I'm working now, so i can't write much, but I felt it prudent to post a tiny poetic spurt that I wrote in an email to my friend Val while I was killing some time in the Bismarck Municipal Airport waiting to leave for Denver, and then SLC, yesterday afternoon. I hope things are going festively amazing in your neck of the woods, reader, and that the skies are as sunny where you are as they are here.
the airport drill
so i'll write you a poem!
but my head is a little clogged
like a tugboat in a fog
or a business-traveling mother worked dead like a dog
yet suprisingly i can rhyme
(perhaps for a time)
since my head shallow and slumped as can be
might really be a little stronger than me
and a bit more awake to boot
for moments like these alas are made
for the trees - o to be
just outside for a bit, in a place of peace
and mashed-potato sunset sleep!
not this airport that smells of nothing
the way hospitals do
like they're hiding the pain
away from our noses
but not far enough from our fearful inquisitions,
us back to children patients of the dentist –
and the chiseled smiles and drilled-out eyes
enameled before me in the stonefacade faces gathered 'round me
and steal away the sleep i need.
unfortunately, god was fallible.
the christian god most people know
found herself in a spot so tight
and unsure of a kingly course of action she
resorted to intuition and instinct, so fallible
as she should have known, for
she designed the Human.
alas, she created something
so vile and evil that it would Undo her
like the satan prophesized, no more than
fiction, but reality at her hands -
hatred, jealousy, ineptidude, and insecurity
all rolled into a jelly-roll pastry of peril
that served to destroy its very maker!
a paralyzing treat delivered to such a
willing and unsuspecting cafe patron her holiness...
alas, god took a bite
she fell over, dead, with a mute thump,
and no-one heard her soft cry.
no-one saw the et-tu look in her eyes
or felt her icy sadness as it drifted from her dying lips.
they looked the other way.
as we all would,
as you would,
because when we're drunk it's easier, softer, more comfortable
it offers the least resistance
and that's what you love, isn't it
when you're hunting your god?
sentenced to this
blindly away again she turned and smoothly ignored
the singing of the birds and the way my eyes foresaw
my further fall down this path, the rocky course
away from her
thank the heavens it's a familiar road
for i've been this way it seems
and suprise me not it would
if i were to walk its cobbled surface again
in a slow stride of sad, sullen steps
into the beaming face
of a great western something
or a smaller winter nothing
either way a wash it is, it turns up the same
the lightning-bolt of hatred telling the world i won't take her back
now, never, i'm finally done
poetic bliss, a touch of this
will collapse into rhymes
for a dime
mere pennies for my time
as your wish my kiss turns to vinegar from wine
like the stench of this evening so fine
starched crisp like sheets
of bastard-spawn swampsong
breathed throatily out by a crocodile throng
the sound and rush and smell
you can hardly bear it
like a fire on the mountain
and as stubborn as your desire may it crumble
like rocks loosened from the burnt roots of
the old growth forest
and may that wicked want so bent from sadness
crack upon the earth below, dusty like
your words and dull