God made a wish, but did God make the stars?
I might wish upon a star because then my dreams would all come true.
And those bad dreams...
Wouldn't they come true, too?
That morning star was definitely not a star.
But I'd wish upon it anyhow.
I ask you to look at it.
I might even thank God he let you see it.
I don't usually pray except to say thanks.
If you need a little more help or understanding.
I pray you aren't afraid to ask.
I believe that religion is a genie in a bottle.
Rub it.
That's a shiny bottle you have there.
Don't forget to look at the stars.
Friday, January 26, 2018
Five Cages and a Barbie Doll
Three cats in a cage and two more at the door of 313 W. Fillmore.
Holding the trap door open with his paw, Mr. Biggles foils the attempted capture.
None of them ran away, instead they all sat in the yard
And decided they wouldn't be going anywhere.
Here comes Crazy Katie in her bus.
"Take pictures of my naked Barbie," she said with a devilish grin.
"Ever do it in a school bus?
Not this school bus, but sometime, somewhere?"
The cats pouted and purred.
Nobody really wants to move.
They move because they have to
Or because some opportunity knocked and they listened.
"I love pussy," says Crazy Katie.
She pouted and purred.
"Why don't you guys hop in and we'll go for a ride to the fishmonger?"
The cats jumped on the bus and settled in to their carriers.
"We don't want to leave here," said Mr. Biggles.
"This is our home and we'll fight to stay.
We've been here longer than most of the people in the neighborhood.
We know all the dogs and where the mice hide out."
"I will find you some new mice," said Katie.
And she closed the bus door.
"And the dogs where we're going are all good dogs."
The wheels spun slightly when she let out the clutch.
"We really miss our friend who lived here.
She was like a cat to us.
It's not fair that she left and now we have to leave, too.
Do you think she's coming back?"
"Your friend is in a better place now," said Katie.
"And soon you will be, too."
The bus lumbered across the edge of the drain tile
and crushed part of the privet at the edge of the shelter's parking lot.
The new owners at 313 W. Fillmore were surprised.
Five scrawny and hungry cats showed up at their door one day, all in a pride.
The animal shelter was overwhelmed by the anonymous donation of a bus that contained five cages and a naked Barbie.
Holding the trap door open with his paw, Mr. Biggles foils the attempted capture.
None of them ran away, instead they all sat in the yard
And decided they wouldn't be going anywhere.
Here comes Crazy Katie in her bus.
"Take pictures of my naked Barbie," she said with a devilish grin.
"Ever do it in a school bus?
Not this school bus, but sometime, somewhere?"
The cats pouted and purred.
Nobody really wants to move.
They move because they have to
Or because some opportunity knocked and they listened.
"I love pussy," says Crazy Katie.
She pouted and purred.
"Why don't you guys hop in and we'll go for a ride to the fishmonger?"
The cats jumped on the bus and settled in to their carriers.
"We don't want to leave here," said Mr. Biggles.
"This is our home and we'll fight to stay.
We've been here longer than most of the people in the neighborhood.
We know all the dogs and where the mice hide out."
"I will find you some new mice," said Katie.
And she closed the bus door.
"And the dogs where we're going are all good dogs."
The wheels spun slightly when she let out the clutch.
"We really miss our friend who lived here.
She was like a cat to us.
It's not fair that she left and now we have to leave, too.
Do you think she's coming back?"
"Your friend is in a better place now," said Katie.
"And soon you will be, too."
The bus lumbered across the edge of the drain tile
and crushed part of the privet at the edge of the shelter's parking lot.
The new owners at 313 W. Fillmore were surprised.
Five scrawny and hungry cats showed up at their door one day, all in a pride.
The animal shelter was overwhelmed by the anonymous donation of a bus that contained five cages and a naked Barbie.
Down
I know you would never take us there with you since it's "bad" and "negative" to visit that place. You would probably think that it's so repugnant; even embarrassing. Not a place to share what you're thinking and expect any reply except for what you already know: there might be something wrong with you. And who wants to hear that?
Soft enough to lay your head on and imagine that it will all feel better soon. No one can find you when they don't know you're lost. Oh, sure, you might have stepped in a hole now and then and complained of a twisted ankle, but that was years ago. Different paths for sure. I always figured I knew where you'd be walking if I wanted to find you.
