Search This Blog

Monday, August 25, 2008

Fast Day 64 August 24 2008 {Green Poet Died}

Green Poet Died

On the day the poet died
the grass turned brown and wilted
on the sylvan circle where danced
faerie on the nights of quarter'd
moon, waning and waxing,
mullioned light partialed through
the sieve of space and cedar:
the old trees fell uprooted
baring their naked under root
to the eye can see...

Brand new eventides of holiness
before the adytum of the age:
the eve of saint mahmoud, of dan,
the vigil of the insurgency,
the bonfires of the hanged man!
odes of malodorous justice
and committees run amok
with fear and loathly demoiselles
before the green saints and
green knights of our age!

Monday, August 18, 2008

Fast Day 63 August 16, 2008 {Vendituri Te...}

Vendituri Te....

Micro graveyards by the side of the road,
saint ronny of the semi
and saint rhonda of the 'Gator!

Buster wuz kilt by the road,
he pointed up the driveway to
the main thoroughfare,
but me 'n maw planted 'um here.
he nodded to the oaken cross
topped with a plastic crown
and a rude sign beneath
Buster of Brownsville,
king of the hounds;
a pretty blasphemy bringing
a tear to the eye of angels and
quickly forgiven: this strange melange
of love and loss and faith.

saints billy and bobby of the six-pack
and the angel dust cousins.

we went into the garage, into the shade
where the sale items were;
a history of lives disjointed now
like the bones of ancient tribes
back-hoe'd to the light of day
and scattered to the four quarters.
machinery and broken saws,
barbells and weights,
and a tokapi mirror wherein
you saw the image of a sexy ghost
admiring his bulging chest!
and an old fry cook's kettle,
and the smell of WD-40.

we drive on and see
micro graves by the roadside;
saint johnny of the Hog and chain,
saint ahmed of the Focus,
felicia, sweet and innocent,
her memory exposed for all to see!

Vendituri te... (salutamus)   we who are about to be sold salute thee!

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Fast Day 62 August 8, 2008 {Getting Around the Motor City}

Getting Around The Motor City

Imagine speed, imagine charm;
fastest car to recall,
fastest to the line-
the harsh award of size and speed
a bouquet for Detroit!
Extreme, extreme, unimaginable;
quickest, lucid, lashivous lickerish!
high speed auto, off the line;
and hell with economy!
burn the gas and the breeze
down the highway, the throbbing
highway, the pulsator road!
The ben wa stoplights of delight,
oh, motor city!
oh, international airlines
the neon signs of blood and lust
that chill and fry on 8 Mile
where everything breaks down
and stands on Ozymandias'
broken legs of marble
still standing and...
fending off the desert.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Fast Day 61 August 2, 2008 {A Motorcycle Rider She}

A motorcycle rider she,
blond long hair
and insouciant, empty smile
greedy for a thrill;
firm breasts forward like
an emboss of
Boadicea's breastplate!

New, gleaming, stainless
pipes she rides,
the chopper decanting her
like a an old
bourdeaux chateau certan-de-may
uncertain mix with me,
the wildly gone viking girl.

Like the shrew of Lansey Meadows
she beat her sword
upon her naked breasts,
that the cowardly men not shirk
to kill skralings;
or me to be her palisade.