Tag Archives: suburban
counterfeit saints and barefoot dancers
as the snow melts
you open the doorway to onions,
crammed in a pan with cubed steak,
beige dress and apron strings
he saw the wineglass
an ashtray close to full,
he still wondered why she shaved
her pubic hair into a stripe,
going to piss in the small toilet
a room barely used scented of
kerosene and urinals,
you ok she called
peppermint ice cream tones with
hidden expressions,
scratching beard muttered out a reply
zipped up mind still a conflagration of thought,
i wanted to do an english stew
was your day ok
housewife animated advertising jargon
felt like exploding,
the car would still be warm
engine would start quickly,
murmured almost automatic familiarity
those beech tones just as wooden
full of grain and knots,
fifteen years it was comfortable
not likable settled,
he did not question or ask
just lived as he now did with her,
camus could of written a diary with them
in with charlie parker soundtrack,
there was no children
they had not found time,
you could crawl back inside yourself
but that would lead to tears
best left to what was
a grisly fetish
slave and domination
abstract interludes,
snapshots of a smoking buddha
fuck hole sanity,
without that crawling cuckoo
jacket on chair
assembled the winning smile,
she came and kissed
long tongue surrounded his mouth
lips soft journals of praise,
now feeling ok
sat back and spoke as if released
watching her
not knowing her
Catching Ghosts In Summer
slow emphatic automobile
draws to a halt
close enough for door
opening catching tree
metal on nature
only sound that hot morning,
unaware or uncaring
he stood and wiped hands
damp from steering a long way
on pants,
out of city into suburban country,
some things had been forgotten
as if an egg timer
had it’s sand shaken loose,
mind conjured and played tricks,
as he looked at what could
only be a desolate shack,
collapsed porch
dark smoke mascara
about window edges
bleak eyes that wound,
no hurry in placing feet
a kind of lawn congealed
with weeds and long brambles,
stumble
touch bottle in jacket pocket
making sure it’s still there
whiskey would be only thirst quencher
as water cut off
nothing was disguised
it could be yesterday
fingered wedding band
his second the first removed
gone it hurt in a painful tightness,
timbers cracked door flat inside
still smelled smoke,
across the wall graffiti
where family pictures once hung
stirred dust with feet
voices came back as soft ghosts
still caught in this place,
he took a sip of whiskey
sweat traveled across his brow,
jar rattled on the floor
dog barked beyond decaying
timber confines,
other pocket heavy as well
as he slipped jacket off,
whiskey bottle put on what was
the kitchen table
charred becoming lopsided,
drew revolver with every chamber full,
a heavy sun filled yard
put short shadows on the fence,
gardeners with hosepipe,
birds
children
sunbathers
housewives,
heard the bang
a short report
announcing another ghost
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