That was about a half-hour too long. I tried not to cry, but that band...those people singing in the row behind me. They tried so hard. They were certainly trying. They knew you'd like it and some thought you might hear them and maybe they'd even hear you! Reading the lyrics while they sing along. The cleanest of brainwashing. They have to print the lyrics because nobody has heard these hymns before. I'm more accustomed to religions that have stopped trying so damn hard. Stick around and we'll talk about that right after the song.
They were your new family, this bunch of singers. Not like your old family. We're talkers. As different as sprinklers and dippers, if you know what I mean. They sang about you and now we're going to talk about you. Not much different from before, really. We always talked because we loved you and I guess we still do. Don't worry, I think we all know not to ask questions. So we'll just talk.
I walked into the church elevator and pressed the bottom button. I figured there might be and "H" on it, but it said "Classrooms." Indoctrination centers! Get 'em while they're young!
Potato bugs and little round-headed red-heads from Oklahoma screaming, "My baby, my baby, my baby" in between the projectile vomiting brought on by feelings of abandonment. It was funny, remember? Tater Bug, speaking fecally all over the trailer floor while Moms and Dads went out dancing and left her with those strange cousins. They don't remember it. It's just me repeating your words and realizing that nobody else at the table had heard those words before. Funny babies. Sadly left behind and I remember you.
You stopped laughing and sang to Jesus and he heard you. I thought he was probably trying to tell you something and you probably wouldn't shut up long enough to hear what he was probably telling you. But that was just your way. You knew what he was going to tell you anyway.
Your mom said you disappeared in a foreign land and were being held by the police. You didn't want anyone to find you so you gave them an assumed name. You smeared charcoal on your face and fell and broke your elbow and you could make a stranger laugh till they thought you were an old friend. I bet it won't be long till she forgets your name.
Soft enough to lay your head on and imagine that it will all feel better soon. No one can find you when they don't know you're lost. Oh, sure, you might have stepped in a hole now and then and complained of a twisted ankle, but that was years ago. Different paths for sure. I always figured I knew where you'd be walking if I wanted to find you.
That was about a half-hour too long. I tried not to cry, but that band...those people singing in the row behind me. They tried so hard. They were certainly trying. They knew you'd like it and some thought you might hear them and maybe they'd even hear you! Reading the lyrics while they sing along. The cleanest of brainwashing. They have to print the lyrics because nobody has heard these hymns before. I'm more accustomed to religions that have stopped trying so damn hard. Stick around and we'll talk about that right after the song.
They were your new family, this bunch of singers. Not like your old family. We're talkers. As different as sprinklers and dippers, if you know what I mean. They sang about you and now we're going to talk about you. Not much different from before, really. We always talked because we loved you and I guess we still do. Don't worry, I think we all know not to ask questions. So we'll just talk.
I walked into the church elevator and pressed the bottom button. I figured there might be and "H" on it, but it said "Classrooms." Indoctrination centers! Get 'em while they're young!
Potato bugs and little round-headed red-heads from Oklahoma screaming, "My baby, my baby, my baby" in between the projectile vomiting brought on by feelings of abandonment. It was funny, remember? Tater Bug, speaking fecally all over the trailer floor while Moms and Dads went out dancing and left her with those strange cousins. They don't remember it. It's just me repeating your words and realizing that nobody else at the table had heard those words before. Funny babies. Sadly left behind and I remember you.
You stopped laughing and sang to Jesus and he heard you. I thought he was probably trying to tell you something and you probably wouldn't shut up long enough to hear what he was probably telling you. But that was just your way. You knew what he was going to tell you anyway.
Your mom said you disappeared in a foreign land and were being held by the police. You didn't want anyone to find you so you gave them an assumed name. You smeared charcoal on your face and fell and broke your elbow and you could make a stranger laugh till they thought you were an old friend. I bet it won't be long till she forgets your name.
Card Club
Only enough girls for one table at Card Club this month.
It's all right.
The planet is dying, too.
We're right behind you.
Are you gonna tell me you love me one more time?
I'll never hear that enough.
It's all right.
The planet is dying, too.
We're right behind you.
