steam and streaming scales,
riding riffs in and out of Milestones
and Doodlin’
and Kinda Blue
ripping sheets of screaming sounds
from the walls of their skulls
snatching entire pages of chord changes
from their mind books
wadding them into fists of pissed-off notes,
tossing them in the air
and closing their eyes as they float
to the flooded floor
thru raindrops of icebergs
and thumbnails and thumbtacks
of frozen snow
as ice cubes rattle in the glass
of a 17-year old farmboy
sitting 3-feet away at the front table
nursing his coke
as he stretches his two-drink minimum
into the third set
and Miles turns his back on him
and blows muted seagull cries
into the velvet drapes

III. PLASTIC ALTO AND POCKET TRUMPET TRICKS

Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry
tweeting and twatting away on stage
plastic alto and pocket trumpet tricks
at the Both/And on Divisadero

it’s all over
the Jazz Age

I’ve still got Horace Silver
doodlin’ in a juke box on Grant
and I’ve still got Coltrane
soprano saxing on his latest LPs at home.

but it’s all over.
The Jazz Age.

I’m not crying
I’m just movin’ on
to higher forms of Bop and Jive
and praying that an electric guitar genius
will soon appear, sounding as good as
Horace Silver and John Coltrane
and playing such invitations to Joyful Panic
that we’ll have no choice
but to start Dancing in the Streets again.

THE MOVES

When the moves blacked in
the property values went down.

“Shit it’s the Moves!”
“God damn, not the Moves!”
“You can’t ever tell what they’re talking about.”
“You can’t tell one move from another.”
“Christ almighty, the Moves.”
“Anything but the Moves.”
“ANYTHING?”

“. . . The Moves . . . ”

NICE GUY

They’re whispering behind my back:

“He could change his underwear
more often
but basically
he’s a nice guy.”

OLD DUDE

Looking at this extremely old dude
on Larry King Live.
He’s the vet of a long-ago war.
Bent over, white beard, white hair,
wrinkles, toothless jaw.

Larry asks him, “How old are you anyway?”
And the old dude says, “Fifty-one.”

Son of a bitch.
I’ll be fifty-two next month.
Is that what I look like?
Some extremely old dude
waiting for the war to die
inside his brain?

DREAMLAND
(Nightmare City)

“Follow me, I know the way,” she said
as we entered the station and hurried
past the sleepers.

We were headed for the ancient city of Nightmare
on the miraculous transport of Dreamland Express.
We arrived in Nightmare City instantly
station to station
like electrons at the speed of light.

We were traveling light
one thin suitcase each.
We had just enough clothes
to leave them overnight
in her girlfriend’s closet.

Back outside
the rain was thicker than blood
and our umbrellas
were covered with gore.
by the time we got to the pool hall
we were soaked to the skin and sore.

We kicked off our boots
and strolled into the warm embrace
of Devil in a Blue Dress
jumping from the jukebox
and dozens of Mad Hatters
doing the boogitie bop
on the tops of the pool tables

“Nightmare City
this is the place for you and me,”
she said as we sipped
Jack Daniels and Jack the Ripper
zipped by the window in a 4-wheel drive
Razorblade convertible
with Studebaker hubcaps.

“This is place for you and me,”
she said as the jukebox stopped playing
and the Madhatters started singing
Devil in a Blue Dress
in 4-part barbershop harmony
and Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels
cruised in
and shot a game of 8-ball
at the corner table.

We were lucky to get out of there alive.

Later, we ate tacos and drank Dos Equis
at a stand on the corner of Columbus and Slime
then followed the footprints
in the concrete down the street
into the house of the Movie Stars.

“What a reception,” she said
as the Movie Stars started making love
to the various animals
they found out by the swimming pool.
Ducks and Gila Monsters
seemed to be their favorite targets
tho we saw James Stewart and John Wayne
fighting over a stuffed palomino.

Meanwhile, back inside the Ranch
the cowboys were getting restless.
They hadn’t roped a decent bull
in a coon’s age
so they had to settle for bullfrogs.
I couldn’t watch.
It was just too terrible for words.
She held my hand and led me down
to the corner of Humpback and Broadway
where for just 3 dollars
you could buy a wind-up yoyo
and the stretch pants
(one size fits all)
were tossed in for free.

Again I couldn’t watch
it was just too horrible for words
“Nevermind,” she said
“we got better things to do.”

One of which was to jump in a taxi
and tell the driver we were lost

we saw many sights in Nightmare City
we saw slobs on vacation
we saw oil barons on welfare
we saw the best minds
of that other generation
getting stuck in turnstiles
as they rushed into a tent
to be blessed by a stand-up comic
from Canada with no front teeth
and a microphone in the shape
of a hippopotamus turd

We saw a monk in a blue dress
We saw Jesus Christ
We saw Julie Christie
We saw Ben and Jerry
We saw Dido and Aeneas

We were lucky to get out of there asleep.

PHEASANT HUNTING IN THE LATE 20th CENTURY

each year in November
a bunch of Belgians
get dressed up in hunting clothes
go down to the woods
with cages of pheasants
and shotguns

then they release the pheasants
and shoot them as they try to escape

it all starts at 10 am sharp
they blast away
and the pheasants die
the woods echo with explosions
it’s an orgasm of firepower

some pheasants die
and some don’t
one or two get away

it’s all over
at a quarter past 10
they pick up the dead pheasants
and go to a bar
and sit around for the rest of the day
telling each other
what great hunters they are

the pheasants never had a chance
and the few that got away
are amazed
they’re alive simply because
the men were such lousy shots

I think that’s what gets me the most
and provokes this fantasy:
the men are in the cages
the pheasants have guns
the pheasants open the cages
and the men run for their lives
the pheasants open fire
and the woods echo
with an orgasm of fire power

the pheasants never miss

POOR BILL

I was sitting in a cafe
drinking a beer
a man walked over and said to me
“Are you fucking my wife?”
I said, “No sir.”
And it was true.
At that particular moment
I was not fucking Poor Bill’s wife.
I was sitting in a cafe
drinking a beer.

TWO PUKE POEMS

1.
They gathered around the campfire
under the pines
under the star-spangled sky.
They started singing
“Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore.”
They sang it sincerely with deep feelings
That was me
down by the lake
puking.

2.
“Not all jails have bars,”
he said profoundly.
That was me
down on the stool at the end
puking in my beer.

PURITANICAL MANACLES

I. SHAME
She copulated, conceived,
failed to show the proper amount of shame
and consequently gave birth to a boy with buck teeth.

II. PREGNANT
she conceived
failed to show the proper amount of shame
walked around with her belly button bulging
her bloated body blimping
no shame at all

and consequently
gave birth to a bucktooth bag
and a couple of other bubbles
that almost looked like babies

III. MOM’S ON PARADE
she had that kid
in a bed with no wedlock
no shame at all
roll out the headlock

QUATRAIN

Take a look at this:

It’s an ancient quatrain
from the Hang Tuff Dynasty.
Translated roughly it goes:

I TOOK A BUS TO THE END OF THE LINE
I FOUND MYSELF IN THE MOUNTAINS
I WASHED MY HAIR IN A WATERFALL
AND SON OF A BITCH IT TURNED WHITE

The poet then continues
with another quatrain
because that ancient 4-line jazzamarag
is not big enough to contain
his big idea (or maybe he was just
worried about his white hair):

WHO WILL RECOGNIZE THE WANDERER
WHEN HE RETURNS?
WILL THEY SAY “NEXT TIME, SON OF A BITCH,
DON’T USE SUCH A CHEAP SHAMPOO.”

Here’s another ancient quatrain

This time it’s from the Charlie Chan
and Fu Man Choo Choo Mingus Dynasty
and true, it’s longer than four lines,
but by only just one word (because he ran out
of space) and who’s counting anyway?

I STAND UNDER A BRANCH OF THE ENEMA TREE
WAITING IN THE INVISIBLE RAIN
HOLDING A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER
AND WONDERING: WILL THE WANDERER EVER SHIT
AGAIN

DEAR MR Z (FORM LETTER)

I RECEIVED YOUR PREVIOUS LETTER.
THE REASON I DID NOT REPLY IS (check one)

□ I didn’t ask you to write that letter and I have no intention of replying to it.

□ My dog ate the letter before I had a chance to read it.

□ I don’t answer letters. Why don’t you learn to use the phone like everybody else?

□ I don’t answer letters and I don’t answer my phone. Learn telepathy.

□ You mailed it to the wrong address. How do I know? Telepathy.

□ I’ve got a lot of other things to do which are much more important than answering your letter.

□ I’ve got a few things to do which I think are more important. I’ll let you know when I find out what they are.

□ I’ve been meaning to write back but you know how it is?

□ I really do intend to write back
□ 3 weeks from now
□ 3 years from now
□ 30 years from now

□ I was outrageously insulted by your letter. If you think I’m going to write back you’re outrageously mistaken.

□ It slipped my mind. I really forgot. Sorry. You must be a very insignificant person.

□ I read your letter, but unfortunately I never learned how to write.

□ I read your letter, but unfortunately I broke both of my hands in a yachting accident. I’m learning to write with my left foot, but these things take time. Please be patient.

□ I lost your address. First my cousin who collects stamps stole the envelope. Then I dropped a bottle of black shoe dye (so clumsy of me) on your letter – right down there at the bottom where you’d printed your return address in huge block letters. (Accidents will happen, won’t they?)

□ Who do you think you are? Some kind of important person? I am an important person and I know one when I see one. When I look at you I see nothing but UNIMPORTANCE. Why don’t you do something useful – like selling shoes. People needs shoes, you know.

□ Ho hum. And blah blah blah. I get a thousand letters a week from assholes like you. Why don’t you do something useful with your life – like putting a gun to your head and ending it as soon as possible?

□ I never received your letter. Must be those kids next door. You might hear the rumor that I pay them a dollar a day to steal my mail, but don’t you believe it.

□ You wrote to the wrong person. It’s my brother you want to talk to. Right now he’s on an expedition into the rain forests of Brazil and won’t be back for about 15 or 20 years. I’ll have him drop you a line when he gets back.

□ You wrote to the wrong person. You think I can help you in some way. What a mistake.

□ You wrote to the right person, but if you think I am going to help you. you’re out of your head. I have no intention of helping you or anybody else unless I know what’s in it for me. Name your price and I might consider.

□ I refuse to answer any of the above. What are you trying to do? Make me feel guilty? Do you think everybody is like you? Do you think everybody answers the letters they receive? Mr. Z, you are living in the wrong century. People do not talk to one another these days, much less reply to each other’s letters.

□ Hey! You are one persistent person. This document is proof of that. No – wait! You’re worse than persistent. You’re pushy. You’re aggressive. What do you want from me? Blood? Sweat? Tears? Take a break, Mr. Z. Take a vacation. Put yourself on ice for a couple of years. Then get tuned in. Relax. Watch a little MTV. Drink a case of scotch. Smoke a lot of crack. Shoot some smack. Have a pre-frontal lobotomy. Eventually you’ll completely forget about that letter you wrote me. You’ll say, “Letter? What letter?”

SENTIMENTAL GLUE

I.

“You’re getting sentimental,” he says.

I know what he means. I’m living in memory
almost exclusive to anything else. In memory
is my identity, my shape, my knowledge,
my wisdom.

The aim is to synthesize memory
with the events of the present moment.
The problem is that we lack cultural connections.
Our culture is fragmented, accelerating
approaching self-destruction.

So what is to become of the individual
nervous system? How can one maintain
balance? Keep from breaking down,
becoming fragmented?

Sentimental glue might help.

II.

All this to say:
It becomes increasingly more difficult
to write about the present moment.
The present moment has been shattered.

Or to come at it from the other direction:
The past – memories – are the only solid
complete perceptions we can grasp. It is not
a question of being sentimental
or looking back to the good old days
or some mythical golden age. It is simply
that we inhabit flashing, flickering
realities, like a sequence
of still photographs
played out in the mind’s eye
at 1/10th of second each,
a flashing, flickering reality
out of control, spinning beyond
what the human nervous system
can capture and make sense of.

“I’ll take a dozen bottles of sentimental glue.”

SHIRT OPINIONS

I worked in a department store
salesman
men’s clothing

a pint size runt comes in
he wants a shirt

“A shirt like that one.
Mind if I try it on?”

“This should be about your size,”
I pulled out a shirt
that was about his size.

“Bigger,” he said.

So I pulled out a medium

“Bigger.”

I pulled out a large

“Bigger!”

Extra large

He tried it on
the shoulders hung down
over his elbows
the sleeves hung down
to his knees

“That’s much too large,” I said.

He looked up at me
out of the collar
which was up around his ears
he got his mouth free
from the top button and said,
“Listen, Squirt,
you keep your god damned opinions
to yourself
and leave the driving to me.”

MOVIE STARS

1. MOVIE STAR IN MEN’S CLOTHING

Fred MacMurray walked in one day
“Hey, that’s Fred MacMurray!”

He was taller than I imagined
but otherwise
he looked like Fred MacMurray.

That’s because in his movies
he always played Fred MacMurray.

Now he was playing “Fred MacMurray
Walks into the Men’s Department.”

“Looking for Levis,” he said to me

I pulled out the largest pair we had

“I’ll take four dozen of those,” he said.

Other than that
Fred MacMurray
was just like everybody else.

2. MOVIE STAR IN WOMEN’S CLOTHING

One day Natalie Wood walked in
and headed straight for women’s clothing

I was over in men’s clothing, watching
hoping she would need a pair of men’s Levis
or some suspenders.

But she walked into women’s clothing
and started trying on
women’s clothes.

She tried them on for about two hours.

Watching from across the store
I got the idea
that she was having a hard time
making up her mind.

It was not a choice
between one dress or another
but between a dress
and a pack of buttons
and a swimsuit
and a raincoat

After two hours
she gave up
and bought everything.

All the dresses.
All the buttons.
All the swim suits.
All the raincoats.

“Put them on my charge account,”
I heard her say at the counter.

I guess she was going
to make up her mind later

THE SHOUTER

a man walking down the street
at 4 am, shouting
“AAUUUUUUGH!”

the city is silent, no cars
I hear him approaching
“AAAUGH!”
I hear him outside my window
“AAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGH!”

he’s either having an orgasm
every 20 steps or so
or he’s in tremendous pain

pleasure or pain?
I think it’s pain
it’s 1986 and it’s pretty dark
out there
I feel I should be
out there too
stomping down the street
opening my mouth
every 20 steps or so
and letting it all hang out
“AAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!”

THE SINGER

the blind singer limped on stage
the audience got up and walked out
he was hoping
to arouse their pity
but all he did
was stimulate
their disgust

SHRINK (OR 8 REASONS WHY I REFUSE TO SEE A PSYCHIATRIST)

1.
As I’m leaving her office and crossing the crowded waiting room, she appears in the doorway behind me and says loudly, “And if you’d quit masturbating so much – especially with all
those fantasies of 8-year old girls, I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better.”

2.
“Everything you say in this room is absolutely
confidential – except when the FBI and CIA come around to check my files. I can’t do anything about those guys.”

3.
“I used to have this geezer come in here – poor, pitiful motherfucker, working on his twenty-first nervous breakdown. He used to come in here and lie on the couch and cry his eyes out. You remind me a little bit of him. But don’t worry I won’t say anything about you fucking your daughter to
anybody else. I never talk about my patients behind their backs unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

4.
“Hey, I just read about your shrink in the papers. What a mess. She butchered some poor slob on her couch with an ax. They mentioned your name. You were supposed to be her next appointment.”

