Thursday, August 26, 2010

Days with Mary

It had been 3 years since the divorce and 7 years since Mary's death.

Hit by a drunk driver while bicycling to elementary school, the loss of
his daughter had made the last seven years a long rain of agonizing
loneliness. His construction business had been suffering in the new
economy but it was his soul that was failing. As he sat on the park
bench and watched the fathers playing and talking and smiling with their
children, their daughters, he was filled with a deep, painful resentment
and envy. He wanted their happiness, he wanted his own daughter back.
His mind was spinning, chattering about justice and fairness, re-hashing
legal discussions he had once with lawyers, lawyers that didn't
understand that there is no justice. He thought about the driver, about
the parole, he pictured him eating in restaurants, sleeping soundly,
making love and laughing with friends and he was enraged. He wanted to
kill, he wanted to find the driver and hurt him, kill him maybe, he
fantasized about drowning him, drowning him with liquor and beating his
limp body until he could hit no more. His heart raced and his hands
shook and he felt tears streaming down his cheeks. He lit a cigarette
and breathed calming breaths, that's what the doctor said to do, when
the feelings came. So he waited and sat. He sat and waited for everyone
to leave, for the chatter and laughing and smiling fathers to leave and
for the sun to sink down, down into the black night. It was late now and
Tom sat alone, save for a transient singing to himself on the other side
of the park. Soon he was fully alone. He sat under the moon and smoked
and felt waves of sadness and rage, rage and sadness. It was dark, the
wind was blowing paper and dirt into the night air when Tom felt it.
Something had come. He looked around and behind him but there was
nothing...nothing but the wind and the night. Yet it was there, it was
with him. Someone was there...someone had come. His hands shook and he
wanted to scream out in agony but he sat and he waited. It stayed with
him, it felt warm and peaceful. In the silence of the night he cried
When he got home, he opened the door and sat on the couch. Something
was breaking inside, like a chain, something was changing...opening. The
rage was pouring out...emptying. He felt so tired now but the rage and
sadness was fading like voices from a memory. He knew someone had come
to him and he wondered if she had been with him. His hands had stopped
shaking and he felt had been so long...and he fell deep
into a restful sleep. A sleep so deep that his body began to repair
itself from the years of pain. He dreamt. He dreamt about the days with the sun. They were at the lake...she was there...they were
together. They were in the boat on the water and the wind was warm. He
was looking at her and she was looking at him... and they were laughing.

When Tom awoke there were calls on his phone. He had slept so soundly,
the most in years.
He went to the window, it was raining and the wind was howling. He
opened it and let the water come in, it flowed down the wall and onto
the floor. He felt the mercy of release.
He felt she was happy.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

lady picture show

stepped into a lady picture show,
a pocket of coins,
and a healthy libido,
in the darkness,
ladies danced and wiggled,
pranced and giggled,
the screen went black and the lights went on,
out the door and into the street,
an old lady passing muttered "pervert,"
and continued on with her cart of groceries,
my pride was unswayed,
years ago,
she too,
was a dancing beauty in a school boy's dream.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010


black sun, white moon,
wind whistles through the window,
and into my room,
dancing skeletons,
cut-throat drivers,
dead body hiding from the police divers,
greasy hot dogs,
in the middle of the night,
why does being wrong,
feel so damn right?
park bench saints and bar stool sages,
slurred wisdom,
bottled up through the ages,
heat stroke quitter,
to snow storm relentless,
I'm the carnal carnival,
I'm holy river repentance,
first you argue nurture,
then you say hard wired,
I'm not mean,
I'm just sofa king tired,
dessert plate of pleasure,
buffet of pain,
when the world tears you down,
let a blogger build you up again.

St. Liquor

I'm a congregant,
at the Church of St. Liquor,
we have many members,
some wear suits,
some go casual,
others look like they've been wearing their clothes for weeks,
some people don't like St. Liquor,
they say he's a deceptive Saint,
but I find he helps us tell the truth,
some say he lets us "run away,"
but I find he helps us connect,
they say, he's a poor excuse for dealing with our sorrows and no substitute for God,
but I find that I feel happier, even closer to God when I'm deep in prayer to St. Liquor,
some carry mini statuettes of Mother Mary or St. Francis in their pockets,
I always carry a mickey of St. Liquor,
there's plenty of stories about soldiers on the front lines,
they grab for Bibles, prayer beads and different pictures of Saints and Sisters,
but in tough times, I commune with an easily underrated Saint,
St. Liquor.

Monday, August 09, 2010


gossip, greed, fear, hate, ignorance

illusion doesn't stop

so the freedom train can't

skandha shuffle

somewhere you lost the magic

but what's this!?

today has never happened before

Saturday, August 07, 2010

men of dog

sycophantic swagger,
snake oil smile,
can smell your bullshit,
for at least a mile,
straighten your tie,
lick your teeth,
preach your agenda,
a placebo for grief,
pot lighting,
and a camera's glare,
better dab your forehead,
there's some sweat there,
too late to come clean,
money runs the show,
no climbing back now,
from this deep in the hole,
the desperate, weak and hurting,
campaign your "light in the dark,"
not hard to see,
something's rotting in Denmark,
hell-fire and brimstone,
a contract of fear,
take your dictator "god,"
and get outta here.

Monday, August 02, 2010


old fool,
get on up,
twisted soul,
get on up,
mangy dog,
get on up,
weary slave,
get on up,
midnight brawlers,
deadbeat stallers,
broken hearted stinkers,
liars and faith sinkers,

get on up to the plate,
breathe it in,
line it up,
reach down,
pull your best self from yourself,
throw into it,
knock it out,
hear the ump say "well, that's gone."