Jagged Edges

rorschach blob lookalike
smeared across sheet of yellowed paper

found in old no handles scratched up desk

with broken number 2 pencil

drawer missing - hunchbacked 

crinkled bottom drawer liner

hadn’t seen the light of day in eclipses

--nobody’s looked at or even tried to figure out

some things just don’t have an answer of what for 

some things don’t wanna be figured out 

saying leave me alone- just leave me alone 

in tired dispirited voices

broken bottle in the weeds, jagged edges-- nobody picks up

flattened cans and bottle caps

what’s the difference? ain’t no big thing

hang out at the bar on the corner

jukebox 80’s soundtrack

drinking guaranteed headache cheap beer

watching peach bowl a t l

post depressive after christmas blues season

there’s got to be a reason

what’s the point to all of this

some things just don’t have an answer of what for 

*/*/*/*/*/

Paranormal 1

Spiritualism is a belief that communication with the spirits of the dead is possible through a medium, and we as living beings have the ability to contact them…

‘Walking Corpse Syndrome’ known by its scientific name of Cotard delusion is a rare condition in which the person who has it has the delusional belief that they are already dead. There are certain medical and mental illnesses that can lead to such a condition occurring…

Bilocation is the name for the paranormal belief and phenomena that a person CAN be in two places at once by using psychic means…some believe bilocation sometimes can occur for example when for a few brief moments, a person is ‘dead’ on an operating table and can actually be transported elsewhere during that time…how? no one knows…but it is said to have happened on rare instances to the bafflement of all involved.

Autoscopy is the feeling of being able to feel that one is separate from one’s body...similar to an out of body experience, which some people experience when they are near death or are dead briefly before coming back to life...but does this really happen? Many people say yes

Imagine at once being able to recall and describe events that you had no previous knowledge of...that would be fascinating wouldn’t it? Such an event is called retrocognition…this word implies knowledge of a past event which could not have been known about by any kind of normal ways...

Conjuring or summoning is normally thought of as an act of evoking a spirit or demon, or other supernatural force, normally to cast a spell on someone to extract some type of personal revenge, but it can also be done for lesser used reasons like for healing purposes or even in an attempt to foretell the future.

The Old Watering Hole

visit the old watering hole hole in the wall
one small window for man, parking lot full of rocks and weeds for mankind

the old stomping ground 

with the regulars at the bar who regularly get stomped on;

their irregular lives that bring them there everyday regularly 

hoping to find or lose something in their looking for a hug sips 

their at the end of their rope gulps 

their elbows on the bar slumpiness 

where a “how about one on the house” request

from a decidedly obnoxious non-regular 

might be met with a roundhouse and a one way trip outside

courtesy of joe the perennially pissed off bartender/owner

but it’s time to leave all this depression 

ride the bumpy poetry of a city bus

home now; an enclave of respite from the menacing mauraders

now for some splashes of paint on the canvas 

alongside some splashes of whiskey in a glass

while engaged in this endeavor 

I’ve come to the conclusion 

that scars don’t show maturity as some say

but they do give you a rogue-like flair

Dear Diary

my teenage cousin has taken up writing lucky her
I think she probably has a lot of company

teenage girls writing poetry in pink diaries and spiral notebooks

doodles, drawings, deep feelings

kept hidden under mattresses or in closets full of stuffed animals

that no longer hold any attraction

places where mom is least likely to stumble upon them

innermost thoughts written on sacred paper

dreaming or fearing of one thing or another

in between the dances and the football games

the soccer matches and the times out with friends

innocent times confusing times heartbreaking times

many of those never live to see the light of sun splashed days

the world looks far different when your 14

your perspective is one of a limited frame of reference

she’s looked at a couple of my poems and said they were good

she’s just being nice to a cognac soaked scribbler

lots of people oughta write things down

might make them feel better

keep them from saying or doing things they shouldn’t

maybe some of them would become good poets

Full Of Woe

seems like those gray clouds following around are my only friend
they can’t touch me inside though behind blue walls

wednesday’s child is full of woe it’s been said 

I checked and I was born on a Wednesday…well, that explains it

thanks to the person who originally wrote that--

you placed a curse on whomever was born on a Wednesday so thanks, thanks a lot

afternoon full of ennui filling up a papasan chair

slats of sun lazily moving across the wooden floor while they listen to steely dan

pretty soon it’s dark and the neighbors lights are on

and they’re talking about how their day was over dinner

I’m drinking my dinner and caught up in a big wonder

later, lots of coffee with old jazz records spinning 

their spectrums of color gloriously on the turntable

no I ain’t misbehavin’ fats, I’m being good and good is boring

no wild makes Jack a dull guy

so I head over to the Holiday Inn cantina

the music’s worse over there and people look and act like corpses

but at least there’s something different to look at

Ms. Professional downing a double manhattan 

after another fun filled day I’m sure

and over in the corner 

a couple that desperately needs a room

I need another drink 

Souls Onboard

tombstones in the trees surrounded by dead leaves
forlorn footstone in the rain, practically covered in dirt and encroaching grass;

have you no one to look after you?