5.
“Now I know I’m not an authorized medical doctor,” she says, “but this four-foot electric cow prod I am about to inject in your anus will quickly speed up your treatment, I’m sure. Tell me if the straps are too tight.”

6.
“Just ignore that puddle of piss by the couch. The patient before you got a little hysterical when I started slapping her around.”

7.
“This is just a minor matter,” she announces, “But I must sign these papers that commit you to an insane asylum for the next ten years. The daily electric shock treatments I’m recommending will cure you of most of your problems. Think of it as a vacation.”

8.
“I just sold your life story to a publisher. They were impressed by your obsession for sucking on exhaust pipes and your need to wrap various parts of your body in rubber bands. They don’t think too much of your craving for lemon meringue pie sprinkled with thumbtacks – and I don’t either. You won’t see a red cent, of course, because that would violate all the rules of medical ethics. However, this book is bound to be a bestseller. They might even make it into a movie.”

SPITTING IMAGE

“You must be Bob’s brother,”
I said to the kid on the street.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said.
” – how could you tell?”
“You have the same problem with your face.”

STRING QUARTET VOLCANOES

There are some string quartets
that play only for natural disasters.
Exploding volcanoes, earthquakes, forest fires.
You see them driving their trucks
– their special string quartet trucks –
into the mountains and losing their way
in the smoke. You see them sitting beside
2000-acre blazes playing Mozart and Beethoven.
Sometimes their instruments catch fire
and get burned up along with the sheet music
and they have to finish their concerts
by whistling from memory.

And there you are in the middle of your fancy
swimming pool in suburban Shangri-La-La-Land
bitching about too much mustard on your hotdog
and would somebody for God’s sakes bring me a
real bottled beer and not one of these canned
urinals of domestic piss.

Go jump in a volcano.
Feel some real pain.

TUBA MANURE

If you want to have some real fun
go down and join the smoking nuns
of the Salivation Army Band
outside the Museum
of Natural Childbirth
take your bugle along
pucker your lips and honk
a hole in the side of the sky, walk
down the street
and march against the beat
of miles of flooded broken sewer
over-flow and tuba manure
thru waves of heat
and wormish glow
join the circus
join the show
check it out
the protest signs
“I PUT MY ASS ON THE BOTTOM LINE”
“I DON’T BELIEVE I’VE GOT A PAIR
OF SUNDAY UNDERWEAR TO SPARE”
check ’em out
chicks with sticks
chicks with tongues and hungry licks
looking for slick romance
a backseat dance upon their bellies
a squirt of jelly in their pants
a gas mask goodbye kiss of death
a final gasp, a blast of breath
shit, you’re right, it’s lots of fun
tomorrow night I’ll bring a gun

TUBES

1. THE MUSICAL TUBES

the trombone player
plays so excellently well
you’d think the slide
is part of his mouth
a brass tube tongue
flicking out
to capture a fly
and slide it back in
that’s why trombone players
never get fat

the trumpet player
is pretty good
the tubes bunch up
in front of his mouth
much too close to his face
he’s going
to have to
breathe out hard
and stretch
those tubes
before he gets around
to making great music
he needs more practice

the French horn player
is just so-so
he’s got his tubes
curled up under his arm
he’ll never make great music
hiding his tubes like that
OK for wedding parties
and rotary club luncheons
hayrides (excellent
for football games)
but no good at all
for the big stuff
lousy on hunts
horn’s pointed the wrong way

the tuba player
is terrible
how he ever got such
an obese set of tubes
is a mystery
why he would want to make music
with those paunchy bulges
is another mystery
only sad, paunchy bulge music
is possible in his condition
no amount of practice
will improve his tubes

2. FAMOUS LAST TUBE

the straw
– a candy stripe spiral
hangs over the lip
of the empty Pepsi bottle

whoever sucked that straw
sucked the shit out of it

WALT

Walt came out to survey the ground
where he wanted to build his Disneyland.
Among the weeds and broken slabs of concrete
lay a corpse, the body of a man the mob
had strangled and dumped the night before.

Walt stood at the corpse’s feet and gestured.
“Over there we’ll put the roller coaster
and over here the Mad Hatters Tea Party.
And by the way get this dummy propped up.
He’ll be one of the spectators.
And remind me to send a note
to the Special Effects Department.
Those guys are getting really good
with rubber and plastic.”

WILD SIDE

Joe and Stella
take a walk on the Wild Side

Stella kneels down
to take a look
at a bum’s stamp collection

Joe is thinking:
“We should have brought along
a few turkey sandwiches
and a 6-pack of beer.”

He waves his cane over the river
hoping a fish will jump up
and nip at the tip

Stella is thinking:
“He has exhausted
all other possibilities”

[ Gig Harbor, October 1996 ]

WHYBIG (1)

The ad said:
TAKE A CHANCE AND GET LUCKY
WIN A BRAND NEW WHYBIG REFRIGERATOR

I got lucky and won.
The men brought the fridge
and put it in the center of my room
They plugged it in.
It worked.
I was delighted.
I said, “I’ve always wanted a WHYBIG.”
The last thing the men did before leaving
was to scrape the word WHYBIG
from the side of the fridge.
“Sorry,” they said,
“Maybe you’ll have better luck next time.”

After they left I got out a thick marker pen
and wrote WHYBIG into the scratches on the side.

My friends came over.
“Hey, that’s a WHYBIG!”
“I see you got yourself a WHYBIG.”
“I wish I could get lucky and win a WHYBIG.”

I stood before it proudly.
I opened the door
and showed them the ice
in the freezer compartment.
“This is MY WHYBIG,” I told them.

“Did he say LIE BIG?”
“I think he said MY BIG.”

I knew then
it was going to be big WHYBIG summer.

WHYBIG (2)

the refrigerator stood
in the middle of the floor
it was 7 feet tall, 4 feet wide
and four feet deep.
painted on one side, in foot-high
stencil letters were these words

WHY
PIG?

they came into the room
and started shouting
“IT’S A MY BIG!” he shouted,
“NO IT’S A LIE BIG!” she shouted,
After shouting this several times
they settled down to watch
the ice water dripping
from the door
and listening to the oinks
coming from behind it.
They knew they were both wrong.
It was a WHY PIG?
and it was too late
to do anything about it.

WHYBIG (3)

TAKE A CHANCE AND GET LUCKY
AND WIN A BRAND NEW WHYBIG TV
said the ad.
She got lucky and won.
The men brought the TV into her room
on one side it was printed
WHY
BIG?
They plugged it in.
It worked.
She was delighted
“I’ve always wanted to own
a Whybig? TV set,” she said.

the last thing the men did
before they left
was to scrape the words
WHY
BIG?
from the side of the TV.
“Sorry,” they said.
“Maybe you’ll have better luck
next time.”

After they left
she went out in the backyard
and smoked a cigarette.
She blew dozens of smoke rings
at the moon
They spelled out two words

WHY
BIG

The moon was delighted.
“I’ve always wanted to inhale
Whybig smoke rings.”

YOUTH IN ASIA

Go ahead,
you think I’m going to scream
if you rip open a map
and start pointing
at all the dusty trails you hiked
when you were but a youth in Asia?

Go head, point to your boots
number the number of times
you had to climb down to the cities
to have new soles nailed on
because of all the hours you spent
in the lava bedrooms
of your mother fucking earth.

Get out your old jeans too,
the ones with the holes in the pockets
and the patches on the knees,
the ones that were gouged by antlers
and plucked by grizzly claws.
Tell me about the sidewinder belt
you used to wear until it slithered away
one night when you were asleep,
and how you carried fishhooks in your fly
when you fished the streams
and built log cabins in your eyes.

Tell me about the campfires
on which you used to roast
entire antelope on toasted loaves
and mushrooms between your toes

I like the part about the gun
when you went shooting elk
and came back loaded down
with a dozen of sacks of groceries.

Go ahead, get out your sleeping bag
roll it out on the floor
and show me how you used to fart in it,
hop around in it when you’d wake up in the morning
while waiting for the water to boil
and how you lowered the zipper
and pissed out the side.

Go ahead, piss on the rug.
It’s not mine.

You can super glue your shoes together
for all I care.

ZEELAND
for Marie Claire

some places have church bells to mark
the passage of time
here they have cows

one mooed in the middle of the night
I looked at the clock
half-past two

later the cow cut loose again
39 moos
I knew exactly what time it was
7:15

CREATURES
(are they really birds?)

you never see them
singing, squawking, whistling
tooting away
they’re always hidden
up in the leaves
of some tree

or sometimes
it’s thru a window
a sound from another planet

a dog barks
and you just assume
from past experience
that it’s really a dog

but after a while
you start to wonder

POEMS 2002-2004  |  TUCKER ZIMMERMAN

THE FAMOUS STRANGER

she was looking at
the famous and not
so famous stranger

I was OK
by the time
I reached Jean-Pol’s house

am I the Famous Stranger?

when I left Jean-Pol’s house
I was still doing OK

I walked down the Dreve
I was all alone
I was the Famous Stranger

I called Bear on the cell phone
to tell her not to worry
as I was walking down the Dreve
she wasn’t home
so I talked to her tape
I forget to mention
that I was the Famous Stranger

then came the Sniffing Circus
the Old Olfactory Factory
huge piles of shit in a row
alongside the Dreve
cow shit
pig shit
bull shit
baby shit
I couldn’t eat
my Famous Stranger Biscuit
the smell was so vile
and sweet mixed in
with all those cow barn memories

Then I saw a man
a runner in a red shirt
he was way up ahead
coming in on the Cemetery Road
he turned up the Dreve
and got smaller and smaller
where will they bury the Famous Stranger?
(where will the Famous Stranger be laid?)

then a kid walked by
with a dog on a leash
I thought maybe the kid
would pull out a knife

it was all those thoughts
about buried Famous Strangers
that was twisting up my mind

the kid was so empty
he wasn’t even there
the dog seemed to be
on the down-side too

neither would have known
the Famous Stranger
if he walked up to them
and bit them on the nose

I got into the village
I walked down the boulevard
like a Sherman tank
full of Famous Strangers

I got home OK
I was feeling better
Bear said, “Oh –
here comes the Famous Stranger.”
I said, “You had me worried
for a while.”

[ Stockay / St. Georges, April 9, 2004 ]
SACRIFICE

Isn’t it amazing
how we sail along
past traumas
and delights of yesterday
right into the dramas
and gesundheits of today
with only a casual
glance back
with only a twitch
of guilt down
in the back row
of the brain box
where a standing-room only
crowd of glowworms
and electric nematodes
are clapping their flappers
and slapping the crap
out of their brothers
and sisters?

reminds me of wolf-face children
(of which I am one)
standing around a campfire
looking down at their father
being roasted alive
on the coals
then shrugging their shoulders
and taking off for the river
for a cool drink of water

[ August 2004 ]

BIKE POEMS 2004

Bike Poem 1

TWO POEMS ON APRIL 24, 2004 AFTER BIKING WITH BEAR AROUND HANEFFE AND JENEFFE LOOKING FOR A FARM THAT SELLS POTATO EYES AND MAYBE SEEDS TOO AND IT’S WHITE LIKE AN OLD BARN ON THE LEFT UP HERE EXCEPT THERE WOULDN’T BE A ROAD COMING IN FROM RIGHT LIKE THAT . . . AND A JUST A LITTLE BIT WIDER TOO

1. Laughter

two chubby guys stopped in a car
windows open
laughing like mad
laughing like nothing else mattered
laughing for the hell of it

they were a jolly bunch of fellows

we should have stopped
and laughed along with them

2. Coming Home

down here there is no wind

Bike Poem 2

ROSES IN MY SPOKES

I go see the repairwoman about my bicycle
we meet in an empty basketball arena
we’re down on our knees on the hardwood floor
facing each other
she wants to put roses in my spokes
I bend over and slap the floor
with the palms of my hands
“I don’t want roses in my spokes!”
She slaps the floor twice.
“Then how about a couple of jokers?”

[ April 27, 2004 ]

Bike Poem 3

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

sunlight glancing, glittering
off car roofs
on a distant highway
that’s Sunday afternoon

[ May 2, 2004 ]

Bike Poem 4

DON’T RUN OVER STRANGE OBJECTS IN THE ROAD

1.
it could be anything
it could be coming at you
or just lying still
a beer can or a hedgehog

last night Kris said
he knows a good recipe
for cooking hedgehogs

Jef said the gypsies
bake them in clay

2.
it could be anything
a mirage or a deep hole

Kris and Jef and I
were talking about
black holes too

slip on the edge of one
you’ll fall in
and you’ll never come back

3.
it could be a bird
or a plain brown bag
or a superman turd
I read in a magazine
about parallel worlds
people who look
like you and me
and Kris and Jef
walking around and doing
things we don’t know about
and once in a while one of them
it could be you or me or Kris or Jef
sticks his foot into this universe and suddenly
there’s this bare foot in the middle of the road
and then it’s gone
as the man behind the foot
launches himself
into another dimension

4.
last night I said to Kris and Jef
I like being inside of me, seeing the way I see
if I get any riper I’ll fall off the tree
who’s that guy lying in the road?

it’s not Mr. Bag and it’s not Mr. Bird
a Superman turd? don’t make me laugh
and look at that bike, it’s turned up absurd
looks like the tree bit it in half

[ May 2, 2004
Two Trees Road – Les Waleffes, Hesbaye ]

Bike Poem 5

ROADKILL TOTAL

one fat black raven
one small hedgehog
ten snails
and a bent can half-full
of Heinekens beer

we will feast well tonight

[ Two Trees Road, May 11, 2004 ]

Bike Poem 6

STRETCH FLAP AND FLY

1. Prolog : Stretch Flap

riding my bike
I like to sit up straight
and stretch my arms
and shoulders
and reach back
and massage my lower back
first on the left side
then the right

what I’d really like to do
is sticking out my arms
and pretend I’m flying

sometimes I come close

there’s a brief instant
as I’m swinging my arm
and reaching back
to rub a back that isn’t sore
when my arm is out there
winging thru the air
just an instant
a flicker of the eye
an image that drops
between blinks
first one arm
then the other

2. Sequel: Flap Fly

I just did it
I even made the sounds
of a plane
vooo – vooo – voooo
with my left wing
yarn – yaaaaarn
YAAAAAAAAARN!
with my right wing

Twice

I did it again
“Joooooooo,!” with my left
and
“Swooooooooooooooop!”
I divebombed Pearl Harbor
the Japanese just watched
the Belgians weren’t there
Swooooooooooooooop!”
with my right wing
as I swooped into the side gate
in the notebook
to say I’ve been wanting
to yarn and swoop
for a long time
and that I don’t think
I’ll be doing it again

once every 65 years or so
is more than enough
for that kind of disturbance
I just set off a hurricane
that will reach
the east coast of Florida
about 10:30 tonight
local time
“Flap flap flap”

[ July 2004, Highpoint Hesbaye Road ]

Bike Poem 7

KILOMETERS

kilometers on the road
squirming like nematodes
kilometers on the road
they’re going to explode
kilometers on the road

mutton on the dike
looking all alike
mutton on the dike
looking at my bike
mutton on the dike

Bear inside a church
I think she’s going to pray
Bear inside a church
I wonder what she’s going to say
Bear inside a church

[ Schipdonk Canal – Sint Rita, July 30, 2004 ]

Bike Poem 8

MOBILITY

Question posed by myself:

if you (plural) were a car
what kind would you (plural) be?