Are you gonna tell me you love me one more time?
I'll never hear that enough.
The Light
The stars can't imagine so they shine all the time.
They have no notion of being missed on a cloudy night.
I don't want for anything except to be alone right now.
I can not light a path for you.
There is nothing left of me to burn.
Not nearly enough for us.
I used to shine for no reason and then I burned out.
Long ago when no one was watching.
The darkness is endless and empty.
I'm not shining for you now and I never was.
So make your own beautiful light.
I hope that you can find your way.
Everybody is a star.
They have no notion of being missed on a cloudy night.
I don't want for anything except to be alone right now.
I can not light a path for you.
There is nothing left of me to burn.
Not nearly enough for us.
I used to shine for no reason and then I burned out.
Long ago when no one was watching.
The darkness is endless and empty.
I'm not shining for you now and I never was.
So make your own beautiful light.
I hope that you can find your way.
Everybody is a star.
Sauce
A ribbon of red decorates the front of your dress,
streaming cranberry sauce
from the corner of your fat uncle's mouth on Thanksgiving.
Running from your chin down to the cold hand across your stomach:
you're a child clutching the string of a helium balloon
that resembles your immensely swollen head.
We could hear the silence from the other end of the house.
It's too late for the drug store.
streaming cranberry sauce
from the corner of your fat uncle's mouth on Thanksgiving.
Running from your chin down to the cold hand across your stomach:
you're a child clutching the string of a helium balloon
that resembles your immensely swollen head.
We could hear the silence from the other end of the house.
It's too late for the drug store.
The Ulitmate Arrogance
An actor is what you call yourself.
But all I can hear and see is you reacting
To every detail of my life.
The little things that are not all that important to me.
The stage must be uncomfortable with those glaring lights
and the adoring audience that would just make me wither.
Please start the show now and write on your feet.
Plagiarism equals death, but quoting is allowed.
I'll be watching from the cheap seats.
Don't get mad if I leave early.
But all I can hear and see is you reacting
To every detail of my life.
The little things that are not all that important to me.
The stage must be uncomfortable with those glaring lights
and the adoring audience that would just make me wither.
Please start the show now and write on your feet.
Plagiarism equals death, but quoting is allowed.
I'll be watching from the cheap seats.
Don't get mad if I leave early.
Five receipts from that latest road trip home from work.
Mennonite bakery crumbs from a sample tucked away in a napkin.
Several dozen unattached bottle caps.
A condom.
A shopping list that doesn't include hummus.
Because it's always there anyhow.
A folded paper full of white powder.
A clawnail from a cat whose name you can't remember.
Notes for all the things you forget.
A mouse, or he's just glad to see me.
Mennonite bakery crumbs from a sample tucked away in a napkin.
Several dozen unattached bottle caps.
A condom.
A shopping list that doesn't include hummus.
Because it's always there anyhow.
A folded paper full of white powder.
A clawnail from a cat whose name you can't remember.
Notes for all the things you forget.
A mouse, or he's just glad to see me.
Our Love
Like two halves of the same nut.
Doing and thinking.
Acting and reacting.
Laughing and crying.
Working and playing.
Taking and giving.
Loving and hating.
Yinny and yangry.
You are afraid to be alone without me.
And I am afraid to leave you.
Each word from your mouth
gives me more strength
while it takes my appetite away.
Doing and thinking.
Acting and reacting.
Laughing and crying.
Working and playing.
Taking and giving.
Loving and hating.
Yinny and yangry.
You are afraid to be alone without me.
And I am afraid to leave you.
Each word from your mouth
gives me more strength
while it takes my appetite away.
Sweating Like Hemingway
"Hey, I'm no Hemingway," said George.
Despite these additional discoveries and experiments, however, the core Hemingway style persisted in most of his prose and today it is recognizable worldwide.
The infamous shirt.
"I hate it when you stare."
It is raining, and George lays back on the bed, looking out the window...
"He is why books from the 1800s seem overwritten."
If she knew you well enough she might call you "boopsie" and haul you off on a hike
or a trip to India;
of course, with her long legs came great lungs,
and you didn't hike with her, you gasped for breath behind her.
We were both from Illinois (she was from Oak Park; I’m from Champaign).
