Monday, November 11, 2019

He/She or Gathering the World

He saw the world at right angles, sharp, geometrically synchronous
She saw the world in feathered edges, soft, undulating, grey where they needed to be
He never sat back in a chair, relaxation meant lack of control, weakness, pain
She let the day wash over her slight frame, cleansing, smelling of honey lilac soap

When carefully mixed, they made a complexity unmatched, people were drawn
Foreground purposeful and solid, background left to fanciful imagination
There were cogs and pulleys, sand and flowers, whips and belts, coalescing
They would hold court and people would come and ask questions and fawn

He held them rapt with numbers, theorem, history as bright and varied as a Pollock
She would roll them about her tongue and make loins tingle, every word a breath of mint
Together they would make the others want to be them, eating from the same trough
When night fell and the others withdrew there were whispers and thoughts of new beginnings

He saw the world at right angles, sharp, geometrically synchronous
She saw the world in feathered edges, soft, undulating, grey where they needed to be
He never took the attention for granted and took the responsibility to heart
She absorbed the energy and returned it tenfold, drunk on the possibilities

Monday, November 4, 2019


     The handsome man sat between the two sisters at the bar. He was wiry, muscled like freighters usually were, all that lifting and moving. He drank a beer and listened to the sisters talk of pineapple candy and licorice whips, giggling and fingering their hair and necklaces without knowing  they was doin' it. The sisters were named Trepidation and Sanguination.  The handsome man, the wiry man, thought that those were right odd names for girls such as these, but then thought, what business was it of his to second guess the naming. It was a mother's right to name her children whatever she wanted and here he was smack sandwiched between the two, feelin' a bit like a rooster, struttin' and eyeing his spoils with a one eyed intensity, head cocked, senses sure and alert.

     Another man approached the bar and ordered a whiskey.  This man was mountainous and the smell that came off of him was sour and festering. His hands were rough and dirty, his face the color of old pavement. His eyes too thin and watery.The wiry man, the handsome man, knew that men like this had no good in em' and were used to taking to what they wanted. His grandpa once told him that men like that didn't come from the land, weren't part of the land.  That they viewed theyselves separately from all that was natural, all that was the land. They took what they wanted, and wanted not the thought of other men and was niggardly with the things they took, not sparing a single thought to the feelings or the worry of another soul.
     The man drank his whiskey and turned toward them.

     "Ladies," he said tipping his glass and a jowly smile at the sisters.
     The sisters were silent.

     "What's the matter girls, cat got your tongue?"

     "Can't ya tell when a real man is courtin' ya, or are you just some stuck up cunt's in need of a good roll?"
      He slammed his glass back on the bar and ordered another.

     "Maybe they just know when the meat's done spoiled,"  the handsome man, the wiry man, said.
     The big man glared, his too red, too watery eyes fixed on the wiry man, the handsome man.
     "You making' to get at me," the big man said in a low, even voice.

     "No sir, I just reckon we want to be left to ourselves if it ain't so much to ya."

     The big man walked toward the little group and stood towering above the handsome man, the wiry man. His stench wasn't so much real, like salt pork gone bad, but more like the smell of death and decay, the smell of trouble in a back alley dice game gone to fightin'.

     He reached and grabbed the wiry man, the handsome man, by the collar.

     "Bet you didn't think that today was the day you died, he said taking his other monstrous hand and now encircling both hands around the neck of the handsome man, the wiry man. He started to squeeze.

     "Hey," the shout came from the sister called Trepidation.  The big man looked up for a split second just in time for him to see the flashing arc of the knife as Sanguination cut his throat, the blood gushing immediately in pulsing arcs on to the shirt and face of the wiry man, the handsome man.

     A honk came from outside the bar.  The sisters threw two half dollars on the bar and grabbed the wiry man, the handsome man, by the arms and pulled him along out the front door.

     Pulled to front of the bar was a silver Lincoln. Behind the wheel sat another woman. She had yellow hair and sunglasses. The sisters pushed the handsome man, the wiry man, into the back seat and hurriedly got in, slamming the doors.

     "Well what do we have here," the woman behind the wheel asked as she slammed the gas pedal to the floor board. Gravel , dust and blue smoke rolled out from the back of the car. "Looks you done caught yourselves a man," she said looking in the rear view glass at the sisters.

     She held her outstretched hand over the seat to shake. 

     "I'm Satiation, what say we take you back to our place and get you cleaned up," she said not taking her eyes from the road.

     The handsome man, the wiry man, smiled.

It's Where Song's Come From...

I wrote this after seeing an actual wolf
I was searching for treasure in Alberta
Like it’s the dragon’s lair, I beg to differ honey
But I did realize there are things scarier than you leaving me
And this song isn’t so much about anything 
It just represents a point of disembarkation 
And you don’t have to get it

We Interrupt this drivel for station identification…

     “Where do you get your Song’s?”



     “That’s the sort of question a third grader might ask?”

     “I think your fan’s would like to know.”

     “Let me tell you something David……my fan’s don’t ask me stupid questions. All they really want is to hang out, be a part, get a little close, OK man.”


     “Listen, if you really want to know where I get my songs then open your damned ears, I’m only gonna say this once. Count this down, David.”

     “It's Maggie’s dingy thong showing every time she sits down. It’s my grandmother blowing smoke rings with her pipe.  It’s Eddie Vedder in the mother fucking rafters.  It’s Dolly Parton and her shitty coat.  It’s mom making heart for us kids because she’s making liver for dad and we hate liver.  The only thing is David, heart is no damned consolation to a kid. It’s thinking about how cool it would be to walk on the moon.  It’s smoking a cigarette after the show with Justin Furstenfeld.  It’s shelling out your last hundred bucks to go see the Avett Brothers. Do you see what I’m saying David?  It’s that stupid look on your face right now.”


    “Of course you don’t get what I’m saying David.  You are not an actual wolf.  All you got to do is sit down and fucking listen man…just listen.”

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming…

She wrote that after lying with an actual wolf
After the proselytizing was done, she was convincing
One word can be a savior, a salve, a poultice for the soul
Which word depends on how far down that road she’s been
You can take her out and sniff your territory together
But when the snow starts blowing and the wind cuts
It will be nothing compared to the bite she takes out of your ass

 Who’s the actual wolf now?