(plural meaning the single entity
of human + bicycle)

I think I’d be a sky blue
mysteriously moveable
total context
solar-powered
lunar inspired
Ecology Mobile

my memory is slightly rusty
and my fenders are stoned
but I still get around
like the Fat Man

I just need a drink of water
from time to time

[ Old Farm Road Bridge
over the Liege-Paris Autoroute, July 31, 2004 ]

Bike Poem 9

LOOP TWO

this is where
I came in

to

the

loop

[The Verlaine Steep
at the Old Farm Highway Bridge
September 26, 2004 ]

Bike Poem 10

HIGH TIDE

hell freezes over
twice a day
low tide

then boiling hot water
comes pouring in
and everybody complains
about the weather

[ Lost Haiku Road, December 9, 2004 ]

BICYCLE DREAM

it’s taken about 5 years
including a couple of summers
of intense daily activity
in a row
but there I am
finally
cruising down a road
that exists nowhere in the world
but in my sleeping mind
and I’m stopping
to give directions
to lost bikers,
“Just go down the hill
and pass thru
the communist regime
until you come
to the academy awards
(if you turn right
you’ll end up
in the slow movement
of Beethoven’s Fifth
Piano Concerto)
so keep going straight
up the hill
and you’ll come
to the last episode
of the Jerry Seinfeld Show
you can’t miss it
you can almost see it
from here way over there
in the patch of sunshine
by that clump of trees.”

it’s taken a guiding hand
from the TV to reveal the maps
but I’m finally out there
riding around in my dreams
on cloud-padded country roads
and getting so completely lost
that I’m qualified to give
other people elaborate
precise directions
to places they don’t want to go

[ upon awakening, Aug. 6, 2004 ]

WHEELS

There were cars in my dreams

Golden Gate Park, hot summer
Sunday afternoon, bumper to bumper
sprawlcrawl with the sun
bouncing off all the chrome
and me, Jesus Christ,
keeping the old religion alive,
with a head full of acid
and not a clue about how
I was going to get
to the other side of the road

my proud 1950 Ford
wrecked it, totaled it out
3 weeks after buying it used
for 400 bucks most of it
I’d earned raising a selling
a yearling steer named Curly.
I rolled it, flipped it,
wrote about it in a song
except it turned
into a Fifty-One Ford
because I couldn’t figure out
how to make music with 1950.

the beat-up ’48 Chevy pick-up
I learned to drive when I was 12
and my feet reached the pedals
since I was 8.

the old green Simca wagon
that carried me a million European miles
from Rome to Copenhagen
and everywhereandthing in between

there are cars in my dreams
but I don’t like them
I don’t like cars
I don’t really turn my head
when a 1932 Chevro-Baker Studelay tools by
I tend to look the other way
when the latest Italian Gizomobile
slides by with a sleazy blond at the wheel
I might gaze upon the sleaze
but I’ll ignore the mobile
SUVs (Urban Assault Vehicles)
make me want to puke in my shoes
as I leap out of them
and go scooting away
like the Road Runner
on his footloose wheels

AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON TRUCKS
truckers used to be cool guys
now they’re just assholes
hell-bent on taking over the world
by ruling the highways
they’ did it before
in the middle ages

motor scooters?
give me a fly swatter

FOREST

You never hear people say,
“That sure is an ugly forest”
They always say,
“That’s a beautiful forest,”
and that’s because
all the ugly forests are gone

It happened a long time ago

The forests held a beauty contest
and the losers had to walk
to the ocean
and set themselves on fire

[ Kastelenroute, Brugge, July 29, 2004 ]

KITES

the thing about these kites
swooping and dipping
above the sand packed beach
is that after you look at them
for an hour or two
you start to see the wind

[ Rømø, Denmark, September 2002 ]

FACE

The shape of my face
under the mask
of my pressed palms and fingers
is not the same face
I see in the mirror

[ April 11, 2003 ]

GRACELET

This morning
I worked in the garden
and graced myself
with a bracelet
of nettle stings

ARNO, AGE 4
painted for us
a beautiful picture
on the courtyard pavement
out of dried twigs
and palm-size
chunks of coal

later
after Arno went to sleep
we walked all over
his painting
without even thinking
about it

[ Aug. 3, 2003 ]

HELENE

for John Bennett

I don’t like Rachmaninoff
but I like Hélène Grimaud
I like her Brahms better
than hot milk on toast

and brown sugar, cinnamon
hey it’s Graveyard Stew
the bowl’s on the table
places for two

so here’s to you Hélène
keep tappin’ the keys
pumpin’ the pedal
and shootin’ the Bees

[ Oct. 18, 2003 ]

SILENCE IN BELGIUM AFTER 33 YEARS

There are many benefits in not speaking the language.
One of them is learning how to shut up.

DOG’S DOG

I’m sitting outside a Flemish cafe
filling my plastic bottle
from a glass bottle
of cold water and a dog’s dog
comes up and wants a lick
so I pour some ice cold water
into my palm and he laps it up
tongue tapping a coded message
that only hidden parts of my brain
can understand
and I keep filling the cup of my hand
and the dog keeps lapping
until he’s tired of lapping
and then he just walks away

I notice myself lately
becoming more and more
like that dog

[ Hex, July 31, 2004 ]

SHE WAS TOLD

1.
she was told
that if push came to shove
she should fall on the floor
and pretend to be crippled

this was about the time
Richard Widmark
started shoving old ladies
in wheelchairs down
long flights of stairs
in Hollywood

she didn’t have a chance
by the time she got to the city

thousands of men who looked
like Richard Widmark
leaped from thousands
of doorways
and didn’t even hesitate
to use her back
as a welcome mat

2.
she was told
“if slapped in the face
turn the other cheek”
soon she was spinning
in her tracks
as her first three husbands
took turns
keeping in shape
by practicing
Wife-Beating Aerobics

but they forgot to tell her
what to do
when the fourth husband
started using her guts
as a punching bag
and her ass
as a kicking mat

3.
she was told
that someday she would come
to a high wall
beyond which would lie
the Kingdom of Heaven

as it turned out
she got to that wall
a lot sooner
than anybody expected

she climbed a ladder
and peeked over
and saw that the Kingdom of Heaven
was a 16,000-lane bowling alley

the trick was to get
from one end to the other
without being de-footed
by one of the blazing
cannon balls
the gods were rolling
with frantic intensity

if you performed
the Bowling Alley Boogie
and survived
with both feet intact
you were rewarded
with a 6-foot teddy bear
and a free ride
on the ghost train

4.
they told her
she was beautiful
and she made the mistake
of believing them

[ August 2004 ]

SWEET LITTLE 13

She’s 12
and she believes
that good little girls
don’t play with snails
or puppy dog tails
or the fingernails
of greasy garage mechanics
until they’re 13

after that
it’s every grease monkey
for himself
and lord have mercy
on the flunky
who gets stuck
pumping up her tires.

[ Aug. 7, 2004 ]

DUMB

dumb dogs, dumb people
how could it be otherwise?

[ Baraqui Corner / May 2, 2004 ]

MR.GOBBLE DE GOOK

Guy on the phone says,
“I want to speak
to Mr. Gobble De Gook.”

I say, “Wrong number.”

He says, “Are you
Mr. Gobble De Gook?”

I say, “No, I’m not.”

He says, “Are you sure?”

So I say, “I know my own name.
I’ve had it for the past three years
so I should be very familiar with it
by now, Mr. Kafka.”

And he says, “I don’t want
to speak with Mr. Kafka.
I want to speak to Mr. Gobble De Gook.”

MONSTERS

(for Bill Maher)

Why do they show all these terrible people
on TV?
Larry King has them live all the time.
Monsters.
Horrible humans
filled with hate and greed
their faces twisted with evil
their eyesockets empty
just holes thru which you can see
the squirming worms packed into their skulls.
Never answering a question
but always sidestepping it
as if any kind of truth could be a trap
even the time of day.
Deceiving.
Dissimulating.
Faking belief.
Shouting propaganda.
Spouting poison.
Licking hundred dollar bills
and picking their fangs with sharpened claws.

Don’t the networks have somebody else they can put on?
Just one or two maybe?
Somebody funny
Somebody beautiful
Somebody compassionate
Isn’t there somebody in the world
who remembers what love is?
Or have the slow-burn fascists
exterminated them all
and only the Uglies, the Haters,
the Mental Mutants, the Monsters
are available for comment
and expert opinions?

But no, we don’t have the watchdogs anymore.
The watchdogs have been tamed
and shot full of junk.
The media’s been taken over by the Monsters
it’s become an engine of their propaganda machine.

These horrible humans are convinced
that they and their kind rule the world.
What an illusion. Even a blind man
can see that their method of control
is dedicated to the destruction of the world.

Toe the line, Larry, or we’ll put a bullet
thru your head
or we’ll stick you in a 747
and crash you into the Statue of Liberty
or if that flight’s all booked up
with stand-up comics
and leaders of Greenpeace
and Amnesty International
we’ll send you and Bill Maher on a one-way trip
into the south tower
of the Golden Gate Bridge

ASSWIPES

sometimes I get fed up
being around
all these asswipes

there’s nowhere I can go
where I won’t encounter
more asswipes

except maybe the middle
of the Atlantic Ocean
where I’ll probably
bump into a bunch
of asswipe whales

[ May 5, 2004 ]

NUMBSKULL HIGHWAY

it’s gets scary in the city
when you look around
and notice
that about half the people
walking past you on the streets
are imbeciles
halfwits
idiots
numbskulls

but it gets REALLY scary
when you realize
that in about an hour
most of these numbskulls
are going to be out on the highway
behind the wheels of powerful, fast cars
all racing to be
the first one home

SNEAK FREAKS

I’m sitting at my table
sipping tea
when I look over at a newspaper
draped over the armchair.
The headline reads:

BABY – 10 MONTHS OLD – RAPED BY FATHER

Christ almighty! Who invited this freak
into my house?

Nobody.
He just snuck in
like a baby rapist
and plastered his message on my chair

It feels like he shit in my eyes.
Sneak Freaks!
They’re everywhere.
They creep under your fingernails
and crawl up inside your skin
where they wiggle around like worms
and suck on your nerves.

I wish I’d never learned to read.

DRUNK DRIVING OLYMPICS

The cops are pulling cars over
to test the drivers
for alcoholic intoxication
make the them walk the white line
touch their fingertips to their noses
blow a balloon

He stops
pours himself out of the car
manages to stand erect for a second
or two
then passes out
at the cop’s feet
in a puddle of alcoholic stupor

“No need to test this one”
“He gets the gold medal”

The next day the driver
and two other drivers
who’d been pulled over for DWI
now sober
stand on a podium
against the back wall of the town jail
and bend their heads
as the cops loop ribboned medals
around their necks
Gold
Silver
Bronze

Then the police chief
takes out a ping pong ball gun
and shoots their mouths
full of ping pong balls

“Next time it’ll be real bullets.”
“And more ping pong balls.”

[ Old Farm Road, July 28, 2004 ]

THE HUNTER

the cop stops the car
in the middle of the forest

in the car
are four loonies, two in front
the one behind the wheel
is wearing lipstick
and playing with his balls

and the two in back are slapping
each other around like a couple of queers

the cop’d like to get a can of gas
from his trunk and pour it
over the driver’s head
light a match, toss it thru the window

nobody knows what’s going to happen next

after the first explosion
there will be no more screaming
the radio antenna will flip off
and bury its tip in a pine tree

be a good way to get rid of these bums
spontaneous combustion

it could happen at any moment

tongues of fire shooting across the road
and illuminating the eyes
of foxes who have crept up
to the edge of the forest
to watch the hunter
dance around
his campfire

[ May 6, 2004 ]

GRAVY TRAIN

see them riding the Gravy Train
hanging onto the iron sides
their hands crucified
pierced on death nails
their feet dangling
ankles broken
flapping in the breeze

that’s what happens
when you sign up
with the army
and you get a bonus
3-week, all-expenses
paid vacation
in the Bermuda Triangle

HOOKED

we’re all hooked
EVERYBODY
prozac
aspirin
nicotine
speed
junk
coke
crack
coffee
FEEL FREE
TO JUMP IN
AT ANY TIME
whiskey
rum
vodka
beer
wine
exstasy
viagra
opium
methadone
benzodiazepine
DON’T LET ME STOP YOU
FROM CONTRIBUTING
A FEW OF YOUR OWN
PERSONAL POISONS
morphine
absinthe
glue
quaalude
tequila
no-doz
codeine
valium
testosterone
EPO
everybody but me
I’m not hooked on any substance
and just as long as I can have
my three or four puffs
of locoweed daily
I’m sure I’ll be drug free
forever

BRAIN CHEMISTRY

My brain chemistry sucked for so long
really sucked
all that nicotine
all those noxious gases
and lack of oxygen

now I’ve got bananas
and prunes
and peppermints
lots of fresh water
plus the best gravity-defying
perspective-supplying
locoweed
that the earth-mothering
Dutch soil can provide.

[ while riding by the Destexhe farm
in Verlaine on the 16th of April, 2003 ]

SMOKE

I stopped smoking four years ago
or rather smoking lost interest in me
and walked away

How did I do it?
Puffing on all those rolled rice papers
packed full of tobacco
inhaling hundreds of thousands of lungfuls
of smoke
desperately pumping the nicotine
into my bloodstream
and praying it would numb my nerves.

I would have been better off
hitting myself over the head
with a hammer.

[ October 2, 2002 ]

COMA

“I didn’t know what was happening”

I’ll say it now
so when I wake up
you will know exactly what it is
that I’m trying to say

DEAD TIRED

I lie down to sleep
wait for sleep to come
sometimes I wait all night
sometimes sleep never comes

some people I know
drop off in seconds

if I dropped off
in seconds
I’d have to be dead

[ August 2004 ]

HANT WERPEN

If you really need a part of my body
to throw in your river
take my face

I need my hands
I’d be lost without them.

My face?
You’ve seen it before
it’s served its purpose
now it’s just ugly

on second thought
take my feet
they’re really ugly too

[ July 20, 2003
Antwerpen ]

JEF SAYS

I sit on the quay above the Schelde
legs dangling, leaning over
looking down into the wash of the out-going tide.

Jef says, “Can you swim?”

I say, “Enough, but the only way
I’d fall in
is if I passed out first.”

Jef says, “You’re always looking for a challenge.”