I want to die at a hundred years old with an American flag on my back and the star of Texas on my helmet, after screaming down a sharp Alpine descent on a bicycle at 75 miles per hour.
In this age of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, Smirnoff Ice, Bacardi Breezers (flavors include pineapple, watermelon, mango, coconut, raspberry, blueberry, and probably estrogen), and other alco-pops marketed to prepubescent girls, it’s easy to wonder:
why should I drink throat-burning hard liquor
when I can instead sip five-proof carbonated fruit juice?
"There’s a good reason why it takes you three years to learn how to screw up the English language," he says.
Despite these additional discoveries and experiments, however, the core Hemingway style persisted in most of his prose and today it is recognizable worldwide.
The infamous shirt.
"I hate it when you stare."
It is raining, and George lays back on the bed, looking out the window...
"He is why books from the 1800s seem overwritten."
If she knew you well enough she might call you "boopsie" and haul you off on a hike
or a trip to India;
of course, with her long legs came great lungs,
and you didn't hike with her, you gasped for breath behind her.
We were both from Illinois (she was from Oak Park; I’m from Champaign).
I want to die at a hundred years old with an American flag on my back and the star of Texas on my helmet, after screaming down a sharp Alpine descent on a bicycle at 75 miles per hour.
In this age of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, Smirnoff Ice, Bacardi Breezers (flavors include pineapple, watermelon, mango, coconut, raspberry, blueberry, and probably estrogen), and other alco-pops marketed to prepubescent girls, it’s easy to wonder:
why should I drink throat-burning hard liquor
when I can instead sip five-proof carbonated fruit juice?
"There’s a good reason why it takes you three years to learn how to screw up the English language," he says.
Really Frightened
Fucking rando, dude.
Do you know hat I mean?
I'm talkin' drunk and random, man.
It's open now.
I'm not kidding.
About an hour ago I had the best idea for a story.
Fuck.
A long time ago I wanted to tell you about this place I went to.
But, I didn't think you'd understand or you know, care.
I know why people want to explore.
I know why people want to find a new buzz that makes them twitch and giggle.
They want to be scared.
I'm going to sleep now.
Later.
Dreaming about 3 beautiful girls I used to know, sisters.
I met them again in a cooking class after no contact for 20 years .
They all had broken hips.
We went to West Mildred for a drink after class,
but it was all condemned and most of it was already torn down,
including the bar.
I made a baloney sandwich for the final and got an "A", but was reduced to a "C" because of my cussing in class.
I started dreaming about that house again.
The same place with the crooked, exposed stairwells
and the hidden access to the third floor in the closet of the 2nd floor bedroom.
Dreaming about a ghost.
I don't put much stock in any of the paranormal.
And when I woke up I couldn't move.
It felt as though someone was pressing on my throat.
I could hear someone crying in the adjacent room.
It kept getting louder.
I was finally able to fling myself out of bed and upon entering the living room
I saw my dog, her eyes glazed over and crying like a baby.
Not a puppy, a human baby.
The weirdest noise I've heard a dog make
and she seemed really frightened.
I called to her and she woke up and starting wagging her tail.
I think we were having the same dream.
Do you know hat I mean?
I'm talkin' drunk and random, man.
It's open now.
I'm not kidding.
About an hour ago I had the best idea for a story.
Fuck.
A long time ago I wanted to tell you about this place I went to.
But, I didn't think you'd understand or you know, care.
I know why people want to explore.
I know why people want to find a new buzz that makes them twitch and giggle.
They want to be scared.
I'm going to sleep now.
Later.
Dreaming about 3 beautiful girls I used to know, sisters.
I met them again in a cooking class after no contact for 20 years .
They all had broken hips.
We went to West Mildred for a drink after class,
but it was all condemned and most of it was already torn down,
including the bar.
I made a baloney sandwich for the final and got an "A", but was reduced to a "C" because of my cussing in class.
I started dreaming about that house again.
The same place with the crooked, exposed stairwells
and the hidden access to the third floor in the closet of the 2nd floor bedroom.
Dreaming about a ghost.
I don't put much stock in any of the paranormal.
And when I woke up I couldn't move.
It felt as though someone was pressing on my throat.
