There’s a past I lived in
as an interesting fellow
but gave it up
when battery acid rejiggered my head.
These days I sit in my chair
and stare out the window
while each different leaf comes,
changes, gets erased.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, you
be the camera, I’ll take the fall.
Blank like postage stamp
glue dissolved in Kool-Aid,
someone’s mind keeps spinning
akin to butterflies the bipeds around me
can’t snatch in their nets.
Crows beyond peck
nocturnes on the schwartz keys
of Remington typewriters.
Those were the times when white men
didn’t need to register revolvers
poems colorblind to empty space
on the page.
Original sin not choosing silence
and submission, all is wind.
Father wanted to be God
almost as much as
he wanted me gone.
Mom got pissed when Pops shot holes
in my memory’s trunk which is barren
because Sis says that I can’t have this
and I can’t have that
I just can’t.
Regarding that woman,
I have a very limited aperture.
Just served divorce papers
on her –
Being a good boy, they will commence
at the time of Mother’s choosing.
Sorry ‘bout our loss –
anything we can do, let’s.
grinch came down but no one recall a chimney.
Once grubs crawl from my pants’
I’ll smoke out the leftover