ken is dead

good-bye ken, they done yo
wrong so ya say
good-bye ken, yo wuda got free
in jesta year or so
why’d ya croak now? we wanted
bars on yur face. we wanted tar &
feathers tho thas ben outlawed &
now you got away, some cud
call it one stay of execution, thatsa joke
you are ready dead, you are fitted in
your besta suit, looking gud no doubt
for all yur pals to be easy on a eye
for all yur charm yo did not account on this
yo did not account to make a killing
of yur own heart stickin you like
a democrat, like a pitchfork crowd of
vestors with cardboard signs on da
street danks to you, yo dead. Yo
save us trouble & taxes, yo save us
frum pardon me sirs but aint dat just
a slinky escape hatch? are yo not
shamed for Grandma Mille? No, das
silly, yo dead. yo beat the rap.

George needs a new rule

whaza mutter home boy pres niclocan-do?
connot keel over those POW like you first bo-lived?
per-tending to overflow with love
taking the cue
you ejaculate legal briefs
oh you messy boy we shud fornicate you
to cause a crisis.

a cow step in the rit direction
a necessary impediment
to cuff you down
fo when you lose we win
sumple
as in 2+2

we-ezen nows you donut agree
that is okay
ofen you did we be fired majestically
frum our office of depends & maybee

last step is to arresticate your bare bottom
spunking you to behave once more
alas it may not be
marhaps your Fidel moment will tick
and all behemoths of justice shall swelter
under your shade.

Baltic Soap

I am loved I believe by all men
in the small ways of men like hearty clasps and job promotions
and loved by all women
in the large ways of women like pasta dinners and crates of RC Cola.

I imagine this is so because my heart is pure
not completely so like babies or silent snow
falling at dawn outside of Boston
or a gold wedding band
but I never killed anyone with a shotgun.

we did jump three guys to rob and maim
on Van Ness street one night
and though we rolled off the curb in
front of screeching headlights
and ripped a shiny new leather coat with a bellow
from this one guy – I lost my hat
the green one that I have never since replaced
so I figure we're even.

this time there were no big oak doors
no bailiffs with rolls of fat over their belt crying All Rise!
no clean shaven prosecutors with technicality voices.

this time I was alone. I thought I knew the answers.
I thought bed bugs caused VD and silver shadows
in the parking lot next to a brick wall downtown
after about 1:00 a.m. were dancing vampires hunting a fix.

I felt pure then and clean and soapy and some mornings when
the sheets are cool, I am transported outside my fish mouth
to catch a shiny bubbling bauble.

I am loved I believe by all benches and trees
in the small ways of benches and trees like a resting place in the shade
for I stroke their backs and bark when I pass
rubbing my mute message in with my fingers.

I am loved I believe by small voices in alleys
in the small ways of small voices in alleys
those who wait for gaudy tourists in ill-fitting shorts
and out-of-season shirts before their supplications
for I have shared cups of coffee with bums and I have seen
colorful creation hiding beneath their raggedy coats.

even with a gallon of grits, I cannot swallow
the shallow ways in which I forget to express my love.
even with Baltic shampoo I cannot rinse
myself clean of the muddy chances I have taken.
Using tokens and totems of magic to quell
my quivering stories my shivering stonewalling
I place myself in hands of gods whose
names I cannot pronounce.

I cannot promise to be good every day
If I seem to wonder where I stand
it is because I am shifting.

I cannot always do the right thing
like staying in love past the end of August
with places or people I have walked upon and touched.

Tomorrow I go away again
to cities without bars on the windows &
uptown cafes where I put my feet up
listen to horns.

lost my ticket stub

I must holler for a cab – take me from this
zone. This zone of war I come home to.
This monkey-infested palace of smells. I cannot
just scream here any more. My life was placed on a line
and I stood by watching. I stood by caressing my
jewels.

bring the man-in-charge down to the street. This
buckled and heaved concrete I walk. I want to
ask him where it went wrong. When did a picnic
become a battlefield? I rally the flag as I am told and
still my pockets are empty. still my brother
needs a doctor.

Out of my way – I must push you aside. I must
persuade my own feet to stack themselves into their
shapeless shoes and roam for my butter. Each time
my dairy runs out, I need a new slope to slide.

Tell me your name – I will use it as a
token. Then your power will be grounded and
I will become a God. I never punish those who
think like me. I never flood the rats in the
cellars.