[ Antwerpen July 19, 2003 ]

HANDS

rub your kid’s back when he can’t go to sleep
lift a fork to eat
a spoon
lift a cup to drink
a bottle
salt food
pepper
toss another log on the fire
wipe your mouth
saw a log
shave
hammer a nail
put on your socks
shoes
set a screw
tighten a bolt
hold an ice cream cone
butter your toast
scratch an armpit
pour honey on your toast
trim your toenails
fingernails
pull a splinter from your finger
pick your nose
turn the pages of the book you’re reading
fold a newspaper
re-fold a map
punch a button on the VCR
strike a match
flick a lighter
hold a cigarette to your mouth
cigar
pipe
guide your bicycle
pump gas
turn the key
start the car
change radio stations
flip down the sun visor
adjust the rearview
flip somebody the bird
hold hands with your girlfriend
boyfriend
zip up your pants
button
flush toilet
wipe ass
wash hair
hands

wind a clock
shut off the alarm
grip a baseball bat
squeeze a pimple
open a window
shut the door
pull down the curtain
switch on the light
sweep the floor
pick up your mail
remove a letter from the envelope
shake somebody’s hand

slap somebody on the back
punch somebody in the nose
slide your trombone
tune your guitar
play piano
drums
flute
harp
swing a tennis racket
catch a baseball
dribble a basketball
swim
tap your PC keyboard
pick up your phone
dial a wrong number
pick up a pen
write words like these
(pick
one
of the above
or
one of the below
and imagine
doing it
with your feet)
put them in your pocket
hang out the washing
wash the dishes
hang a picture
read braille
pick your teeth
with a toothpick
pull out a handkerchief
and blow your nose
comb your hair
climb a ladder
load a gun
pull the trigger
peel a banana
wave a flag
salute
set a mousetrap
click a photo
mold a pot
weave a blanket
throw a spear
shoot an arrow
do a push-up

manipulate a puppet
apply make-up to your face
rake leaves
scratch your back
if you can reach it
dig up a few potatoes
fly a kite
pet a dog
cat
make your bed
pull out a dollar bill
and pay
pull out a credit card
pull out a coin
and drop it in the slot
pick up a coin
and drop it again
paint a picture
paint a wall
milk a cow
jump rope
pump a tire
peel an orange
roll a joint
roll the dice
deal the cards
hold a winning hand
hold a losing hand
raise the bet
fold
insert a suppository up your anus
suck your thumb
open an umbrella
button your shirt
wipe your glasses
pin the tail on the donkey
spin the bottle
make a shopping list
type a letter
wear a ring
wear gloves
wave
pray

CATHEDRAL

The Age of Aquarius
we’re in it
it’s all around us
it’s out on the freeway
it’s down in the mall
it’s out along the edge of the city
they call it urban sprawl

but here in the center of the city
under the highest spire
Christ still dangles on his cross
fish man, don’t like fire
fish man, hung out to dry
don’t like air, fish man lost

oh Jesus Christ, I’m sad to say
you’re not the number one curse
in the English language today

but they sure knew how to build them
these cathedrals
solid, rooted in the earth
by pillars of marble
stained glass windows
clarion bells chiming
in the tower above

the Age of Aquarius
it’s here
it’s out in the airports
it’s up in the planes
it’s in your living room
it’s electric, impossible to tame
it’s eccentric, hard to name
it’s got its fingers on Mars
and around the Man in the Moon

Hail Mary! Hard to Give Up

my damned Puritan forefathers
had it all figured out
“Got to get rid of the woman
she’s causes too much doubt”

Hail Mary! Hard to give up

and tho they kicked out Mother Mary
she’s hard to give up
Saint Marie, Santa Maria
Madonna, Notre Dame

even as we flash down
the cathedral malls
and the freelove freeways
of the Aquarius Corporation
she’s hard to give up

soft, compassionate
makes you want to cry
“MOM!”

hard to give up

loving, tender
she’ll rub your back
and Christ! she’s a virgin too

hard to give up
you just don’t walk out on a lady

[ June 2, 2003,
of St. Paul’s Cathedral in Liege, Belgium ]

STORM IN A CATHEDRAL

they sure knew how to build them
these cathedrals
solid, rooted in the earth
by pillars of marble
stained glass windows
clarion bells chiming
in the tower above
and beyond
the rumble of thunder
a storm raging
booms of god’s wrath
rain splattering
on the high windows
be just my luck
to be sitting right under
the cathedral spire
highest point in the city
when a huge bolt of lightning
zaps right down and nails me in my chair

“Poet tragically killed
while deep in prayer
by a thunder bolt from god.”

[ June 2, 2003, seated in the nave
of St. Paul’s Cathedral in Liege, Belgium ]

THE AGE OF APARADISO

The Age of Aquarius
we’re in it
that’s why I feel so at home
perfectly safe and secure
satisfied and blessed
if you leave out the parts
about the cities
and the airports and planes
and the cars and the highways
and the fast food joints
and the urban mall sprawl
and SUVs
and machine-manufactured music.

Other than that
I’m in Paradise

FOOTNOTE TO “THE AGE OF APARADISO”

make that all cities
except Rome, Italy
Amsterdam, Holland
Bruges, Belgium
and San Francisco, California

all the rest you can stick in a cannon
and shoot to the moon
tho they say
Barcelona is nice
and I know
Paris has its moments

THE MALL

slick haircut
trim mustache
18 maybe 20
form-fitting t.shirt
from CALVIN KLEIN
strategic macho poses
god, this is all he’s got
no future
no hope
this is the kind of Arab
who could pull out a gun
and shoot his sister
sitting across the table
reading a newspaper
right between the eyes

then you can go into a clean
immaculate pissoire
take a leak
wash your hands
with plenty of pink
liquid soap
blow them dry
in a warm summer breeze
then press 50¢
into the palm
of the white-hair lady
who sits outside
and says
“Tres gentil, m’sieur”
because the sign says 30¢
it’s a wet coin
didn’t leave my hands
under the blower long enough
she handles wet money all day

TEMPLE EMANU-EL

Try to become a Jew.
If they don’t let you in
walk up and down
the sidewalk
in front of the synagogue
wearing a yarmulke
carrying a menorah
in each hand
and singing Hava Nagila
as the Rabbi
comes up the driveway
in his black Cadillac.
If that doesn’t work
get a couple of your friends
to dress up as neo-nazis
go down to the front steps
of the synagogue
and sing Hava Nagila
as they beat you with
rubber truncheons (soft rubber)
while degrading you
with every anti-semitic
insult in the book.
Once you get inside the synagogue
start raving and ranting
about how Christ was a Jew
and soon the rabbis
will be beating you
with their rubber truncheons (hard rubber)
and chasing you back into the street
where the neo-nazis will be real nazis
(not your friends anymore)
and they’ll beat you
with their truncheons (bone hard rubber)
as you crawl across the street
and up the steps
and into the sanctuary
of the First Presbyterian Church.

THE GODS MESS AROUND

1.
they don’t have a sense of humor
those damned gods
who knows what they do
with their time
between apocalypses
between whispers
while shuffling the cards
for another game of 5-card stud
Do they twiddle their thumbs?
watch TV?
torment cripples?
They might think
that a runaway wheel chair
with a cripple
screaming for salvation
is funny.
I don’t.
The gods mess around
but they don’t have
a sense of humor

2.
the gods mess around
and who knows where they get
all those tin foil hats
and fake nipple suckers
maybe they think
it’s some fool’s birthday
maybe they’d like to blow
out the candles
maybe they’d like a piece
of the cake
maybe they think
they’ve got everything
under control.
Have I got news for them.
Everything’s a mess
and nothing is turning out
like they said it would
in Sunday School.
Maybe they think
this is a piece of cake.
Maybe they’re too busy
blowing out the candles
to take a look around
and see that laughter
is not on the menu

3.
Laughter?
You can get laughter
down at Chuck’s Hot Dog Wagon
laughter with mustard
and onions
The gods don’t hang out
at the Laughter Wagon
Chuckle burgers
Funny bones
Snicker bars.
These are not
among the aromas and tastes
that bring out the saliva
in gods
They like bitter burgers
they like sneer cream
in their sauerkraut milkshakes
that’s what they like best
that’s their nourishment
this is how they get fat
you can hear them say
“Nobody ever got fat laughing.”

4.
Divine Comedy?
Forget it.
You’ll never hear Jupiter
crack a joke
or see Zeus
rolling in the aisles.
If Aphrodite is slapping her knees
there must be
a mosquito nearby.

THOUSANDS OF HEAVENS

thousands of eyes
turn skyward
into thousands of heavens

we squint and squeeze
our eyes into the skies
of grey-dust dog-days
and all we get back
is a pack of barking clouds
and a jaw of the north wind
shouting at the moon
“SAY CHEESE”

thousands of eyes
turn skyward
into thousands of heavens

and in one Walt Whitman
sits smiling down
the tip of his long white beard
twitching in time to the blues riffs
Mark Twain in laying down
plucking from the golden strings
of his harp, moaning “Oh Walt,
you Kosmos, of Manhattan the son,
you dirty devil, damn you
your lines slip thru our fingers
like melting rubber bands
give us something solid
give us a word we can hang onto
a word we can eat
we’re hungry
we’ve had enough
of your Trans-Substantial Soup”

thousands of eyes
turn skyward
into thousands of heavens

and some of those eyes
are not human
some look out of pockets of sockets
thousands of light years deep
as they recall how life
in the Horsehead Nebula
was so much more relaxed
until the Tree Toads came along
invented radioactive mushrooms
and blew the place to dust
and now they’re stuck
on this backwater planet
knowing they’ll be rolling around
on two wheels
in a four-wheel civilization
for the rest of eternity

thousands of eyes
turn skyward
into thousands of heavens

and see angels strutting around
striking poses like body builders
with bald heads and oiled muscles
moving in slow motion
while the gigantic face
of Orson Welles
leans out of a cloud
puffs up his cheeks
and blows them all away
with a blast of cinematic wind

and thousands of eyes
look downward
into thousands of holes in the ground
and having seen the face of god
begin to pray:
“Jumpin’ Jehosephat
and Baby Jesus’ Leaky Diapers,
forgive us our passion
for idols with feet of clay
forgive us our blatant display
of Arnold Schwarzenegger ambitions
and Bruce Springsteen feedback
our Lee Marvin melancholy
and our Dennis Hopper hallucinations

no more Max Von Sydow death threat, please
no more Kathy Bates sledgehammers”

WILD GEESE

and we glance over and see
the harvest moon slide-popping up
and the wild geese slide-popping by
flapping out of the north
pointing their beaks into southern breezes
and we say we’ll come back later
and check ’em out
but there won’t be a later
the wild geese have better things
to do than twiddle their thumbs
while we wiggle our toes

and the moon keeps popping
she doesn’t stop for nothing
not even a cloud
you think she’s going to stick around
and get her teeth drilled?
you think she’s going
to pick up a loaf of bread
on her way home?
you think she’s going to wait
for the stores to open
so she can buy a can of cat food
or a bottle of tabasco sauce?

think again

the last time I saw the moon
stop for a bottle of tabasco sauce
she’d run out of gas
and was bouncing across a field
with her hands over her face

PIECES OF CARDBOARD
for Bear

She gave me these pieces of cardboard.

I said, “I don’t need these pieces of cardboard.”

She said, “You never can tell
maybe they will excite you.”

Now I carry these pieces of cardboard
with me everywhere I go.
What happened?
How did I become so attached
to these pieces of cardboard?

They didn’t excite me.
I don’t know many people
who get excited by pieces of cardboard
in fact I don’t know anybody
who even has pieces of cardboard
like mine.
They have other things
like tear-strainers for their eyes
when crying is unavoidable
they have autographed caveman bones
guaranteed to be authentic
but they never told me about
their pieces of cardboard.
Maybe they have them
but keep it a secret.

Not me.
These pieces of cardboard
have become public knowledge.
They stick to me
like rumors.

They don’t improve my life
I tried
but they have nothing to teach me.
Other people have dogs
to teach them new tricks
some people have serious possessions
like marble lion’s heads
to guard their gardens
and sleek watchdogs
that must be fed
the finest tips of sirloin.

Not me.
I don’t have watchdogs.
These pieces of cardboard
are worthless
I couldn’t even get rid of them
at a garage sale for free.

So what’s the big attraction?

I’ve never said it before
but I actually like
these pieces of cardboard.
There is nothing specific
about them that I like.
It’s just the way they sit
on my table and continue to be
pieces of cardboard
in addition to which
I’ve been thinking about them
for so long now
that they have become a small part
of my history.
Who can say
that I will not be remembered
as the guy who had
a few pieces of cardboard?

“Sure, I remember him –
he was always walking around
with pieces of cardboard
when he got home
he’d toss the pieces of cardboard
on the table
and sit down
and stare at them for hours.
How can you forget a guy like that?”

THE BEAR DISAPPOINTMENT TRILOGY

I. TWICE DISAPPOINTED

Bear was just disappointed
for the second time
this afternoon

I can’t remember why
she was disappointed
the first time

neither can she

while trying to remember
I forgot why
she was disappointed
the second time

[ afternoon, Baby Buggy Road, Aug. 4, 2004 ]

II. BEAR’S DISAPPOINTMENT

now I remember why
Bear was disappointed
the second time

it was because
she expected
the bicycle repairman
to be more joyous
(some of the time)
and more thoughtful
(the rest)

the first time
she was disappointed
(I think) was because
somebody else
was being less than joyous
and much less than thoughtful

I used to spend my afternoons
being joyous (some of the time)
and thoughtful (the rest)
Now I spend my time
trying to keep track
of Bear’s disappointments

[ Stockay – evening Aug. 4, 2004 ]

III. BEAR’S FIRST DISAPPOINTMENT REMEMBERED

I just remembered why
Bear was disappointed
the first time

she just remembered too
in fact
she was the first to remember

it was about an internet message
in Chinese
that appeared on her computer screen
this morning

it said, “Coming from China,”
and it promised many new
adventures

it said, “Click here.”

Bear clicked
and the whole thing disappeared

not a trace was left behind

I understand why she was disappointed
I understand why we both forgot

[ Stockay – night Aug. 4, 2004 ]

LOSING THINGS, MISPLACING THINGS,
CAN’T REMEMBER WHERE YOU PUT ‘EM

for Marie Claire

It all comes back and down
to when you put them down
and where you put them down
to the exactly spot
where you were thinking,
“I don’t really
have to bother my head
with such a trivial detail
I’ll drop by and pick it up later.”

And that’s exactly what happens
if you’re not in a hurry
next day
a week later
a year later
you’re just strolling along
past that exact spot
and you pick up your earring
and you say,
“I wonder where I put
my cell phone?”

[ October 12, 2004 ]

TIME

As time slips by
I find myself dating
past events
in a gradual
escalation of years.
25 years ago.
30 years, 40 years.
How did it get to be
44 years since
I started doing
adult-like things?
How did my son
suddenly become 27?
What happened?
Did I miss something?
Or is this the way
it’s supposed to go
when you lead
a normal life?
Good thing I didn’t
go in the Marines.
I might have missed
it all. That was 45 years ago.
I’d still wandering around
a jungle in Vietnam
smoking dope
and thinking it was still
1964. Good thing I didn’t
become a college professor
I’d still be wandering around
the gardens of some west coast
campus, smoking dope and thinking
I was in heaven.
When you get to heaven
time stops.

[ October 2004 ]

LUCK
to Marie-Claire

Have we run out of luck at last?
When you fell on the steps
of Place St. Lambert
and twisted your ankle
and broke your bone
and clawed a fingernail hole
in the front of my new Greenpeace sweater
to keep you from falling farther
and breaking more bones
I was quick to ask myself:
have we finally run out of luck?

When I got my head smashed
by various pieces of hard wood
3 times in the same day
my first thought was
have we run out of luck?

Then I went and knocked on wood
and smashed the table

Have we run out of luck?

“Absolutely not.”

We’ve been blessed
by 3 years
of amazing days of grace

and you say
“You’re much too quick
to say we’ve run out of luck.”

Our guardian angels
are backing off
and giving the earth spirits
a chance to run the show
all we have to do
is carry on
and never fool ourselves
into believing
that we might be control

[ November 2003 ]

LUCK SEQUEL

a year later
and we’ve been blessed
by nights and days of grace
many more than I can count

luck never had anything to do with it

the guardian angels
have turned their jobs
over to the spirits of the earth

it’s our pleasure now
to keep our doors and windows open
so those spirits can come in
and join us at the table.
We have a large bowl of wheat.
I gathered the grains
from the fields this summer.
The gods have plenty to eat.

[ December 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS ONE

Bear says :
“I saw enough of Egypt when we were in Tunisia.”

[ Feb. 29, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS TWO

Bear says :
“I don’t think I would like to be an animal.”

[ Oct. 20, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS THREE

Bear says :
“I feel protected when I eat onion soup.”

[ Oct. 28, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS FOUR

Bear says :
“I’ll call you when the plates are smoking.”

[ Oct. 28, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS FIVE

Bear says :
“I’ve got to stop looking at people.”

