Monthly Archives: June 2013

The Ghosts That Awake At Midnight

That’s how we honor the dead, we buy their books

we make their old hit songs new hit songs again

we donate generously to research the disease that killed them

and if they were hit by a bus, we start taking taxis out of respect

survivor’s guilt

it is the cultural norm we all share

we just share it in different ways

in my culture in lieu of flowers we donate to the Cancer Society

in the Ummagumma tribe in Papua New Guinea they throw rocks at each other

while practicing self-flagellation

which is hard to pull off with only two hands

but, still the Ummagummas do this sometimes until some one else dies

then they have to go through the violent funeral rites all over again

while we just keep smoking cigarettes and hope we get hit by a bus so our dying words can

be:

I told you so.

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Come Back, June (We Miss You)

I wonder if June knew she had been invited weeks ago

where is she?

By now

we should find ourselves

in the throws of a Summer sunset

sunlight lapping against the pavement like

warm waters upon tropical surf

sea flirting with sand

running his fingers through her hair

like a cool breeze to beat that mean heat

that sticks to your skin

like you were first shampooing with boiling asphalt

then you turned the faucet to cold and found mercy

in the cooling pools of God’s love

in the disguise of a shower tap

or a sweet Summer’s breeze;

now, in this frosty mist

so out of place and unwanted this deep into June

a hot breeze would breathe life into these shivering fingers

who curl to fists to keep warm deep in my jacket pockets

who wears a Winter’s jacket in Summer?

I do when Summer forgets to show up for her own birthday party

giving me her best cold shoulder

leaving me cold and alone to write unrequited love poems

to the season who doesn’t love me back.

Who Dreams of Vishnu?

Finding if I got here writing

these words we now spent

sharing the same time and space

I got here by hook and by crook

yet you got here by guide book

crafting this draft which seeps beneath these sheets

we love on

now think of the ink stained upon these streets of papery pages

that leads the idiots and the sages

to these latest rages

of the ages

this zeitgeist

is to live in cages

but these cages do not contain us

in these same dimensions

beyond first, second, third and fourth

there are as many ranges

as there are brains who contain us

and our minds are Vishnu

who dreams of me and you

all this

and our dreams, too

so don’t blame me if I don’t blame you

for me arriving so late

for our dinner date

let’s just be happy we share the view.