Poems

Sacred New Orleans, Temple of the Drinking Man

Sacred New Orleans--
Temple of the Drinking Man.
Wide-eyed wishing runaways
flutter to the gaslight
harmony of Bourbon Street.
Whiskey Nirvana
for the street-dancing wanderers
with harmonicas, dirty shoes
and the blues.

Down on the corner
Hurricane-drinking quarter-dwellers
throw Mardi Gras beads to
the street-surfing revelers.
"Show us your tits," one yells,
and then turns away, seeing the shape of the crowd.

And they dance yet again
through the gaslight walks.
skipping into a sidestreet tavern
they sidle up to the bar,
slap down their cash,
and greedily grab double shots of happiness.
huddled in a side booth,
they scope the young action.
dancing eyes roll back dreamily
picturing fantasies in a darkened room.

it all fades to smokiness
and wisps out the doorway.
Back to the streets...

The late night howl
of whiskey-drinking madmen
becomes the crow-call of morning.
the group breaks and scatters,
and the last one kneels to pick up the
Times-Picayune
and sits on his front porch pew
to hear the hymn of morning.

The neighbors exit their row houses
in ritual procession,
back to the world of work.

A New Orleans day begins.
Amen.

Shipwrecked

A barren hulk upon a savage shore--
the sun beats down, unkind.
Upon the beach, a shipwrecked soul,
victim of a poison mind,
I sit and ponder everything and nothing,
this universe unkind.
I take a drink of solitude,
And walk upon the shore.
A universe so vast--
All this, and nothing more.

Silence, like a jewel

Silence, like a jewel,
Shines in the night
With a still air twinkle.
Animals creep and flutter
On silent legs and wings.
With a hipping, hippy-hop
Frogs jump and splash,
And the silent night
Cracks like a mirror
As the pond splinters
With waves and drops
Flying like pearly worlds
Through the stillness.
Thunder cracks and lightning flashes
And a tree flames and crumbles
Crouching to the pond
Like an old man kneeling
As he dies.
The night is still again
With shining jewel silence.

Sitting Solemnly

Sitting solemnly at my desk
Thinking of Machiavelli,
My mind turns to ice cream
and nothingness
pervades the silence
but the clicking whir
of the air conditioner
fills the void
where all my thoughts
Lie silent
Wrapped in anger and confusion.
And the silent solemn soliliquy of night
prattles on...

Solemn Silence Town

I live in Solemn Silence Town,
Where other people dare not go--
The nightly din of happy bells
Invades my darkened home--
Searching, seeking synonyms
For live, for laugh, for love--
I sit in wait,
And meditate--
In Hell, and not above.
I see the things I want here
I know I can never have.
So, I turn from them,
I go inside,
And I lay me down,
As happy bells stop ringing
Throughout Solemn Silence Town.

Spring Awakening

Spring...
In the midst of awakening.
The wind flitters birdsongs to my ears
And flicks my hair about, into my eyes
where flowerbuds reflect on
my once snowblind retinas.
The frost is gone,
The Spring wind carries me home.
Awakening.

Stoned

Stoned.
Bob Dole's commercials seem funnier now.

Man, I wish I could see him fall
from the stage again.

That rocked, dude.
Clearly, it was the shit.

And he didn't even drop his pencil

Pass the Doritos, G.
I'm Jonesin' for some Doritos,
And there you go, scarfin' 'em all down.

Shit man, I give y'all allah my good weed,
And then you start Jazzin' on my Doritos.

My fingers are numb,
and I'm hungry.

You think Clinton would fire it up, if he were here?

That'd be the kicks, Jay.

Maybe he'd bring Hill and Chelsea.

I'd bone both those chicks, man.

Shut up, you stupid fucker.
You always talk that shit when you're
Stoned.

Sweet Lilacs of Mourning

Sweet lilacs of mourning
Nothingness
Waft through silent air
The still of sweet death
Stirs silence
The sallow sky
Simply softly shines
Over all that isn't
Blooming
Stop.

Things I Did I Can't Remember You Wouldn't Understand

Things I did I can't remember
You wouldn't understand
Hidden deep inside my mind
Like tiny grains of sand
Throw me into raging fits
Of insolitude and despair.
I want to remember
I don't even care--
I want to know
What's hidden there.
I toss and turn,
And cry at night
I chase them in my dreams
I can't remember what I've lost
I don't know what it means
I don't think I'll ever find
Things I did I can't remember
You wouldn't understand
Hidden deep inside my mind
Like tiny grains of sand.

Wasted

So wasted that I tasted it
Deep inside my head,
I sat upon my roof
And wished that I was dead.

The moonlight shone upon my eyes
And I watched my life wash by
In swirling circles form the flood
Of beer and liquor in my blood

It wasn't thoughts inside my head
That made me do the things I said,
But liquid thoughts and dreams instead--
So wasted that I tasted it.

Wanting Home

This is where
I grew up wanting
Now the haunting
Memories drive me home
where cracked past
windows whistle wind
and doors creak
and floors bellow and sag
beneath the feet of well-fed ghosts
and long-dead pets.
The garden's filled with
dead-dog seeds and cat-plants,
parakeets and hamsters
and the attic sags
with Lincoln logs and Legos,
Barbies, GI Joes, and books,
chairs, blenders,
old crates, suspenders
and the lost-borrowed tools
of long-dead friends.
This is where
the dead past lingers
with life upon
its moldy fingers
the house that
I had left
so long ago
this is where
I grew up wanting
now the haunting
memories drive me home.

©July 3, 1992

The White City

This is the White City,
A city of Hate--
Blacks pay
For what whites get for free--
I'm not a "nigger,"*
I don't know how they feel,
Because I'm trying so hard to be me.
I don't have short, curly black hair
My skin is not brown,
You can see.
I might be a girl--
I might be a boy--
That makes no damn difference to me.
But you sit there, all night,
And you mold me.
Don't tell me how I'm supposed to be.
Don't tell me I'm white
As you color my face,
Don't pop your green eyes in my head,
Don't tell me your stories of a master race
That you'll put me in 'til I'm dead.
Your white city stretches all over this land,
You say it has so much to give.
But, unless it gives riches
To one and to all,
It won't be where I choose to live.
For your White City is an earthly Hell,
And so is a Yellow-Red Town.
I won't live in cities for colors of men,
When I can live in an All-Human Town.