[ Oct. 30, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS (speaking of our son)

“It’s almost one month since Quanah was born 28 years ago.”

[ Nov. 7, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS (ten miles down the road) :

“I’ve been holding my breath since we left home.”
[ Celtic Twilight Road – Nov. 7, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS EIGHT

“If the strikers from the post office come and take our
mailbox and try to burn it I will pull out their testicles.”

[ Nov. 9, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS NINE

“When I think about life after death I get the hic-cups.”

[ Nov. 12, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS TEN

“When it’s dark we don’t see anything.”

[ Nov. 19, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS ELEVEN (Part 1)

“Everything is happening in September.”

[ Amsterdam, Nov. 20, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS ELEVEN (Part 2)

“Everything is happening in September – almost.”

[ Amsterdam, Nov. 20, 2004 ]

BEAR SAYS TWELVE

“That’s what we’re here for – to fall apart.” *

[ November 29, 2004 ]

* implying : we’re here to provide entertainment for each other as we stumble blindly into old age

ONE

what happens when you put
two and two together?

[ Smugglers Road, July 30, 2004 ]

SYLLOGISM

if money is the root of all evil

and money can’t buy you love

then evil is the root of all love
(or he would like to be
if he didn’t have so many
coins to jingle around
in his pockets
while fighting off waves
of happiness)

[ August 2004 ]

SPINOZA

some sit by the river
reading Spinoza
others sit
reading a fashion magazine

I saw Spinoza
sitting by the river
reading a fashion magazine

she had blonde hair

[ Belle Isle to Esneux by bike, Sept. 2, 2004 ]

THE KISS

watch out for her kiss
she might bite you instead
she likes to do that, they say
just reach out and snap off
your nose
or dig up a chunk
of your lower lip

more than one good lover
had lost a tongue
to the Girl from Tusk-a-Loosa

GIRLFRIEND

1.
I was ready for anything.

When I came racing around the corner
motor roaring, tires squealing
kicking up shoulder dust
I was ready for strange adventures
ready for whiplashes of wild roses
and werewolf parties
ready for lost weekends and leap years.

But I wasn’t ready for her.

She was standing by the side of the road
and she wasn’t sticking out her thumb either
She was flagging down rides with her chest.
I stopped. She got in.
I said I’m ready for anything
and I was
I was ready for rude romance
I was ready for magnetic encounters
I was ready for supernatural paranormal
ultra-metaphysical moments
but I wasn’t ready for her.

I was never like the brown bear
who sat on a hill and watched
a mysterious woman
drop a mysterious box
into a river.
He looked at the woman
for a minute
then he looked at the river
for another
then he turned and trotted away.
Not me.
Every time a mysterious woman
drops a mysterious box
in the river
I have to jump in
and open it up

2.
I didn’t have a chance
when she turned to me
and said, “I’m lost.”
She blinked her long lashes
and I didn’t have a chance

I was helpless
when she asked me
if I knew my way around.
The maps in my head
crumbled to dust
and I was helpless

I was already curled up
in the palm of her hand
when I said, “Sure, just follow me.”
But it was me who followed her
it was me who was curled up
in the palm of her hand

I was completely in love with her
by the time we came to the office
two doors down the hall
the professor looked up
“Can I help you?” she said.
And I said, “She needs your signature
and I’m completely in love.”

And I fell in love again
after the girl left
with the signed paper
and the professor locked the door
and said, “This happens all the time.”
I said, “I know what you mean.
This is the second time today.”
Then I noticed a photograph on her desk.
“My daughter,” she said
and I fell in love again

3.
I never liked it when she started talking
about old boyfriends.
She ruined their names by pronouncing them.
She told me later, “The names have been changed
to protect the guilty.”

Girlfriend.
What a strange social and biological
set-up like ducks in a shooting gallery.
Girlfriend.
Not just any old friend
not a pal or a buddy or a chum
or someone you’d tell your deepest secrets to.

Fact is : she never knew anything about me
as I knew next to nothing about her
yet we got along
Just fine.
Most of the time.

4.
Some girlfriends become wives
and some girlfriends become the girls
the wives become jealous of

I never gave her reason to be jealous
but she didn’t need reason.
Strange how we never need reason
when it comes to all the important stuff.
The stuff that shapes your life.

5.
“The secret of poetry,” she said
“Is to use only a few words to describe
a whole bunch of stuff.”
Sounded good to me.
Bunch and stuff are good words
especially when you’re dealing with
poetic weights and measures.
“And how about love?” I asked.
“What’s the secret of love?”
“Same as poetry,” she said,
“only you leave out the words.”

6.
We meet again after 40 years
all that sweat seems impossible now
nights of held breath
mad dashes from one hiding place
to the next stopping the car
in the middle of midnight
to race on foot thru a dense forest
shouting OVER HERE strolling on mist
shrouded beach at low tide
curled up in a cubbyhole by the stove
on cold linoleum floor at 4 a.m.
no buses running paralyzed by visions
of love lost, losing it moment by moment
dripping like water from a clenched fist
seeping, helpless, leaning elbows
on windowsill to witness the dawn fade in,
letting her go, giving in,
hearing her bus hiss in the distance
as I stop in the street
to stare at the sex-shaped cloud
of lust and perfume
that surrounds this secretary
trot-clicking on high heels
late for work
and following this cloud
onto another hissing bus
where I fall in love with an elf
with large glasses and long straw hair
on her way to school.

7.
Leafing thru my yearbook
I can’t believe it.
The cheerleaders loved me
(and my trombone)

Class re-union 40 years later
she asked, “Do you still play it
(your trombone)?”
I said, “Do you still shake
your pom-poms?”

8.
We took a walk along the river
twilight I skipped flat stones
out across the water
showing her my skill
letting her know I was clever
and could be counted on
to protect her from the fierce mountain lion
and the devious rattlesnake.

9.
I said to her husband,
“I’m going to borrow your wife
for a few minutes.” We talked
about books we’d read, we talked
about the movies we liked the best
and for a few minutes
we were back in 1950
we were 7 years old
and she was the girl
the teacher said
I had to hold hands with
in the cafeteria line

old girlfriends don’t change
they just wear different masks
and costumes
when they get past 55.

10.
Her words become a blur.
They’ve been fuzzy from the start.
“Hurry up.”
Her body is a blur
saved up since birth
for this moment
for me and my desert boots
and my London Fog raincoat
now lying innocently
in a heap by the bed
while I gaze down upon
my conquered territory of flesh
and flex thousands
of nude muscles
and wonder what kind of ape
has suddenly got inside my skin
and started to yodel.

11.
But who were we kidding?
Only ourselves.
A widow with a year and a half
of empty arms
and a good-hearted cowboy
who needed a broom horse to ride.
“Just dropped by to see
how things were going”
see if she had a light bulb
that needed changing
unplug the sink, maybe
adjust the TV.
Who were we kidding?
Nobody. Not even the canary in the cage
or the cat up in the rafters
snapping at his tail.
Not when she broke the seal
on a fifth of vodka and said,
“A small drink, perhaps, before going?”
Not when I took off my boots
and said, “Just one for the road.”
Not when she came over and sat in my lap
and said, “It sure feels good when you tickle me.”
Not after we’d finished the bottle of booze
and started another
Not when I took off my pants and shouted,
“Where’s the fucking bathroom?”

By then we were way past
trying to fool the cat and the canary.
We had other fish to skin
and mud puddles to fry.

12.
Back in the days of vinyl discs
the girlfriend didn’t get up
to “turn the record over.”
That was the boyfriend’s job.
The girlfriend never drove.
She never paid.
She would chew gum
and sometimes smoke
But basically her job
was to look good.

I couldn’t do anything
about the way she sounded tho.
Her earrings were miniature maracas
and her ears seemed to be hissing
every time she turned her head.

13.
Riding the crest of a wave
LOVE IS A SURFBOARD
Slicing thru pedestrians
on a crowded sidewalk
LOVE IS A ROLLERBLADE
Girlfriend is the other blade.
Girlfriend cuts and slices
chops and dices
spreads like butter
on a slice of warm bread
and tastes like strawberry jam.

14.
Peanut butter and jelly
that’s all I want tonight.
As for breakfast
bring me peaches on pancakes
the salt of the earth
and tequila on lemon

Girlfriend is food
she’s a stick of liquorice
a sprig of wild garlic
a shot of Tia Maria
a cup of cappuccino
hot wine with cinnamon
cherry cobbler with whipped cream

15.
They say you can see her coming.
Not true. Never true.
She always catches you by surprise.
She always sneaks up when you’re not looking
“Boo.”
“Boo to you too.”
“Catch me, I’m falling.”
“Gotcha.”
“Boy, meet girl.”
“We already met.”
“You’ve already dreamed of her?”
“She came in the back door.”
“I see. You’ve already drunk her milk of amnesia.”

16.
I’m starting over
from “Scratch my back”
and working down to the fishing permits
of “Seven down, four letters, starts with L
and rhymes with dove.”
and “What can I get you for your birthday, big boy?”

17.
I see her clearly now
but it’s too late.
She’s here to stay
until she’s gone
until she’s danced on my tail
dusted my ragged edges
winked my dreams
and dreamed my sleep.

18.
Girlfriends and Farmerwives.
Don’t ever take them together on vacation
in a car with no back seat.

She lived next door.
She was only 17, divorced, sort of
almost innocent
asking nothing from life
but an honest break
and maybe a chance to laugh
and chase the blues away
once in a while.
We were just sitting at the piano
playing a Brahms’ Liebeslieder Waltz for 4 hands
when the Farmerwife walked in
whistling “Pop goes the Weasel”
and cut off our tails with a carving knife.
Did you ever see such a sight in your life
as two myopic musicians
and one clairvoyant Farmerwife dancing
around the piano as severed tails
and popped weasels whipped and flipped
in the air and the bust of Brahms
gazed down from above
whistling “La Cucaracha”
and the blues crawled back
thru the open window
on yellow-spotted salamander feet.

19.
We lay in a hollow of grass
in a public park past midnight
huddled under a blanket
listening to the footsteps
of perverts shuffle thru the leaves.

20.
I had the force of ten men
I could leap over small cliffs
and large motorcycles
I could run marathons
and circles around the sun
I could play the piano with 8 hands
and 14 feet
I could hold off the rain
with one raised fist
and paint rainbows across the sky
with the tips of my fingers
I could breathe in ocean storms
and blow out candles in the Amazon.

I could lift her in one arm
and myself in the other.

Sometimes a girlfriend
can do these things to you
and then sometimes a girlfriend
can turn you into a mouse
begging for a chunk of cheese
begging, “Please let me stick my head
in your snap trap,” pleading
for a drop of holy water
and a sharp stone
from the Roadrunner’s slingshot

“Say cheese,” she said
and snapped a picture of me
that I would never see.
A photo she kept hidden
in the bottom of the bottom
of a bottomless bus station locker
and refused to show anyone
except her mother.

21.
We were going to have lots of fun.
We were to grow up and go to Paris.
We were going to learn everything in school
then march around collecting money
and giving everyone with polio a dime.
We were going to read every book in the library
out loud
to each other
We got up to page 15 of the 7th book
and switched to diving.
We were going to master the jack knife
and win gold medals in the Olympics.
We were going to run the mile
and break the world record.
of broken hearts
We were going to go fishing
and catch the last of the Mohicans.
We were going to sit in the Red Dog Saloon
and drink each other under the table.
We were going to teach each other
how to play the guitar
then go out and join a country band
and pretend we were Waylon Jennings
and Tammy Wynette.
We were going to give dance lessons
to all the animals in the zoo.
We would teach koala bears
how to do the Alligator
teach turtles how to do the Monkey,
teach the hippos how to do the Camel Walk,
and flamingos how to Walk the Dog.
There were hours when we were invincible,
invulnerable but nobody ever noticed us
not even the street sweepers
and we never got to Paris either.

22.
She sent me a postcard from Hawaii.
She tried to convince me it was her picture
on the front, the girl in the grass skirt
playing a ukulele.

I sent her a postcard from Reno, Nevada
with a picture of the snazziest hotel in town.
I put an X on a window of the top floor
and printed THIS IS WHERE I LIVE
tho I was camping out in back of a cheap motel
on the other side of town.

23.
She wanted me to be her Mark McGwire
and hit a 70-homerun season.
I bunted into a double play
and hung up my spikes.

She wanted me to be her Popeye
so I ate some spinach and my skin turned green.
She told her friends I was becoming a shrub.
When I started losing my leaves,
she left me out in the garden at night
with all the other bushes.

24.
I wanted her to be my spice girl
She tried cinnamon and she tried cloves
She tried curry and soya sauce
She spread a pint of rum-soaked ice cream
on her face and lost her smile an hour later.
She jammed chilli peppers under her tongue
and went for the super-hot goodnight kiss
that left me with blistered lips
and glowing teeth.

25.
She wanted shirtless Australian surfers
with 20-year old sun-tanned muscles
but instead got a geek with glasses
and a scrawny body covered with sand

She wanted a smooth-talking, longtall Texan
and she got a broken-down brakeman
from the Rhode Island Line.

She wanted a suave, debonair soap opera announcer
the man who did the voice-overs by day
and at night was a contrabasso, bari-tenortone
in the real opera downtown, who sang lead roles
in Tannhauser and Rigoletto,
but instead she got me
the kid who used to sprint
the length of the pasture
with a half-size football under his arm
and dodge the cow pies
as if they were real
vicious tacklers from Notre Dame
trying their best to keep him from scoring
a windmill touchdown.

26.
The crowds we lost ourselves in.
Throngs of lost lovers.
Flocks of fleeting Memory Ducks
paint-brushing us into a corner
with weathered wings.
Names nibbling at our nerves
with numbered teeth.
Herds of Rumor Cows,
stampedes of Story-Stallions,
a gang of Gossip Gorillas,
heavy-booted Reputation Goats
running roughshod
over our most populated areas.
27.
She was my biggest city,
my favorite metropolis.
She was filled with movie theaters
and art galleries, planetariums,
jazz clubs and Mexican restaurants.
Her streets were perfect for skateboarding.
Her streetcars ran on time.
Her taxi drivers were polite and courteous.
I climbed her skyscrapers
and rode her elevators to the top floors.
I shopped in her department stores
and I robbed her banks.
I was caught trying to escape
into the labyrinth of tunnels
in her subway system. Her cops
dragged me off to her jail. Her courts
condemned me to 30 minutes of hard labor
as an ambulance driver for her hospitals.
She let me off after 30 seconds
of good behavior. I promised never
to rob her banks again.
Then I hot-wired the ambulance
and turned a joy ride into an exodus
and ended up in one of her smaller towns
in the south.
I was a total stranger there.
I lived at the Green Iguana Motel
I bowled a perfect game at her bowling alley
I ate the blue plate special at her greasy spoon.
Her local newspaper wrote me up
in her gossip columns, and her Sheriff
finally caught up with me
as I was shooting a losing game of pool
in the backroom of The Swamp.
It was the ambulance that did me in.
I shouldn’t have tried to pass it off
as a milk truck at her used car lot.
“Milk trucks don’t have sirens,” she said.

28.
She looked good wearing the river
as a pair of liquid shoes
which flowed together and spread
from shore to shore.

She looked good wearing that mask
thru the eyeholes of which
you could see the sky.
“Cloud Passing” was an expression of hers
I liked a lot.
“Full Moon” was bizarre
since it appeared in only one eye,
and the red of the setting sun
was too orange to look at when it was in both.

