Storm Duty Prophecy

I have seen the ten thousand bucket trucks
mounted in the morning light
a rising sun sizzles the dew on the electric lines

I have seen the ten thousand tractor trailer bedrooms
festival of snoring poppa bears
and farting twinks twisting stinking
swinging in their curtained cocoons

I have seen the steaming slop piles of
fettucine and spaghetti and
mom's rice'n'gravy
and every sugary treat a long day's hungry man
can greedily stuff into his
big beer belly

I have seen the melting ice pallets plundered
minutes after delivery
like invading picnic army ant commandos carrying away
fallen and forgotten sandwich jelly

these once empty county fairgrounds have become an
overnight economy
encircling wooded fortress a forest facade
a sweet pine scent hovers over the encamped
hard hat army

mosquito blisters multiply during bouts
of distracted sleep
biting gnats arrive with the afternoon heat
body sweat is the only blanket I'll need
and dark
dark are my disturbed wet dreams

meanwhile
busted, bruised, broken
power lines litter the surrounding streets

so the same ten thousand bucket trucks I said I'd seen
rumble from summer slumber
a working class war party glowing in reflective neon streaks
mount their noble steeds
hotshot chevaliers in plastic safety helmets
in blanche big-rig tippers
as far as the eye can see

and me
in a little white hatchback
like some poet boy of electricity.

TA
11/24

Du Void Debbies

This will mean something to them
the cocaine debutantes sucking vodka spit
the Du Void Debbies in waxen paper hats
matrix black holy writ
spawning crop circles fae-filled psychedelics
married to midnight grass

wearing blood sash they cackle sass past
flash sharp skirts and short knives
costumed in pine scent and glitter
converse ghosts once traversed the Earth
trampled dance patterns pounded into the dirt

crest-white crescent moon curvature
cradle of the all-colored cuticle
on the trail of the many-headed essence
suspect substances
make-up makes her the celestial Her

will the soundcheck ever be enough?

constellations in constant collision overhead
piss stench hunch in the nearby wood
a swinging hammock is the boscage sprite's ballsack
the gypsies nestled within

the Du Void Debbies in wrestling ring gusto
in ageless pantomime
restlessly tackling the bizarre boundaries of tirelessness
walden pond written with no less admiration
asleep in bunks tuckered knuckleheads
walking in and out of dream
Pan that slippery god whistling their names to the Morrigan
to that early
early morning cajun prairie wind.

TA
11/24

Elevator Cowboy, Blues

Another stale hotel room stuffy with too much thinking
sinking me dulling me sitting around too long
crushing my only oxen courage
dulling my axe against a stone
this thin poorly painted drywall instead

I'm getting older in a queen-sized bed
slippery wet hung hues of heaving rubber
such savage courage wrung out
strung out
by all these charging cords
trip wire boobytraps in an ancient modern tomb
infinite hallways, economic floorplans
empty concrete swimming pools in stagnant glass rooms
an aging nude in recline circa Twentieth Century

cloistered americana
coffee-stained confessional kneeling penance with fat families
cigarette strangers cloud me in colorless curiosity
affable me, wanderer
it's a sluggard role but the pull is a good fire
some new sunset in some new city
empty as a curtained closet
dangling plastic hangers like rings on a gypsy's knuckle
empty as this tiny refrigerator
cold for nothing
for nobody
as alone as King James in his nightstand castle.

TA

Pop's Face

My succulent summer sweat
your painted kiss a proud prow pulling
your moontanned flesh headfirst into every cigarette conversation
busted nailbed
your tumbling breath a soft morning booze
or the memory of a sad dream falling
life lived backwards

wet handling swindling vodka pirouette sense of yourself
twostep suckling some mumbling stranger's musk
silver serpents twisting under Christmas lights and cologne
ecstasy of our own courage
ashen cheek scruff gramps pulling on our shoestrings
begging with slippery French turn-of-phrase
we'd not lose heart
nor become two heads
dance now the same songs
eat the holy food
worship deceased Sunday morning saints
hate the same way too

I told you in a dark disruption
in night's quiet sanctuary
I stole another man's face

the black sky hung low with a moistened heat
heavy hearted locust sang laments to those
long lost years lived underground
rows of blow furrowed by plastic capitalist till
two-dimensional pocket pussy
a penny in the pretty pony by the vending machine last night
where your lips met the new air
let go of the old air
also came this soft whisper like a lizard purring

I have his face now

you moved and your hair fell in disheveled script
the seal between us tightened
a lonely street light lacing through the blinds cast the
only gold in the room
ugly yellow late night gold
where so many cigarettes found fond perch
these words slipped out
     of that painted kisser prowl,

you don't have to be him, you said.

TA
10/24