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Showing posts from 2017

The Nostalgia Principle of Time Travel - Poem

The Nostalgic principle of Time Travel on this the Anniversary of the Murder of John Lennon Firstly, would Darby Crash be a household name instead of just the homophobic homo nihilist punk who killed himself to be famous but had the sad luck to do it the night before we found out about John Lennon? It wasn't much of a splash he made, his suicide, and now he haunts this old roachy hot dog stand in Hollywood where he spent some happy -- for a nihilist -- nights with his fans and friends.  His old ghost bones give him pains. Secondly, and more importantly,  if John Lennon hadn't,'a been murdered when he was would mom have visited dad more in the hospital instead of drooling glued to the tv for all the details of her mania-man, that effortlessly cool guy, John Lennon? Dad was in the hospital recovering from heart surgery and oh gee wiz, if John Lennon wouldn't have been shot like that when he was, would they have stayed together, at lea...

OUR LAST TEXTS, ILLUSTRATED

The texts in black are Mom and the pink ones are Me. The last one is from her pastor when he was trying to reach me to tell me she'd passed away earlier that morning. The pictures are of some of her favorite things.

Wild Animal (a poem)

I’ve tried out the gesture of tsk-tsking a few times, When it seems it may have been appropriate. I’ve tried, Not for months now, but once upon a time, To do the type of things that level-headed people do, Like sighing at others’ reckless denial of the Shit that passes for first-world amenities – Not to humble-brag, but yesterday I spoke at length with A homeless woman whose mouth was all covered in Sores. She liked my jewelry and my dress, Commenting on it the way my dead mother would have. Anyway, this homeless woman, To whom I gave some amenities that were in the scheme Of things as paltry as offering To piss on a jellyfish bite that was sustained Months and months ago – It was nice just to be there with her. But there have been times, Yes indeed, When I tried out tsk-tsking. I’m speaking to you now, Ghost of my Mom. There was a day when I called...