Category: poetry

Equal parts of
Budweiser and Yuengling
poured together
in a beer mug
garnished with ice
and I am a
first-timer.
My Pop suggested
it with
hookah
on the Egyptian side
and a bit of
superstitious
bird talk.

For hours we would try to master the Viennese Waltz

come Sunday we found ourselves lullingly doing the

tow-step behind closed blinds; the record always

skipped in the same place but neither of us ever

budged to fix it, we’d  much rather pointe ballet.

It reminded us of girl we used to know-

she would walk around life on the tips of her toes;

almost rapturous and her head always high

when we questioned her as to why anyone

would do such a painful thing she’d say:

 “just trying to catch the Mandjet and sail away.”

We sat there

no words exchanged

not fishing for some cheap

line to verbalize

I enjoyed that fact.

Then she just smoothed out the words

in the most lovely tone:

“Most people can’t do this and be comfortable. Frivolous conversations aids the galling of most peoples’ gut.”

I smiled at the thought because

usually I’m mistaken for being disinclined

not her.

I told her we were both cats in our past lives

“no.” she said

“you and I, we were honey bees of the same hive; our momma was The Queen.”

She has always been a soul sister of mine

even before such a thing as time.

*CUE: Ab-Soul, The Book of Soul.

“What are in those packages you constantly get sent here from all over the world?”

“It’s all illegal activities pop, don’t worry about that there.”

and it was left at that
never to be spoken of again.

The man has yet to open one of them damn packages for himself to see if I was lying.
I’ll always love him for that.

We just pray to eleven:eleven

even though time has proven it to be futile

whenever it strikes the clock

we pay homage

bow our heads-close our eye

and mumble wandering wishes.

You can’t break bread with hands that are habitually

clenched to something on the rocks.

And you certainly can’t sing all of those Catholic hymns

when the lungs are heavy with years of

ashes and embers.

amen.

My least favorite is the saying:

“bite your tongue”

What is one to do when a tongue is severed at birth?

this I’d assume.

We would leave our ego’s at the door

muddy shoes.

Puffing joints twisted with conviction

hissing tranquility .

Our tongues dripping with authenticity and fear

we’d spit.

Casting our iron stomachs from scratch

cheap liquor.

Stumbling upon the true depths of the optic-nerve

the soul.

miss it.

I spasmodically catch myself drifting back up there

nobody’s home.

It’s been quite some time since you lived there

still, I visit.

Sometimes if I’m lucky I’ll still catch our vibes

floating around.

It won’t ever compare to the real thing

we shared,

times have changed but I’ll make do.

The love letters I keep under my pillow read more like death threats these days

this brings me to the conclusion that St. Valentine and I aren’t on good terms

not now

not ever

and in the midst of this of this tragic realization

I hear what sounds like bereavement at my doorstep

lo and behold

it is Eros.

He arrives to me filthy, bleary, bloody and spent

with no idea he is seventeen centuries too late

and from the looks of him now

he’s clearly a lover not a fighter

but being the son of two great gods

I thought him a warrior; quick with a bow

but no he

is just a

reminder to tend the roses back at the

Basilica of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, Rome.

I got sick and the origin was my gut.

My gastrointestinal track hosted an army of bacteria left behind after years of unsanitary human interaction.

The constant inhalation of mendacity and bullshit finally shut down my detoxification mechanisms allowing the microorganisms to prefect their blueprints and break ground.

Colonization was only natural; they bypassed my immunity battalion completely and went straight for my brain, shutting down all key functions resulting in aphasia.

Maybe the loss of speech is a benediction for my soul  finally to move forward and limit contact with my fellow man and conquer far-away lands.

Sipping whiskey, penning postcards that never meet the back side of a stamp.

pawn off the silver  immediately.

we have spent too much time

together in the goldmines

to know better than to

fall for that juvenile

bull-shit, jabber.

We do have a

kingdom to

tend to.