quit smoking for 3 days
binge on
Splenda-laced coffee cakes
inadequacy—I can barely
comprehend this week’s tv guide
my five remotes, my digital thermostat
dust devils
tease the cats
who shred the couch
(click on the tv...)
bags under her painted eyes
a soapy tear slowly rolls
aging tv queen closes the door behind her
I've had quite enough
of Wolf Blitzer
in his flak jacket & red tie
lone wolf spider
strokes his web
waits for mate
off the glittering shores of Hawaii
surfers cruise by moonlight
with the concentration to count
starfish & constellations
"LIKE SANDS THRU THE HOURGLASS,
SO ARE THE DAYS OF OUR LIVES..."
(click off the tv...)
my Reality Show:
landlocked in dirty Las Vegas
gotta get back to work
nevermind the sharks.
beyond my weathered concept of the absolute
the vehicle that goes a little less pretty
oh ugly broken nose of time
no substitute for god's green earth
to kill the painted bride i lock arms with
while the tv kicks & sputters, so 21st century
so used up years ago
with my bourbon-breath hovering just above
the mauve carpet & cats with their midnight crazies
batting away at spastic ghosts?
here to live out of meat & head &
the stars, I will not swerve
to miss the one idea that confounds conformity
(she's the most stubborn engine)—
won't turn over
when the key's shoved in
hard
needs to be caressed—oh, you smooth-talker, you
sweet sour
lothario
painter of blonde tendrils, poet of bruised groin
drummer whose skin is
a relief map of daily cancers
businessman with the Mama's Boy tattoo
the world is sizing you up
or altogether indifferent, either way
walk invisible
carry sharpened swords of double entendre
sober from dreaming all day, spirit is being accosted
by psychic vampires who demand daily sacrifice
follow voices who don't fear
a sideman's solo now & again
make friends with the bearded ladies
& the dwarfs with spaded tongues
there's power in the dead behind you
they have spoken of what you have yet to know
there's wisdom in the crack of a sidewalk
keep a palette of curses in your ass pocket
always let them see you sweat &
bide your time meticulously
when cruel slobs try so hard to bore
the shit out of you
smile a shit-eating grin
Chris D’Errico is a self-taught poet, songwriter/musician. Born in Worcester, Massachusetts, he has worked as a line cook, a doorman, a cheesemonger, and an exterminator. His poems have appeared in literary journals & online magazines, such as Nocturnal Lyric, Apricorn Anthology, Mojo Risin’, First Class Lit Mag, Las Vegas City Life (online), Tamafyhr Mountain Poetry, My Favorite Bullet, Thunder Sandwich, and Thieves Jargon. Offcenter Press published his chapbook Debris of Hearts in 2007. Chris fronts the experimental funk/blues project Sidewalk Beggar. He lives in Las Vegas, Nevada with his wife, Tracy.
Comments (closed)
Chris
2008-08-16 09:59:09
Oh boy!