Posts from — August 2008

Guys playing splat ball
Calmly assessing a kill
As if it were real.

Bone-rattle of wings
As dark pigeons flee the ground
Where you lie buried.

With each passing day
Your footprints shrink in the sand
Where we stood and kissed.

As penance
For calling some curly-headed shit in a sleek Bimmer
A pendejo—and worse—in the heat of the moment
Not remembering the Spanish gerund
That best expresses “having no cojones,”
I’ve sentenced myself to
Pulling weeds in the front yard.
Wow, I never knew there were so many:
Quack grass, two kinds of fake clovers, dandelions,
Bitter vetch, pokeweed, crab grass, chickweed,
And ones with big leaves and bulbs
That have to be dug out like tiny trees—
The proverbial errors of a lifetime.
So many sins, so little time.
Crawling around on my hands and knees
Has given me plenty of time to think:
The cabron said I was too old to act in this way,
And, of course, he was right,
But he’s just a snot-nosed kid too young to know
That I’ll leave the world as I was in my twenties.
Fuck them! Fuck them all!

It only matters
That I understand myself—
Not that others do.

A great glowing hand with two thumbs,
Yellows glasses like windshields
A grave monument that spewed ashes
A gold cigarette holder permanently in his mouth
Drunk from sunrise to sunset
Drugged out of his skull,
The great Gonzo himself,
Who perpetrated the ultimate dirty trick
On Muskie that was really a joke
America was too stupid to get.
Is it tragedy when you’re so angry you can’t understand
That they’ve got you by the balls,
And you can’t make an impression
No matter what you do
Or what you say
Or how desperate you are
To prove them wrong?
Rest in peace, you stupid shit.

Beyond childish now
Aimlessly jabbing the keys,
A worn-out old man.

It’s the waiting that drives me crazy,
The gaps, the blank spots,
Ponds with nothing in them,
Threadbare carpets, old people,
Abraded sandpaper, graffiti,
Nails drawn across a board,
A patch of bare skin.
I live in a scouring barrel,
That eats my flesh and freezes my brain,
While I’m tumbled and scraped to the bone,
Waiting for my muse to come.

Because I watch you
Exploiting my weaknesses,
I find a way out.

Peru or Peril?
The last letter was obscured:
But I went anyway.