There were moments when a bee
or a butterfly flitted thru a hole
and turned her face
into a pastoral landscape.
You could hear the chirp of crickets
in her ears

29.
“O Garbanzo bean, baby
You were my chick pea
you were my crossed fingers
you were my fountain faucet
and my C major arpeggio
my ticket to the mainline
my tumbling knucklebones
my straight flush and full house
my new moon walk
you sang in the Mute Muse Choir
you gave away eye drops to the blind
you were my borderline
and city limit sign”

She kicked the winning goal
in the World Cup Soccer final
and we all watched in amazement
as the ball turned into
a cloud of exploding confetti

30.
She was my fortune cookie.
She could slip into my future,
put it on like a sock,
then come back and tell me how it fit.
“What about breakfast?”
“I see toast and jam,” she would predict,
“and cream in your coffee.”
tho I never ate anything but scrambled eggs
and had given up coffee years before.
She was better at lunches and dinners.
“I see breaded veal and frozen peas
on your plate tonight.”
Half of the time she was right,
even tho she did the cooking.
She always had trouble with the frozen peas.
Sometimes they would turn
into tiny crystal balls
into which you could stare
and see dozens upon dozens
of different tomorrows.

BOBOLINK POEMS
(for Lawrence Ferlinghetti )

1.

it all started when Bobolink
gave an interview
and told the world
that his number one influence
was Lawrence Ferlinghetti
the journalists jumped all over Bobolink
(whose real name was Robert Boblincoln)
they wanted to know
who this Ferlinghetti character might be
and what was his real name
and why wasn’t he standing up in the back of the crowd
peeking over shoulders
waving “Hi, mom” to the cameras?
Bobolink ignored the last question
and went into details about influences
“He put swim flippers in my heart beat”
“He got into my nervous system
and repaired the broken lines”
“He tossed rhyme out the window
and hauled in a fresh truck load of alliteration”
A journalist raised his voice.
“Oh – you’re talking about POEMS
I thought you were talking about swimming pools
full of telephone
wires”
Bobolink said, “I’m talking about Tea for Two
with Tim Buck too
and twisting your teeth with his tickling toe.”

2.

it was about the time
that Bobolink’s poem
Saturday Night at Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s
came out
and a little outfit down south
picked it up
They said Bobolink
(whose real name was Robert Boblincoln)
should have called his poem
Saturday Nights at City Lights
they thought
Bobolink’s poem pulled up too quick
at stop signs
and was much too tight
on the u-turns

“People are getting tossed out in the road”
is how they put it
nor did they like
the way Bobolink’s poem
smiled
when it should have grabbed them by the shirtfront
and shook the living daylights out of them
or grabbed them by the testimonials
and squeezed
and shook
the wrath
of god’s own family jewels in their faces
or at least
snapped their suspenders
to let them know that he was sweat serious about all the
hypocritical hijinks
and the lustful lowblows
and the schoolyard capers
and the white house motel peccadilloes
and how magazines subscriptions were going to the wrong
addresses
INTENTIONALLY
such as the one that advocated
the overthrow of the King of Rock and Roll
sometime
within the next year or two.
“Let’s flood the sucker,” were his exact words,
“and let’s take out the C of Cuba
while
were at it.”
“You just make jokes out of those morsels of meat”
is how the boys down south put it.

Bobolink came back with a poem with a frown.
They ate it up.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti
watched from down the block
he cast an amused eye
upon the scene
then went back inside his shop
He had a late-night customer
who wanted a copy of Jaime Angulo’s Indians in Overalls.

3.

they came out of the dark
carrying a Bobolink poem
strapped to their backs. They’d been walking
for miles
thru the snow and hard rain.
The poem FERLINGHETTI’S CAPE
was soaking wet
they came
to a girl’s apartment in the city
and they put FERLINGHETTI’S CAPE in her oven
to dry out
then they went
in the other room and sat around smoking and drinking wine
for the rest of the night
and when they came out
to find out
if FERLINGHETTI’S CAPE
was dried out
THE KITCHEN WAS ON FIRE
flames were shooting from the oven
FERLINGHETTI’S CAPE – a black blanket of ashes –
had already done the damage
there was nothing they could do to save the house
the fire department arrived too late
“How did this thing
get started?”
the Chief wanted to know.
“This ain’t the first time we’ve had one of them
poetical spontaneous combustions
with my own eyes
I’ve seen poems like this
blow up in people’s faces
you’re lucky to be alive”

4.

When they changed Price Row
to Via Ferlinghetti
Bobolink
came up with a poem
about how
it was a shame
they chose a short
dead-end
alley
to honor the poet

Bobolink’s poem was called VIA FERLINGHETTI
“They should have given him a big street,”
he writes
“Columbus Avenue would have been about the right size
they got delis and coffee shops
on Columbus
they speak Italian on Columbus
you stroll into Washington Square from Columbus
to see how the Columbus
pigeons are doing
are they starving?
or are they rolling around on the grill of the hot sun
sidewalk?”
Broadway is out. Everyone agrees.
what would Ferlinghetti do with a tunnel
at one end
and all those sex dives
at the other?
Kerouac
got short changed too
it’s an alley
without a mailbox for five buildings
three of which
are already condemned and slated for demolition
they’ll sneak in some night
put up some high
rise
monstrosity and call it Herb Caen’s Castle
(Herb Caen was a
newspaper columnist who dealt with rumors and liars
he had a
cynical way of poking fun at Bobolink’s poem COIT TOWER and he
didn’t like any of Ferlinghetti’s poems either)

“What do you have to do
to get better than dead-end alleys?
Bobolink
wanted to know.
“Did he have to write the I Ching
to get Grant Avenue?
or would they have given him Geary all the way to the beach
for coming up with Homer’s Odyssey?”

5.

PITCHFORK was from the countryside. Hayrides
under a full moon, filled with girls
ready to explode
under the pressure
of harvest hormones
of male bodies
prone to procreation.

Let’s make this clear.

Bobolink (whose real name was Robert Boblincoln)
didn’t pull punches when it came to birth control
“Let them get pregnant as porpoises”
runs the first line
of his poem PITCHFORK
“Let them get impregnated
BY porpoises”
which is the line
that gives the poem its exciting end
nobody knew about
the pregnant chip monks
the pregnant polar bears
and the pregnant pauses when zoo keepers
looked around and saw Bobolink standing
in the shadows

“Who knocked up the kangaroos?” is what the Chief
wanted to know.
It was the last straw.
“I’ve got connections,” writes Bobolink
pumping up
his word power
and squirting it into the right passages

The Chief was irate. “I don’t believe it. He can’t be verbally
acquainted with outside conspirators. They do not walk poetic
paths. And look at all the destruction they left behind.”
No one suspected that the sudden increase
of lady bugs
daddy long leg spiders
and limpets
would soon be sending shock waves around
the Bay Area
these were followed by hordes of flat worms
fire ants
and bdelloid rotifers
all of Bobolink’s friends
jumped in their French sports
cars
and headed for the hills
and soon the city was deserted
and Bobolink sat alone
on the beach
looking up at the cliffs
where one of his quadruped abalone
sat perched on a rock
banging out poems
on a two-finger typewriter

6.

DRUNKEN SAILOR
is a busy poem
that criticizes
the ads
that made Aerosmith
Microsoft
and CNN famous
it goes: The Coney Islands of Our Minds
have been torn down
and
Chernoblys
have been
erected in the bottoms
of our brain pans
along with : “breaking news”
“read my lips”
and
“weapons of mass destruction”

the poem
invites
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
to join in
he says, ‘What are you gonna do with a drunken sailor?”

Bobolink seldom
writes poems
like this
he prefers
poems

with titles like: Chuck Wagons of the Wild West
Balloon Chronicles
Turtles and Other Forms of Perfect Balance
Rip Van Winkle’s Trombone Technique
The Encyclopedia of Magnifying Glasses
Translations from the Tremors
(and its sequel)
Five-O-Nine on the Richter Scale
and We Still Haven’t Got
to the Scary Part

tho he is grateful
to Ferlinghetti
for coming up
with a title
for his poem

7.

it was an homage to Lawrence Ferlinghetti.

They came
with their umbrellas, kitchen doors, car doors
and City Light Bookmarks

Bobolink came with his suitcase
on which he’d
printed his poem years ago
and had since packed twice
around the world
His real name
was Robert Boblincoln
but nobody had heard of Bobolink
either
first they read their umbrellas
and their kitchen and car doors
and City Lights bookmarks.

then Bobolink read his suitcase, both sides:

Where is the shaman to lead us out of our misery
and aching
teeth?
Where is the teacher to lead us out of the low-down
high-schools and away from those barracks on the other side of the
university library?
Where is the poet to lead us out of nursery rhymes
and Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall?
Where is the monk from the animal fair who sat upon the
elephant’s trunk while confused, desperate kids stood on Twin
Peaks and waved to him and chanted “and that was
the end
of the monk the monk the monk the monk the monk the monk
the monk”?

“Here’s right in here.
Inside the suitcase,” said Bobolink
Bobolink opened the suitcase
which contained
every poem that Lawrence Ferlinghetti
had every written
“Take your pick,” said Bobolink.
“And don’t forget to take your time.”

soon the poems were scattered all over the floor
and everybody thought the suitcase was empty
but a voice
chuckled out from one of the side
pockets
and laughter
filled the room with contagious giggles
and snickers
and soon
the whole gathering was laughing their fool heads
off
for how long?
who cares?
and when the last titter died away
the voice in the pocket said
“There is no Beat Scene, man
only the wisp in the willows
and the plump in the pillows
the dream of a scream
and the fireflies
at the bottom
of your garden.”

[ written after reading Ferlinghetti’s Pictures of a Gone World
for the first time in 40 years.
6 am – 6 pm April 21, 2004 ]

WIPERS
(in memory of Allen Ginsberg)

we’ve seen the best
windshield wipers
of our generation
sticking fingertips
into their nostrils
and ripping their noses
from their faces

“Smell that!” they cry
waving their noses
under our noses
and wiping their lips
on stumps
of bloody teeth

“Blow that!” they shout
flinging their faces skyward
to a flock of crows
shooting overhead
who pluck their noses
out of thin air

And the crows jaw and jabber,
“You’ve just seen the best
of this Generation of Wipers.
Now get ready
for the Snotrags from Moloch
who’ll piss in your gas tank
and take you out behind the garage
and beat the shit out of you
if you mention their weird
East European accents.”

BEATNIK BABIES

you can see them after midnight
slouching along the avenues
in raincoats and shades
picking thru garbage cans
for scraps of cabbage
slinking off into alleys
when they hear a car coming

looks like I’ll have to get out
my drumsticks
and whip a few of these wild cats into line

COMPUTER VIRUS

there’s a lot of pissed-off
unemployed geniuses out there

they have the brains of twin Einsteins
and the emotional maturity of baboons

you can see them after midnight
prowling along the avenues
in their raincoats and shades
picking at garbage cans
for scraps of cabbage
and slinking off into an alley
when they hear a car coming

looks like
I’m going to have to get out my copy
of Beowulf
and whip these nematoads into line

[ May 5, 2004 ]

ORDINARY DAY

I’m going to say
it was just an ordinary day
then I remember
all the weeds I pulled in the garden.
For them, it was a momentous day
It was the last days of their lives.
I killed them all.

[ July 5, 2003 ]

PUNCHING THE CELL

with the cell phone
you can’t slam down
the receiver
like you used to do with the old
dial phones
get pissed off and
stick that old horn
into the fucking cradle
and beyond.

not that I ever did.

the closest you can come
to reviving that out-moded
social custom
is to toss your cell phone
up in the air
and punch it
right on the fucking cut-off button
with your fist
as it comes down

it will sail about 10 yards
and you might have to buy a new phone
but think of your name
in the history books
the first man
or woman
to punch a cell phone
you will have invented
a new social custom
known as “Punching the Cell”
you’ll see people standing
out along the edge of the road
tossing their phones in the air
like tennis balls
and punching the cell shit
out of them
stop
smile
take a bow
after all you were the first
manorwoman
to “Punch a Cell.”

enjoy your celebrity
but don’t forget the guy
who told you all about it.

[ High Road, July 28, 2004 ]

PAPER PLATES

the violence of the kitchen sink
the rips and slashes
of gushing water
the saber rattles
of knives, forks and spoons
the smashing clatter
of cups and saucers
these are not paper plates
these are not sponge rubber pots
these are instruments of torture
these are annihilators of sanity
this is total war
on the Battlefield of Tinnitus
and these are weapons of mass destruction

COLUMBUS DAY

Columbus was a butcher
alive today
he would be convicted
and executed
for crimes against humanity
he chopped up the Indians
and fed them to the crocodiles
they were in his way
he wanted the gold
he wanted
ocean front property

Happy Crocodile Day

ROADSIDE

I just saw a dead baby
by the side of the road
and that’s all I’m going to say
about that ¹

¹ or it could have been
a couple of bloody diapers ²

² or a towel somebody used
to wipe their bloody ass ³

³ and that’s all I’m going to say
about that

SMILE

you’d look a lot better
if you stopped
picking your teeth
in public
and just let the cabbage
hang out
when you smile

[ August 2004 ]

PITY IS A CRIPPLING DISEASE

Pity is a crippling disease
a cracked mirror, a trick tongue tease

If I felt sorry for poor old me
I’d always be down upon my knees.
There is no prayer that’ll save your face
wrinkles, smiles or that empty place
between your teeth

up against the wall, the wall of pain
all fiddled out, no one’s to blame

there’s nothing like walking on glass
with yesterday’s bullets up your ass
while saying nothing but, “Howdy Folks!”
and flexing your belly and popping jokes

Up against the wall, you fortunate son
it’s your turn to dance the Son of a Gun

PRAISE

Praise is a good thing for all artists
painters, poets, novelists, sculptors,
film-makers, composers
it keeps you going
it keeps the channels open
it provides nourishment
and surprise.
There’s nothing wrong with someone saying,
“You do good work,” or, “Hey, that’s great.”
or, “You might even be a genius.”
There’s only one danger to beware of :
you’re in for a boatload of trouble
if you start to believe it.

PRIZES

Medals of Honor
Oscars
Pulitzers
Nobels
Grammy Awards

Are we supposed to believe
that these various industries
are doing anything more
than applauding themselves?

WHAT’VE YOU GOT

what’ve you got
for me?

what’ve you got
that I can stick
in the neon tubes
of my brains
to stir up
a thunderstorm?

what’ve you got
for me?

what’ve you got
in the pouches
of your secret kangaroo?
fireflies?
ladybugs
with lightning rods?

what’ve you got
in the hand
behind your back?

what’ve you got
for me?

I ENJOY A GREAT DEAL OF FREEDOM

having said that
I’ll probably come home tonight
and find that Saddam Hussein
has taken over the country
that my house is occupied
by the ghosts of nazi soldiers
and that my wife has become
a Brittany Spears fan

NEW COUNTRY POEMS

1.
Cruise controlled
on the high desert roads
of Eastern Oregon
New Country on the radio
knowing that
the most horrible thing
in the world
could happen to you
at any moment

2.
washing dishes
in Northern California
New Country on the radio
knowing that at any moment
a 30-foot albino alligator
could come ripping up thru the plumbing
smash thru the sink
and bite my head off
with a snap of his razor-sharp teeth
or I could go kung fu on the beast
punch him in the jaw
kick him in the balls
and there we’d be
surrounded by broken dishes
and thousands of ceramic
chunks of sink
with Hal Ketchum on the radio
singing
howl at the moon
shoot out the lights
small town Saturday night

TO JACK CODY, IN SALEM

Salem used to be a small cow town
I know
I was there in the summer of ’53
I spent my time
dodging raindrops
and milking cows

Now Salem’s just an ugly shitpile
what are you doing there, Jack?
why have you tied your hands
to that yahoo TV movie cowboy town?

pack up your sorrows
and get over to Bend
where the real cowboys live
you can walk into
another Rockin’ Rodgers
with your baseball cap
on backwards and Twist Again
Like You Did Last Summer
any time you want

so pack up your sorrows, Jack
and get your twisting ass
over to Bend
waste no time

[ Old Churchyard * Aineffe, Belgium
1st day of September 2004 ]

* and when I say “old” churchyard
I’m talking about an eglise romaine
of the 11th century ]

OLD MAN IN BOOTS

The old man
wore a new pair of work boots.
They were stiff.
His body lacked the vigor
and flexibility to break them in.
His feet lacked the spunk.
It would be a long time before
they were even half broken in
and even then they would not
bear the scars and wrinkles
of a younger man.