the dog reading my mind…it’s gone beyond being mysterious

now it’s downright mystical cosmos paranormal spooky

interesting that when I watch some airplane crash shows

they sometimes refer to an aircraft having for example - 154 ‘souls’ on board…

154 souls were lost

to me, it makes it sound creepier -

a soul is a mysterious thing

you may encounter your soul one day on a long late afternoon walk 

with long late afternoon shadows reaching into you

and pulling out things you never knew you had inside of you

as a chilly wind comes up and a feeling overtakes you

you’re not in control

or maybe you discover a sliver of it

sailing into tempestuous skies ahead in an already battered vessel taking on water

finding out what you’re made of so to speak

tougher than a two dollar steak

of soft like an uncooked hamburger

German Lunch

a freezing night and a fresh batch of stars
harvest moon, reap no joy from me

gotta dig deep in my torn pocket if I even got any

laying in the dewy green grass

fast forward to mourning--alarm rings --- not looking forward to this

I was supposed to go an interview downtown for a job I really didn’t want

but I don’t wanna go don’t cha know so I won’t

instead I think I’ll go the Berghoff for lunch

some wienerschnitzel and an old fashioned german bock beer

the kind my old man drank many sundowns ago

in his brown easy chair in front of the tv in the walnut wood paneled den

watching some hockey or football or whatever

yelling at the tv like they can really hear him

then I’ll hang around a couple of old haunts for some more drinks

buying drinks for the ghosts

still fascinated by watching the drawbridges in downtown Chicago operate

up and down to let the big boats by

see the rich and famous or rich anyway on their yachts

see the rich and famous or infamous walking around on michigan avenue

but hey take a right at jealousy road and you’ll end up in bittertown

life ain’t fair but why would anyone think it should be?

should of caught the 3;15 or 4;25 or 5;15 home but what the hell

the trains run all night and so will I, so will I

Eyes Of An Artist

you see red but I see cherry, blush, merlot, and rose
I’m always seeing stuff like that

neon of the new shining and flashing; 

scat singing boldly with the music of the night at the speed of sound

in the clubs and in the bars where you can see the stars

I must do my part…no bar left behind

I’ll have the usual and if you don’t have that, I’ll take what you got

scotch, gin -- that’s the mood I’m in

no matter what time it is, it’s later than you think

so sup up and have another

tonight’s dream/nightmare will be sponsored by cognac

all rights reserved, no republication without written consent

emptying a bottle and listening to the tom-toms of the rain on the windows

the wind is blowing with criminal intent

/*-*/

here it was after 2 a.m. and Miss Sagittarius walks in the place

I’ll be going home with Miss Superbuzz though

with her leather jacket and tight jeans of blue and whiskey breath

when the morning weasels its way through the crooked blinds in my room

she’ll be long gone down the road waiting for me the next night

I can find her standing behind a bar somewhere

what label will she be wearing tonight?

it should be illegal for there to be unhappiness in the world

I may be in the gutter but my spirit is in the milky way

riding along in the sparkle of constellations and galaxies

I may not have much, but I’m probably happier than most men

Train Horns

train horns always sound angry except when they sound lonesome
on rainy nights when they’re riding a lonely stretch of track

and they cry out in anguish 

in the georgia, indiana, or wherever darkness

and you’re laying in bed under comforting covers 

and the sound is hauntingly far away

echoing off sides of mountains, hills

creeping over trestles

meandering across the meanderer

wonder where it’s going//freight or passenger?

carrying cars, coal, lumber, sugar?

or people riding the rails in no hurry comfort

going from point a to point b

via points c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j, k, and a lot of others

too numerous to name, too forgotten to remember 

through little towns where the highlight of the day

is watching the train pass through

past roadside markets, and dilapidated barns 

with painted on advertisements falling down

and cows --

cows just staring or paying no attention

innocent animals who like jazz

and boys who have run half a mile when they hear the train coming

standing within a few feet of the rails

catching the glorious aroma of creosote 

watching the boxcars, the tankers, and flatbeds parade by in all their glory

boys who someday want to go somewhere

away from the farm and square dances

farmers tans and international harvesters

to the jazz supper clubs and sophistication of big city girls

not knowing how good they’ve got it now

Drunk With Sorrow

dirty hands in pockets I walk through the graveyard on the way home
a cloudy rainy day but the graves and their residents don’t mind

they’re the ones who don’t have any problems

long grass not mowed in a while

weeds choking footstones; names unreadable 

dead grass not alive for a while

something in common with those who inhabit these little pieces of the earth

among the tombstones I walk past, someone who lived to be 92

a long life, a full one

next to it marks a grave of somebody who died when they were 22

luck of the draw, luck of the draw…

there’s nothing worse than growing old except not growing old

some tombstones drunk with sorrow falling down 

or already laying on the ground passed out

they’ve fallen and can’t get up

forgotten souls

who are you laying there?

almost all of us are forgotten anyway, so what’s the diff?

new day with the hangover of yesterday hanging over it 

life; a mostly garish patchwork quilt of randomness 

that falls off the bed and lays on the unswept floor

death; a shroud of final finality or so we think so 

that brings us to the end of the line

it’s a sad world