Work

My hands are rough
my feet are cold
my knees are stiff
and my back is numb.

And when they aren't
my work will be done.

Rocking At The Cave Man Hop

There is no exception to the angst

not even in being well-read

intelligent and full of pondering

and playing the world in your head

like a Rubik’s Cube

trying to twist and configure everything

back to its origins

from the mixed up chaos it is.

Perhaps even more so

when confronted with the reality

that putting two thoughts together

in a world of wet gossip

is akin to dog-paddling upstream

with busted haunches

through a coral reef of crass concordance.

And still….

And still

the bedroom sophisticate must look down

at his forearms

at sixteen—or sooner—

and wish to use them to level the world

the reptile sleepily dorming

in the pleasure center of his brain

giving a moist hot hiss

and a caressing flit of its tongue

against the grumpy gray matter

goading him on

while the caveman in his blood

grabs his priapic cudgel

that wood tool of destruction

to beat out his timpani of haste

and frustration.

Beating out the blues

to a blue beat.

No dinosaur is safe.

Once Upon An Art School Education

Once upon an art school education

I was imparted with the pricey platitude

that “beauty is in the eye

of the beholder”

and those that couldn’t see that

were blind

to which I offered

anyone who’d be holding their eyes

wouldn’t be doing much seeing

on their own part,

and garnered a backhanded

critique of my cleverness

from our fish-out-of-tartar sauce professor:

a MAD Magazine Royston Ellis

who catted and groovied

like his tenure depended on it

and dressed like a coffeehouse bongo bum

straight out of Peter Gunn

replete with Maynard Krebs goatee

and turtleneck that was all mock-tortoise.

Later I was broom-saddled

with the Wicked Witch of the Midwest;

a real cauldron stirrer

in a pointed tweed hat

who saw fit to criticize her meal tickets

for not coming to the table pre-prepared

and languished over praises

of her own fabrications—

acrylics of dead twigs

on blue mud backgrounds

in hand-sewn books

that couldn’t be read—

and proved that she

earned every inch of her ugly.

I was angry when I left,

Feeling cheated and abused,

But despite—or perhaps because of—

Their best efforts

It was a learning experience;

And wasn’t that what I had applied for
After all?

Comes A Soft Rain

The sound of car doors slamming sends the dog to barking

and I arrive in the living room

to see,

out the windows,

a string of vehicles hugging the curb across the street

on this pale gray day

like dormant cars of a train waiting to be loaded.

And toward the end of the line

is that old hearse the color of stainless steel

with the novelty lights shaped like old lanterns pressed into its sides,

and its coachman standing by its hood ornament,

clearing his throat and looking up at the sky.

Old Earl arrives in his purple van

and I shoot him a smile and nod at his back

through the window.

Even if he can’t see me, it’s the gesture that counts.

Old Earl—who reminds me of

a less vaudeville version of my grandfather,

slowly paces himself up the church steps

with plastic-wrapped lilies in his cracked wax hands.

And then

as the first throaty moan of that old organ

grieves that it’s being pressed into service again,

comes a soft rain from the

respectful sky,

a brief fit of weeping to pay its regards

and send stragglers scurrying

into the chapel,

followed by a split in the clouds

like dry skin cracked at the elbow

to let the sun beam down white-hot.

A coincidence clear enough

to cause a circumspect cynic like me

to reexamine all those heavy-handed

meteorological metaphors

used by those taffy-fisted screenwriters
in Hollywood.

Tatters of Blue

The gold-kissed blue of summer
has once again paled
and stifled itself in the dingy
grey sweater of winter

The trees have gone
nude, shed their scales
and plumage
as if to show how much
stronger they are than me
in my coat and hat and gloves
and still shaking at the joints
while they stand firm
and dormant, yes–
but steadfast all the same

And I notice
a break in the clouds

Despite itself the blue
sky couldn't help but
peek from its hiding place
to see what it might be missing,
to see if anyone was
actually searching for it

(It's a game we play with it
in Minnesota
for six long months)

Just a patch–
three small holes–
like tatters of blue on concrete
and it has made my afternoon.

Chagrinning Jester

Watching the westward sky
steeping in its evening blue
as jellyfish clouds swim by
the sun a rosy smear on
the horizon line

By the sundial the day is done
but before tomorrow I must yet lay
with all the mistakes of today

Secret Basement Lab Alphabet: Z is for Zombie Jamboree

Z is for ZOMBIE JAMBOREE

I was walking one night
Around Lake Winona
When I met a lady
Who knelt on the shore there
She was using a bone
That she held in her hand
To carve a shape into the wet sand
I said to the lady “Miss, what you doing?”
“I’m calling a loa” she answered while moving
She writhed in the moonlight
And chanted some words
And into the shape
She threw feathers from birds
I asked her why she 
Would call on this thing
She said she could hear the
Night voices sing
The wind on the water
The wind in the trees
The caw of the crow
And the knock of my knees
And it would be selfish
She explained to me
To not celebrate 
The music with a party
She pointed ‘cross the water
To Woodlawn Cemetery
And said she was raisin’ the dead
For a zombie jamboree.
Jump through the fire 
And twice ‘round the stones
Hear the night wind
Playing on the xylabones
She held out her hand
And said “Come dance with me
And the living dead at 
The Zombie Jamboree.”

Secret Basement Lab Alphabet: Y is for YOUTHFUL VESSEL

Secret Basement Lab Alphabet: Y is for YOUTHFUL VESSEL

Whether Haggard's "She-who-must-be-obeyed"–the eternally youthful Ayesha of Kôr; the curse of la strega, passed down from generation to generation; or young Helen Grovsenor, Imhotep's princess Ankh-en-es-amon reborn centuries later; or even the network of vitality operating under the tender flesh of young mortals, sought out by the ivory-fanged vampires; the wicked have always sought eternal life through new youthful vessels.