This old man’s shoe style
was Soft Bedroom Slipper.
Still he persisted and wore
only these new work boots.
They swallowed his feet
like leather eggshells.

GEEZER QUARTET

1. GEEZER DEATH

you drop by
to see a pair
of geezers
you haven’t seen
in a few years

and you spend
the next half hour
watching them die

you don’t get to see
the end
that’s somewhere
down the road
beyond today

what you get to see
is how hard
they’re working at it

it’s like watching
a lizard lick the face
of a rotting carved pumpkin
illuminated only
by the flickering
candlelight inside

2. GEEZER BEACH

“Come on down to Geezer Beach!”

That’s what they say
in the back pages
of the geezer magazines
with colored photographs
of naked geezers
most of them dead
others dying slowly
lying on the hot sand
waiting for a wave
to roll in and wipe them out

Why would anyone
want to go down
to Geezer Beach?
Unless you’re a geezer
and even then
you can probably come up with
a few better places
to kick the bucket
than a bed of sand
with a wild surf

I know a good place
up in the mountains
there’s a little stream
and it flows out of a rock
you lie down
and float
all the way
to the Lake of the Juvenile Delinquents

3. THE GEEZER LEAGUE

I say, “I’m out on these farm roads
almost everyday
rain, snow, ice, wind, sometimes sunshine
twenty, twenty-five miles”

and he says, “How old are you?”

And I say,
“I know I was getting close
to thirty in 1969
but after that
I just sort of stopped counting.”

and he says,
“How’d you like to race for our team?”

“What team is that?”

“The Bike Racing Team. In the Geezer League.
For racers over sixty. We’ll pay you 20, 000
dollars a month. Ten races a season. April
to October. The Geezer League.”

“You don’t want me on your team.
If some other bike bum got ahead
I’d catch up and stick a crow bar
in his spokes. If that didn’t work
I’d slash his tires with my six-inch
steel blade.”

“You’re just the kind of geezer
we’re looking for.”

“And sometimes I have to stop
and write a poem.”

The man jams his car in gear
and drives away
without looking back.

[ July 2004 ]

4. GEEZER TEETH

the less said about that
the better

[ Old Farm Barn, Oct. 14, 2004 ]

GRANDMA’S AGE

“I ain’t getting any younger.”

That’s was grandma’s age
when people asked her
how old she was.

Actually she used the words
“I am not – ”
and actually the person
I have in mind
was a man in a barbershop
in 1949
with a bald head
and a great fondness
for girly magazines.

Couldn’t the gods have given me
just one uncle
like that?
Why do I have to heap
all the memories
of these life-defining moments
on poor grandma?

GRANDMOTHER’S FAVORITE LAMENT

we barely have time to get used to it
before it starts going the other way

that’s life
that’s summer
that’s acid
and all the other ears and eyes
that open minds
like Beethoven’s Ninth
Bach’s B Minor
and Hieronymus Bosch

that was my grandmother’s favorite lament

we barely have time to go the other way
before it starts getting used to us

UNCLE

I was raised by an uncle
who felt only contempt for me.
I was too skinny
I was blind in one eye
and couldn’t see out of the other.
I refused to slaughter the rabbits.
I refused to skin the deer he shot.
In my photos
I’ve got lumpy cheeks
like a chipmunk.
I’ve got pink, plastic rim glasses
I’ve got a cherubic crewcut
I look like a dork
you’d like to smash the face
with your fist.
My uncle did that
once in awhile.
He whipped me with a belt too.
He boxed my ears because
I listened to music.
He died of lung cancer,
a nasty, old man.
Who knows?
I may end up the same.
But this much is for sure :
I’ve dug potatoes
he never heard of
I’ve tuned guitars
he never imagined
and I’ve made love to women
a hell of a lot more beautiful
than his waspish wife
and a lot more willing
than his robotic 9-year old son
he used bugger in the barn
on Sunday afternoon.

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PRINCE IN EXILE

PART ONE :
I sure grew up
with a screwed up
lot of people

Uncle Howard : “What are you? Some kind of pansy?” (Any graceful male was a pansy)

Aunt Alice : “I swear those UFOs are out to get us. They want us for their Christian Scientist experiments.”

Cousin Ken : “I wonder what’ll happen if I put these baby kittens in the milk can and then set the barn on fire?”

Aunt Joyce : “We don’t talk about your dear Aunt Grace. She lives in Chicago and she’s in a mental institution. And that’s the last I want to hear on that subject.”

Uncle George : “Your Aunt Grace? She’s a dingbat. Nuttier than a fruitcake. They keep her locked up because she goes around seeing things that aren’t there.”

Gene Toad (Sophomore year, Driver’s Ed, pulling out a pre-rolled joint of grass from the glove compartment) : One puff of this and you’ll be addicted for life.”

Jerome (one of Mom’s buggy boyfriends) : “I saw some beatniks the other night and I will say this for them : they were clean, their shirts were ironed and their pants had a crease in them.”

Larry, the high school bully – the senior who picked on sophomores : “You called me a bastard? You called ME a bastard? . . . No? . . . you called me a fucking son of as bitch? You called ME a fucking son of a bitch? YOU called ME a fucking son of an asshole?”

Grandpa Balder : “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be around until kingdom comes.”

Grandpa Ben : “Now here I have all these shoeboxes and they’re all labeled. Short pieces of string. Shorter pieces of string. And pieces of string too short to be useful – but you never can tell.”

Grandpa Lena : “I think I’m coming unglued.”

Uncle Hugh: “I don’t want to hear any nonsense about gravity. It’s your own dad-blamed fault. All that music you play. Life is not supposed to be fun”

PART TWO :
I sure screwed up
with a lot
of grown-up people

“Cut your hair!”

“Cut your beard!”

“You can’t come in here.”

“The Divine Comedy by Dante? Don’t even bother. You’re not smart enough to understand something like that. Stick with the Saroyan.”

“Who stole that collection of dimes I was saving for the little polio kids?”

“I never saw anything like it in my entire life. You are only seven years old. And she’s at least twelve. What were you thinking of?”

“Playing music by those perverted Beach Boys in your class is strictly forbidden. One more caper like that and you’ll be out of this music department in an instant. What were you thinking of?”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“I think you’re going to find your draft notice in the mail within the next week.”

“Your draft notice is in the mail. You should expect to receive it within the next two days.”

“Did you say you hate Chopin’s music and the reason you want a renewal of your Fulbright scholarship here in Rome is because if you can’t stay here, you’ll have to go back to America, and if you go back they’ll draft you into the army and you will go to Vietnam where you will probably get killed. And you don’t want to die.”

“Look, kid. You just hold this sack open right here and I’ll go down to that barn, down in the field, and you stay right here in the forest – don’t move and don’t make a sound – and I’ll chase all the snipes up this way.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t call me. I’ll call you . . . maybe.”

“Here’s ten bucks. Get your hair cut.”

“Let’s see if I got this right. I just go straight down this street, then turn right, then left, then right again, and I’ll come to a small piazza where I’ll cut across and take the southeast alley leading out, then immediately turn left and left again, then right and go straight for about 200 yards, then you think I’ll pass a bakery. That’s where I’ll go left and right and left and right again, then straight ahead until I come to a V and you think it’s the left fork. I can’t miss it?”

THIS SUMMER

I promised I wouldn’t cry
if we had another rainy day
this summer

but that was six weeks ago
and I’ve been walking in mud
ever since
and sitting around in damp clothes
looking at cloud-boiling grey skies
that sneak in a patch of blue
once or twice a day
then snatch it back
before the sun can make me squint

and then the wind
starts smashing thru
at gale velocities
and the river floods
and this is NOT
how a summer is supposed to be

[ September 2004 ]

TWO SUMMER POEMS AGAIN
[ 44 years later ]

1. The Summer of the Sky

The sky whispers down
The sky shouts
rumbles, rips
this is the Summer of the Sky
it blasts down
it raves and rants
it drops wet muzzlings
and damp dumplings
as it tumbles and cries
this is the Year of the Sky
it speaks, we listen
we watch the clouds float
and we cannot predict
the sky’s desires
storms build up in minutes
stir up in a black soup
with a spoon of unpredictable
wind and all we can do
is stand around with our hands
in our pockets, chins lifted
eyes lost in the white infinity
between the ragged, rolling
black bombs and forget
we have feet
and forget the earth
we are standing upon
at which point the sky’s
got us right where
it wants us
right in its hammerlock eye

[ Highpoint Hesbaye, last of days of August 2004 ]

2. That Way

I tend to lean that way
– just blow the fucker up
and get it over with

I’m talking about the world
– the earth and how badly humans
have treated it

I’m talking about rich
white humans with greedy guts
who cannot think past
the ends of their own lifetimes

I was raised to lean that way
the H-bomb could drop
at any moment and wipe out
us kids beyond imagination
in the blink of an eye

Curl up under your desk
and you’ll be saved

none of us believed it

Put your arms over your head
and don’t open your eyes.

we’d seen the photographs
from Hiroshima and Nagasaki

You have nothing to fear
You are in the safest place
in the world : an American
elementary school classroom

and 20/30 years later
we learn that our ceilings
were packed with asbestos
which sifted and drifted
down over our angelic heads
like devil’s dust
while we sat and slurped
up every morsel
of Fake American History
they could dish up

Toss it out the window
I don’t want any of that crap
littering my back seat

so we littered the gods’ garden
with plastic and scrap metal
and tissue and tires
while the fat frogs
in their white skins
tossed out radioactive wastes
and chemical wastes so diabolical
they could breed
(and did breed) plagues
of monstrous
crippling
obliterating
disasters

All you can eat for $1.50
and some of us got fooled
and waddled out of the joint
weighing 300 pounds

Come to Marlboro Country
and some of us
walked a mile and got fooled
right out of our filter tip souls
and came limping home full of holes

and now the wheat has failed
and I want to shout at the sky

but the sky has been suffering
all summer whipped and tortured
by those grasshoppers
in California who’ve been
flipping out and freaking
around and creating
windstorms of microscopic
dimensions which disturbed
the buzzards and hawks
in Arizona who flapped out
and slammed into telephone
poles and stop signs
in New Mexico and blew up
those windstorms of major
proportions which were cheered on
by the farts of those frogs
in white skins in Texas
and now the hurricanes
and the cyclones
and the tornados
which have been banging around
the American skies all year
are bumping shoulders
with Belgian skies and French
and Dutch and German skies too
and given us gloomy days
and fuzzy cotton-cloud
curtained sunsets
with rainbows
chopped by thunderclouds
and waterlogged nights
in which every plant
attempting grow
(save the corn and the beetroot)
has been flooded in its tracks
and drowned to death

so bring on the thunderclaps
and broken rainbows
bring on the lightning strikes
and tornados
let’s get it over with
let’s clean house
with a clean sweep
of fresh air

I was taught to lean that way
and some days
I lean
HEAVILY

so it comes as no surprise
to hear that bees
are dying out
(pesticides this time)
tho it is strange to think
that in 20/30 years
there will be born
the first of thousands
of generations
who will never know
the taste of honey

[ Highpoint Hesbaye, last days of August, 2004 ]

SUMMER’S GONE

and not even a tribe of Indians
can bring it back

[ October 20, 2004 ]

BEDTIME PRAYERS

1.
now I lay me down to sleep
and I pray the lord
won’t bounce me out of bed
in the middle of the night
with a rat attached to my toe

2.
and I pray the lord
doesn’t come in
and fill my floor
with sand
then drag in a big barrel
of salt water
and make me walk around
and around it
in my bare feet
like a shipwrecked sailor
with my eyes
on the horizon
and no hope of rescue
in my heart

3.
I pray the lord
doesn’t invite a crowd
of rubber necks
from another planet
into my room
and speaking
like a tourist guide
say, “And here
is a typical human.
Observe the way
he babbles and burps
rumbles and farts
you will be amazed to know
that he has no control
over his body functions
in this state of hibernation.”

I won’t mind
the rubber necks so much
if they don’t start
popping flashbulbs
and taking pictures.
but Lord, I pray
don’t let them crawl into my bed
and start demonstrating
love practices from alien planets
that’s something I do NOT want to know about

4.
And I pray the Lord
won’t short change my dreams
with square nickels
and pyramids of pennies
won’t tooth pick my
threadbare pockets
and please no smiles
with curveball screams
that go in
under the fingernails
and come out with a wink

PORTRAIT OF THE COUNT AND HIS WIFE

the gate was open
there was no one in the castle
we wandered around for hours
looking for the count

my wife liked the paintings
I looked at the statues
there was immense garden in back
with trimmed shrubbery
and Baroque fountains

then a bus arrived
tourists poured out
and swarmed thru the castle
they looked at the paintings
and the statues
and the suits of armor
standing in the halls

they all ended up at the kitchen door
looking for a bite to eat

we invited them in
we had lobster cocktails
we told everybody
“We don’t live here.
We just wandered in.”
but nobody believed us

they kept saying,
“Hey, Count
where the hell’s the bathroom?”

LONGSTORY SHORT

to make a longstory
short :
no matter how heavy your name
or the way it grows roots
and keeps you chained
to rocks in the earth
just remember
we all think
we’re in one place
while we seem
to be somewhere else

4-PLAY

I’m sitting in Gary’s Muffin Shop in Amsterdam, eating one
of his muffins and thinking maybe I just might have turned
into Harry Haller – the hero of Herman Hesse’s Steppenwolf.

I’m a stuffed teddy bear
who needs a new life
at the age of 60 or something
and he sees this poster
promising him everything
from soup to nuts
Paradise, the Garden of Eden
Shangra-lee and Shangra-la.
The Magic Theater it’s called.

So what have I got on the wall at Gary’s Muffin Shop?
What kind of posters? I got one that announces 4-PLAY,
that’s the name of the event at the Exit. 4-PLAY

Live Strip Sex Shows
Special Acts
Bigger Darkrooms

Sounds like the Magic Theater to me, this 4-PLAY. I like the
bigger darkrooms. The ones they had before are were so small
you couldn’t even turn around.

We NEED bigger darkrooms.
We need room to stretch out
We need room to relax
and boogie the way our
rock ‘n roll ancestors
defined the act, the way
our genetic code glows
when it gets close
to the source of the fire
and demands the ultimate boogie.

Now all of this happens from 23:00 to 4:00 AM every
Wednesday night, please note, every Wednesday night.
And if 4-PLAY isn’t enough to sate my ageing appetite,
I’ve got EASTER BANG at the Cockring.

Sunday Night, April 20
After hours till 12 AM
check that out
that’s noon the next day

And the main features of the EASTER BANG
are the LIVE SHOWS BY INTERNATIONAL PORN STARS

all of which is a little more
than I bargained for
Which is to say
Harry Haller never had
this kind of invitation.
He never went to the Cockring.
He went to the Magic Theater.