I could hear someone crying in the adjacent room.
It kept getting louder.
I was finally able to fling myself out of bed and upon entering the living room
I saw my dog, her eyes glazed over and crying like a baby.
Not a puppy, a human baby.
The weirdest noise I've heard a dog make
and she seemed really frightened.
I called to her and she woke up and starting wagging her tail.
I think we were having the same dream.
A Thousand Birds
When I'm there
You are gone
Probably sleeping
Off a good one
Knock, knock, knock
I'll blow your house down
Unless you're inside
Then I'll just whistle
I came to tell you
The sun is out
It feels so good
But this burning hole
Must you feel everything
To know what you need?
A thousand words
Is more than enough
If you'd stop spitting
For a while and listen
You can hear the songs
That the birds like to sing
You are gone
Probably sleeping
Off a good one
Knock, knock, knock
I'll blow your house down
Unless you're inside
Then I'll just whistle
I came to tell you
The sun is out
It feels so good
But this burning hole
Must you feel everything
To know what you need?
A thousand words
Is more than enough
If you'd stop spitting
For a while and listen
You can hear the songs
That the birds like to sing
Trip
We rolled off the purple in the same
direction as those before
whose gold-lust dreams shone brighter
than the reality
of panning water in the hot noon sun.
We had conquered.
No meandering South Platte rubber ducks,
No meandering South Platte rubber ducks,
We don't stop for cattle barons or
electronaires
till the river towns of Missouri call
us to port with song and dance,
civilization and disorderly conduct,
promise and promiscuity.
The mild, wild mid-West.
Dinosaur Bones and tired tendons
Dark ages powered by electricity
Tammy Wynette and Kit Carson
Noodle and Head Gear
full range noodle paneling counterpoint
grape village lightly gone
same caramel camel luster
cone prestidigitation
Aardvark's snark
bush lust busker
tired truck scalds
flies manifest
destination heard of sun
far-flung tiers
soaked camel's hair
barbarista incubator
indicates inoculation
checkpoint tree-prone
pharmacy juice
Barren warrant
borne elixir
cash and carry
garment fixer
garden simply
rosebud mixer
Camel panel
point and counter
de-stained winds
wood discotheque scratch
Her dusty head gear.
Three little words...
but I only remember one
color of daffodils
north,south,east,west
terror soup for curmudgeons
serious rich window kids
instagram herbal perfect
chemlawn mileage killers
Forsythias are the best
grape village lightly gone
same caramel camel luster
cone prestidigitation
Aardvark's snark
bush lust busker
tired truck scalds
flies manifest
destination heard of sun
far-flung tiers
soaked camel's hair
barbarista incubator
indicates inoculation
checkpoint tree-prone
pharmacy juice
Barren warrant
borne elixir
cash and carry
garment fixer
garden simply
rosebud mixer
Camel panel
point and counter
de-stained winds
wood discotheque scratch
Her dusty head gear.
Three little words...
but I only remember one
color of daffodils
north,south,east,west
terror soup for curmudgeons
serious rich window kids
instagram herbal perfect
chemlawn mileage killers
Forsythias are the best
Bi-Polar Sound Guy
War games in record store in-store purchase
Crabby-ass non-musical musicians selling and for sale:
nice t-shirt included with stick-on art-rock manifesto,
Colored hair, and easy guitar chords for beginners
who are the living end and are
too fucking stupid to understand Mel Bay
or soap.
It's the surfactant for you.
Plug it in and
Spread your legs, fatso.
Does the carpet match the curtains?
You might have a disease.
Predictably, it's curable.
-
-
-
Stay home and practice your scales
and please don't tour.
If you do, I hope I miss it if you don't pay good.
All the turd-burgling gurgling
Ukuleles that make me pukelele even more than this.
Hey there,
cutesy-girl sad-eyed voice and big weepy something-or-other.
My cat has big weepy eyes.
It's an allergy that gets worse
when he licks his ass.
I'm allergic to that tormented self-sap,
sad-sack Sally Ann Ladue.
Another song with heartache that makes my heart ache
and wrench and die.
Johnny Q. Fuckerly
suckerly my dickerly
PUnk rock conforming non-conundrum
video baby pointlessly useless
time of wasted drinking stories
bottled discord and angst routine
and decomposition by those who can't compose.
