[ Saturday, June 19, 2004 ]
It Runs On Alcohol
-------------------------------------------
willful operator of perpetual motion metal
incoherent limbs flail at lever and wheel
pyrotechnical technician taking tacit control
sparks fly and flash as the glass and steel roll
two ton locomotive runs down asphalt tracks
cowcatcher grill disfigured and grim
a few seconds spent, there's no calling back
genie's left the bottle, there's no telling him.
body bag boys play the old bait and switch
boys in blue book at hospital bed
your frame made it but the other ones deep
you drew this hand, now read em and weep.
and soon you will see fresh daisies growing
from a window of bars
at the new place you’re going.
Nunya [3:04 PM]
[ Friday, June 18, 2004 ]
What Would Elvis Do?
What would Elvis do,
blue sequined jumpsuit
shimmering in the heat
under the spotlights?
How would he feel
with his perspiration running
down the greasepaint makeup
and pooling in the small hollow
at the base of his throat?
When he smiled was he happy,
I mean
really happy? Did the sound
of the applause ring
sweet in his ears, or was
he hard of hearing that way?
I wonder if the words tasted
as good to him rolling
off his tongue as they tasted
to us when we ate them up,
ate them up off the forty fives
and off Ed Sullivan?
It must have hurt at the end
what with the people liking
the green Elvis in the Army
uniform better than the blue
Elvis in the jumpsuit.
Green Elvis sang smooth
and soulful.
Blue Elvis sang jerky and
rough. He sounded hurt,
did to me anyway. Honky tonking
through the city that never sleeps.
The city that never sleeps must
have a lot on it’s mind, a lot to
keep it awake all night. But
no one can stay awake all night
every night. Eventually we
all must go to sleep.
I guess that’s
what Elvis did.
Nunya [6:15 PM]
[ Thursday, June 17, 2004 ]
Smiles Deux
Nunya [8:06 AM]
[ Wednesday, June 16, 2004 ]
Cogito Ergo Sum
backdoor cipher
holder of truth
not so much purveyor of lies
as jailer of veracity
but loose lips
sink ships you know
brainsick butterfly
bundle of nerves
always itching never
scratching
wouldn't show you the itch
wouldn't let on that he enjoys
the aroma of gasoline
might think him a bit odd you would
also wouldn't let you know
that his favorite color can
only be seen in the ocean
on certain days when the sun
is just so
or in very expensive gemstones
eclectic fancier
patron of whims
abhors conventions and at once
holds traditions dear
bleeds for the unwashed
shuns the color bar
standing with his feet in the ocean
building sandcastles in the air.
You can't see him
even though
he's everywhere
Nunya [6:19 PM]
[ Monday, June 14, 2004 ]
It's like I'm already there
Wistful
-------------------------------------------
I’m going to Cuba in my mind
to feel the dirt between my toes,
the same dirt which Hemmingway felt.
We would have that between us,
Ernie, the dirt and I.
I’m going to talk to el Jeffe
about Che, and maybe Fidel
will tell me his secrets
and his regrets.
I want to viva en Havana,
eat pescado, drink
the local cerveza and dance
salsa with the senoritas
til the sun comes up.
In my mind I’m going
to play en la playa
by the cerulean seaside.
The wind is going to whisper
over my skin
and the words are going
to draw gooseflesh on
my arms and legs.
Today my mind
is in a very warm place.
Nunya [7:40 PM]