But over here, down in the corner is a poster that even
Harry Haller could clap his hands over.

Easter Bunnies
A Party for Playboys
Sat. 19th of April

That’s the one I’ll go to. I want to see the Easter Bunnies.
Maybe I’ll score an Easter Bunny and we’ll go into the
bigger darkroom and bounce around for awhile, except the
bigger darkroom is at 4-PLAY, so the darkroom at the
Easter Bunny place might turn out to be a little cramped

But there’ll be good dancing tho
DJ GAP is coming
all the way from Berlin

And that’s good news because the last time Harry Haller, the
late middle-age teddy bear, was in Berlin, he became friends
with DJ GAP.

DJ GAP must be 90 years old now
but I’m sure he still spins
the toe tappers
the hand clappers
the knee slappers
the jaw snappers

and the total iconic cyberworld brain dissolvers. Gary’s
Muffins. They’re not bad at all. Drop in and have one the
next time you’re in Amsterdam.

[ April 3, 2004 ]

LOVE JACKET

bought this jacket
in the Amsterdam flea market
for 15 euros
burgundy red
with orange and black flannel lining
it keeps me cozy and warm
as I bike the canals
and then I notice
that tho it zips up normally
it buttons from the wrong side
I take it off and look at the label
it says : WOMENS OUTERWEAR
it’s a woman’s jacket
it’s a used woman’s jacket
but it’s not very used
only slightly
and so now I have to wonder
about the woman who used it
only slightly
she had to be pretty big
or else she was tall
and wore a stack of sweaters
and now I recall
that when I tried it on
at the flea market
the cuffs of the sleeves
were rolled back
twice
so now it looks like
we’re talking about
a rather smallish woman
a girl perhaps
this is not turning out
the way I wanted it to
I wanted her to have blond hair
long, curly blond hair
I hoped she would look like Aphrodite
I hoped she was a big blond Dutch Amazon
I have to stop thinking here
or I might just start falling in love

[ Amsterdam, April 4, 2004 ]

GUN LOVE & GIRL LOVE

1. GUN LOVE

I remember
age 10, 11
hot summer day
laying belly down on the bed
leafing thru the Monkey Ward catalogue
and dreaming over the pictures of guns
rifles
pistols
pages full of shotguns
were my favorites
I loved the pump-action 12 gauge
I prayed I would own one someday
I would love it more than any girl
more than any of the loose women
hiding in the catalog’s secret pages
wearing nothing but white satin
bullet shell bras

2.. GIRL LOVE

a year later I’d left the guns behind
I was going straight for the girls
in the secret, hidden pages
the 36-C cup blondes
with fluttering eyelashes
and pouting lips
to the hell with that pump action 12-gauge

good thing I didn’t put the two together
I might have joined my name
to the long list of perverted serial killers
who were brooding and festering
in those days of glorious rebellion
in those days when Jerry Lee Lewis
married his 13-year old cousin
and started busting down High Society doors
and kicking Bing Crosby in the balls

FOUR MEMORABLE LEAKS

1.
Fourth Grade. New kid in school.
First day. Scared shitless.
First class after lunch.
I make it half way before
the need to take a piss
hits my body. I hold back.
Afraid to raise my hand.
What am I going to say?
Everybody will laugh.
I’ll be shamed. Outcast.
The need hits like a flood.
I stare at the clock on the wall
the minute hand clicks slowly
a quarter to two
clicks another notch.
I’m not going to make it.
I can’t hold back.
I feel the warm liquid
leaking down my leg
I look down and see
a small puddle gather
around my shoes.
I’m frozen with fear
swamped with shame
I can’t move a muscle
The bell rings
and everybody jumps up
and scrambles for the door
I get three invitations.
Miss Petray told them this morning
to make me feel welcome.
“Come on, Tucker – Let’s go outside
and play marbles.”
I can’t move. The classroom is empty.
Here comes, Miss Petray
She’s going to shove my face
down in the puddle and make me
lick it up. “Oh I see,” she says.
“Don’t worry about that.”

And I head for home early
wondering if this was just the first
of many days to come
when I would piss in my pants
and eventually erode Miss Petray’s
compassion and I would float
thru the next 8 years of school
all the way thru high school
scorned and mocked as I sat
in my daily puddle of urine
and I would be known as THE PISSER

it was just that one time
but I feared many more
and Miss Petray is long gone
and I never went back
to thank her for being so nice
that day and opening my heart
for the first time in my life
and showing me that there was
absolutely nothing
to be afraid of.

2.
age 14, drunk on cheap sauterne
staggering around the catholic school gym
new years eve, my first party
drooling at girls, propping up the wall
trying to figure out
how I’m going to have some fun
thinking at the stroke of midnight
I’ll jump on some girl and suck
the tongue right out of her mouth

lulled to lethargy
by the soggy-bread dance band
I stumble down to the basement
and I’m pissing out my soul
when I hear up above in the hall
the twelve toots of midnight
from the trumpets and saxophones
and I know this is going to be
the story of my life

and it turned out to be true
I pissed away almost every chance I had
at being a successful lover

3.
longest leak ever?
I didn’t time it
but a hundred of the world’s best
long distance runners
would have turned a decent time
in the marathon
while I stood hunched over
in the window’s dim rainlight
barefeet freezing on the floor
white plastic bucket
getting heavier and heavier
in my hand as by body
grew lighter and lighter,
thinking : if Marie Claire wakes now
she’ll think : since when
did we get a sink installed
in our bedroom?
and why doesn’t he shut off the tap?

4.
November 12, 2002, 2 am
standing in the pitch-dark field
tilted downhill
knees bent
taking a leak
and thinking :

if somebody were to come along right now
and shine a light in my face
they’d say, “Hey, that looks like Celine Dion.”

HANG DOG

Piss dog piss against the lamp post in passing
Gertrude Stein, Everybody’s Autobiography

hang dog hang from the gate
above the path to the Lamp Post Park
hang down hang down
your tail dipped in blood
don’t look don’t look
into my eyes
with your dead dog eyes
don’t look I don’t need
those dead dog eyes
those teeth dripping blood
I don’t need I don’t need
your permission to pass
I pass I pass on the path
into the Lamp Post Park
I stop I stop looking
into your dead dog eyes
as I pass I pass and touch
your dead dog tail
dipped in blood I pass
and I piss against
the lamp post in passing

BACK IN 53

when the president
was playing around
with mushroom clouds

when I was listening
to Fats Domino
and James Brown
on Oakland
black ghetto radio
and my aunt believed
I would burn in hell
and everybody else
thought I was crazy

I was 12
I wrote elaborate
philosophies
in notebooks
and I haven’t written
a decent thing since

tho I came close back in ’68
when I wrote a talking blues
called NORTH NORTH AFRICA
which recalled my hapless
miserable trip to Tunis
and Algeria that nosedived
into Marseille where I
with empty pockets
begged for pennies and mercies
from a neck-tie-choked
rubber face burgocrat
at the American Consulate
and got chewed out
for my wayward ways
and poetic student urges
a conversation
that ended with him saying:
“you can’t go around looking
at all the sunsets of the world”
and me replying:
“I’ll figure out a way.”

But back in 53
I was milking cows
morning and night
and thinking about Shirley
and Suzie and Patti
and Jeanie and Betty
squeezing those tits
and thinking about Betty
and Jeanie and Patti
and Suzie and Shirley
from morning to night

and all I had to do
was stick my head out
the milk barn window
and take a good look
at the beat-up tractor
under the walnut tree
to know that my future
was all mapped out

[ 1st day of September 2004 ]

THE PAINTER

at first I was just an ordinary housepainter
the year was 1961
and I had a night job
re-painting the walls and the ceilings
of about a dozen old apartments
in the Haight-Ashbury district

the hard parts were the ceilings
up on a ladder with my tray
of white latex paint and sponge roller
I got loose and inventive
swoops, swirls I slopped it on
before my arm could cramp

a few years later
the hippies took over the Haight
and I’ve often wondered
about those ceilings

I’m sure that at least one
had to be the landscape
of some poor kid’s first acid trip
I can see him lying on the floor
his eyes locked and lost for hours
in the swoops and swirls of dried paint
I can hear him say it,
“Wow – that painter was a real artist.”

at first I was just an ordinary housepainter

by 1958
Playland at the Beach was deserted
no more flashing lights
girls screaming from the roller coaster
no more white-capped U.S. Navy sailors
staggering drunk down the midway
with their arms around fat bar girls
who were clutching kewpie dolls
blowing pink bubbles of gum
and scattering the shells of peanuts

the Fun House was shut down
the Laughing Lady frozen
between a giggle and chuckle
Laff in the Dark boarded up
its tunnel full of real cobwebs
the Octopus and the Tilt-A-Whirl buckets
were sacked in canvas
it was so quiet
you could hear the ocean waves
breaking over on the other side
of the Great Highway
so quiet you could hear the wind
whistling thru the mirror maze
and tumbling scraps of newspaper
past the salt water taffy pull
and the tracks where Caterpillar
used to hump around the bumps

only the Pie Shop survived
open until midnight
mug of coffee
best blackberry pie in town
Pete and I were just out of high school
just into college
the Pie Shop
was the best place to go
late at night
we sat and smoked
ignored our reflections
in the mirrored walls
and decided what we were going to do
with the rest of our lives

he was going to be a Bum
I was going to be a Dirty Old Man

That was 45 years ago.

I can’t speak for Pete
but I know I haven’t come close
to fulfilling those high hopes
I had for myself back then
– back in those midnights
of Lucky Strikes, blackberry pies
and our baby face reflections
in white neon-flooded mirrors

other than that
things have turned out
pretty much as I expected

[ December 8, 2004 ]

TWO MORE BIKE POEMS 2004

for Pete Petersen

when your bike takes over
and starts controlling you
two explanations occur :
you’ve been riding it too long
you’ve come too far
(time to pull over
and peel a banana
or take a big bite
out of an electric wire fence)
OR
you’ve actually entered
a parallel universe
where man and machine
have traded places
and you soon will be
chained to a post
outside a news agency
while your bike pops in
to buy a copy
of this weeks’ TV Guide

after a few seconds
of wisdom-inspired thought
you conclude
that you’ll be a lot better off
if you drop the idea
of trying to explain anything
and just ride on

[ Oct. 21, 2004 ]

You’re headed home
aimed east of the rising moon
with the sun setting down the line
of your right shoulder.
If it gets any better
you’ll have to stop screaming
at the freezing wind
sliding up your nostrils
and chewing away at the gopher holes
behind your eyes

[ Oct. 21, 2004 ]

OLD BIKE

today we took the old bicycle
out to the recycling lot
and tossed it into a bin
marked METAL with all
the scrap iron, water heaters
busted, rusted plumbing
deck chairs and lunch pails
the bike belonged to Bear’s dad
He gave it to me
when I first came to Belgium
I rode it to pick up my boy
from kindergarten
at the village schoolhouse
then it lived
under the chestnut tree
for 22 years
with all the rain
the snow the fog
and a few squirrels
it was a mess
when we tossed it in the trailer
and hauled it away

I stood looking down into the bin
at the old bike in its new home
with all the other forgotten
scraps of metal
thinking that when I first rode it
we were living in a house
less than 200 meters away
across the field
and down the road

all I had to do was lift my head

the house was still there

34 years ago this spot
was in the middle of an apple orchard
I remember seeing the blossoms
from my window
I rode the old bike
past this spot many times
coming and going
and I never once thought
it might end up lying rusted and busted
in the middle of an apple orchard
that wouldn’t be there
when it came time
to say goodbye

[ December 3, 2004 ]

HOUSEWARMING

heading out, down Old Farm Road
(a narrow, concrete slab tractor road
between two vast fields)
I heard a voice say, “Someday
all of this will be built up –
a wide, two lane black top
with spillover houses on both sides
garages, driveways, mailboxes
as far as the eye can see.”

another voice said, “Take a good look
appreciate what you’ve got.”

I said, “I do appreciate.
I’ve been appreciating for a long time.
I’ve appreciated for hundreds of long times
and hundreds of long times more I will appreciate.
Nobody out here can out-appreciate me.
I’m an Appreciator of Appreciators.”

coming home, back up Old Farm Road
less than two hours later
I find my way blocked
by six plastic sacks, large, black
full of garbage, some slobs
tossed off the back of their truck.

I said to the voices, “The Spillovers
are already moving in.”

[ Dec. 11, 2004 ]

IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 2004

In the year of our Lord, 2004
the sky was be-deviled
with tin pan alleys
and raindrops the size
of hot air balloons

the sun gooned around
with the clouds and the clouds
gooned around with the moon
in the mud

In the year of our Lord, 2004
Mug Face and Chin Nobel
played poker with a loaded deck
Chin Nobel won
with a pair of queens
over a bed of hot coals

Mug Face went back
to fucking up as many peoples’ lives
as needed
as possible
as were there.

Chin Nobel was last seen
trying to have oral sex
with the Statue of Liberty.
He’s now being held
on federal rape charges
in Guantanamo
without a lawyer
without a beard
without a shrink to tell him :
“This idea of yours –
that you’re the President
of the United States.
Did you ever hear about delusions?
Did you ever have hallucinations
when you were a kid
over there in Vietnam
crawling thru the jungle
with a reefer glued to your lip?
it might take a few years
But don’t worry
but we’ll get this ironed out.”

Meanwhile the Mugwumps
and the Goonbuds who’ve really been
running the show since 1776
(thru great great grandchildren’s
great great grandchildren and maybe
tack on another great or two
to make sure we’ve got ’em all nailed down)
are pulling invisible triggers
and sucking up the oil

In the year of our Lord, 2004
the folks who live up near Sirius
who bumped off Alpha Centauri
and were about to cruise
right into our troposphere
took one look
at all the crazy shit
we were doing to each other
with bullets and bombs
and loads of religious manure
turned around and headed back home.
“See you next year,”
were their parting words.

In the year of our Lord, 2004
I sat before a blazing bonfire
in my field and got this all down
on my son’s 28th birthday
with a breeze stirring
the leaves of the maple trees
and fire sparks popping out
and floating to extinction
in the dampness of the dark
and everything else
was just there
no literary trick or treaters
no stone face stone mason
from Big Sur
peeking over my shoulder
and pecking on the page
with his hawk beak nose
humming, “Hmmmmm –
I really like that title.”
no bullshit jokes or junkyard jingles
no blabbermouth burps or iconoclastic blasts
no far away echoes
but those of an owl.

In the year of our Lord, 2004
you could hear Leadbelly singing
“Oh LORDY, pick a bale of cotton!”
you could hear me singing
“Oh LORDY, pick a bale of hay!”

you could hear Leadbelly singing
“LORDY, LORDY OPEN YOUR DOOR!
LORDY, LORDY OPEN YOUR DOOR!”

you could hear Leadbelly singing
“Then along came a gray goose
LORD! LORD! LORD!”

In the year of our Lord, 2004
you didn’t hear
too many other people singing

they had other things to do
like lip reading silent Houdini movies
like milking their horsecows
and petting their cowhorses
and running off to market with DNA
nipping at their heels *

[ thus ends our fireside chat ]

*Remember that word: DNA. It someday may denote a wide range of fanatic religious persuasions The Church of Deoxyribonucleic Acid Heads, The Temple of the Double Helix Crossers, The Cathedral of Saints Watson and Crick, The Born-Again Chromosomes

IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2004 REPRISE

In the year of our Lord, 2004
November slid over into December
on thin ice
and we all held our breath
until it began to snow.
After that it was easy
we could see the footprints
and we knew
where everybody was going