Ride that ass-pony to the end of time, please
and just stop it. Kill it.
Glue factory.
Bet you can't tell a story without opening your painted mouth.
Oh great, another uniform that someone made you.
Wear.
Take your clothes off and do it again
in the dark,
this time with feeling.
If you move, you're fired.
Who says a dance band can't play art music?
Once it's art, it's not an art.
It's a show and it's a business.
Them's the rules.
My Dad said you were an asshole, Merle.
He was right, you drunken killer.
Tupelo blue-collar street-wise art-school dropout
buncha hyphenated bores.
Do that one about name-dropping your hero poets
or the one about drinking while living true
Red, white and blew
on the South Side by a factory
that built cheetohs for what-nots
while the workers smoked Pall Malls
and middle-class kids did cocaine with
their college-educated black friends
or Heroin.
Ooohhh. Fucked up. Oooohh.
Oh, that's what they all love.
Their friend, the local bad music reviewer
is gonna make a splash.
There's no humor in vapid, sad attempts.
Is that fuzz in the community pool?
Another pedal? Plug that shit in.
You'd like to borrow a cord? No problem.
You should borrow a chord. No problem.
Tell me a story.
Save the staves.
I Don't want to go down to the basement
Unless there's a good drummer there.
The pipes leak and my stereo smells better.
And tonight I'm going to make you
The best you there is.
Open my mind.
I hope to make you magically delicious.
Because some people like to jack off in public
And some will pay to watch
Ugly pterodactyls do their thing with corn.
Crabby-ass non-musical musicians selling and for sale:
nice t-shirt included with stick-on art-rock manifesto,
Colored hair, and easy guitar chords for beginners
who are the living end and are
too fucking stupid to understand Mel Bay
or soap.
It's the surfactant for you.
Plug it in and
Spread your legs, fatso.
Does the carpet match the curtains?
You might have a disease.
Predictably, it's curable.
-
-
-
Stay home and practice your scales
and please don't tour.
If you do, I hope I miss it if you don't pay good.
All the turd-burgling gurgling
Ukuleles that make me pukelele even more than this.
Hey there,
cutesy-girl sad-eyed voice and big weepy something-or-other.
My cat has big weepy eyes.
It's an allergy that gets worse
when he licks his ass.
I'm allergic to that tormented self-sap,
sad-sack Sally Ann Ladue.
Another song with heartache that makes my heart ache
and wrench and die.
Johnny Q. Fuckerly
suckerly my dickerly
PUnk rock conforming non-conundrum
video baby pointlessly useless
time of wasted drinking stories
bottled discord and angst routine
and decomposition by those who can't compose.
Ride that ass-pony to the end of time, please
and just stop it. Kill it.
Glue factory.
Bet you can't tell a story without opening your painted mouth.
Oh great, another uniform that someone made you.
Wear.
Take your clothes off and do it again
in the dark,
this time with feeling.
If you move, you're fired.
Who says a dance band can't play art music?
Once it's art, it's not an art.
It's a show and it's a business.
Them's the rules.
My Dad said you were an asshole, Merle.
He was right, you drunken killer.
Tupelo blue-collar street-wise art-school dropout
buncha hyphenated bores.
Do that one about name-dropping your hero poets
or the one about drinking while living true
Red, white and blew
on the South Side by a factory
that built cheetohs for what-nots
while the workers smoked Pall Malls
and middle-class kids did cocaine with
their college-educated black friends
or Heroin.
Ooohhh. Fucked up. Oooohh.
Oh, that's what they all love.
Their friend, the local bad music reviewer
is gonna make a splash.
There's no humor in vapid, sad attempts.
Is that fuzz in the community pool?
Another pedal? Plug that shit in.
You'd like to borrow a cord? No problem.
You should borrow a chord. No problem.
Tell me a story.
Save the staves.
I Don't want to go down to the basement
Unless there's a good drummer there.
The pipes leak and my stereo smells better.
And tonight I'm going to make you
The best you there is.
Open my mind.
I hope to make you magically delicious.
Because some people like to jack off in public
And some will pay to watch
Ugly pterodactyls do their thing with corn.
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