Alcatraz Albatross

Horse track mind hobnobbing puppy dog tails and black sails and Holy Grails

Cobbling gumshoes

And shopworn personalities

But that’s tiresome

Changing a flat note

Or a deadbeat

I don’t think the police have figured out that Sirens only work on sailors

They caught Jesus once though

But He busted outta the Stony lonesome

Ben on the Lamb ever since

The prison is not built that will hold Jesus Christ!

And then they put the Vatican in the middle of Rome

Turnin’ the other cheek for all time

But monuments themselves memorials need

And if they can put a Carpenter up on a wooden Cross, imagine what they’ll do to you

And sure, Jesus ran around with prostitutes and scallywags

But who hasn’t?

Sometimes you find out you’re in love with a prostitute

And not in the way that people say we’re all whores

Some people are just actual prostitutes

But sometimes you pay to get into a relationship

And sometimes you pay to get out

And you can bet yer dick you’ll pay fast when it’s your turn

And God can put my teeth on a necklace if I’m wrong fer warning you

They say winners write the history books and losers always wanna play another hand

So, when you put out a bid, make damn sure you win

Say it together:  High, Low, Jack, Jick, Joker, Joker, Game

How long will we dance?

The unloved

Rag-and-bone

Crumpled men

With tin ears

And deerstalker hats

Tell me where to look

Merchant of Venison

Sure as Shy

Can you pick the Lock?

As you like it, Furioso

Under Heaven

Cloak of night

Is this a dagger?

To feeling as to sight

Star bright

Wish I may

Wish thou wisdom,

Wish thou might

I interviewed a man whose profession was bows and arrows

I met him at his work

It was basically just a warehouse

And he worked alone

Taking things out of big boxes and putting them in little boxes

He said he worked for some foundation

They wanted to educate people about bows and arrows

He said people who hunted with bows and arrows had a bad reputation

Because if they weren’t careful, they could leave an animal with a serious injury

And it would limp around the rest of its life with an arrow sticking out that it would never be able to get rid of

He said sometimes people would see a deer with an arrow sticking out and say, “Damn bow hunters!”

His boxes were supposed to help

And he showed me what was in them

They mostly were filled with pamphlets and stickers and patches and targets

But in one of the boxes was a video

A safety video

And he was in it

He told me he was once a great bow hunter

And many years ago, the foundation paid him a lot of money to make a video about bow hunting safety

They flew him out to some hunting lodge in another state and put him together with a woman who knew as much about bows and arrows as he did

He showed me a picture of the two of them

She was beautiful

And he was a young man

He told me he thought of her often

And that sometimes when he was alone, he would watch the video

And he would wonder what ever happened to the beautiful woman he made a video with

He looked at the picture of the two of them for a while

Until he could tell he had been looking at it for too long

Then he quickly changed the subject and asked me if I wanted to see pictures of all the animals he killed in Africa

I saw ibexes and zebras and water buffalo and beasts I’d never seen before

He told me about their habits and the best way to kill each one with a bow and arrow

He said in Africa you had to watch out for snakes and the baboons with those red asses

He looked at each picture for a while

Thinking about when he was young

When he was a great bow hunter

When he was flown around the world and handed money to kill ibexes and make videos

When he knew a beautiful woman who knew as much about bows and arrows as he did

When I walked out, I could see him through the front window 

Going through his boxes

Limping around

With an arrow sticking out that he would never be able to get rid of 

They came roaring in a tumbleweed cabbage patch

Pestled in dust bowl foxing

God chose every soul and cut their teeth on falling knives they caught like colds

Those old radios hummed ’round black pot doldrums

Granting iodine laughs on open wound rooms

Darning their socks with light bulb teardrops and thread from a child-sized sweater that no one could bring themselves to talk about

Jacks-of-all-trade with Roger-that precision

Dreaming of trips overseas in all the worst ways

The only travel their gray eyes would ever know

So, they settled down on a slow dance promise, waitin’ ‘round for those Irish Twins and kids to raise the kids

Those farm hands and soup-churners moonlighting book-learnin’ on the back of the well-worn sod of a pentagenarian century

Tilling the family business while the world worked on growing fast enough to give ’em an out

Crouched under desks, having not yet learned to love the bomb, hoping they would get to ring that church bell on Sunday just one more time

Mikes and Marys cruising drag in fast cars behind the slow gait of a history book heavy as a shield

Till they were swooped up and repotted in jungles or grindstone kissing booths on a steady climb out of obscurity

Ever closer to the wheel

Should they sacrifice shoulder and heel

For that love calling children a dividend in a middle class they invented 

Replete with vaccines and microchips and be-anything-you-want-to-be-blues

Whose grandfathers died in Europe

Whose fathers broke their backs at the mill

Still toiling away in a quiet pile of snapshots on a forgotten floor somewhere

Still mooring creation

May all our sons be artists 

Raisin brain plug the drain of the white bled rug burn eyes

Spike the drink like a railroad

Tie me up fe fi fo Ein zwei drei Stein fum Rose En rouge violets are Bridge vier-de-lis fünf sechs zed on morning sun cheek bones

Welterweight with a belt sander measuring tape

Everybody fears death like it’s all a penny arcade

Honeysuckle sickle sweet relief for the sibyl

Find religion

Find incision

Plant the Holy Ghost in a chip in your arm

Solve God’s crossword puzzle and send in your answers to The Editor

Sleight of hand exclusive access to truth; Who’s in charge?

No rebuttal to ad hominem barbs

Pupil spotlight on if you choose to accept this mission

Die, re-die, level-up, keep accepting

Glamorously glib crib Barbarella Barabbas

Day of the week keeps running its mouth; Grok?

Roger go; throttle up

Say there’s something and we’ll sleep well at night

Unless the fear keeps us from leaving our beds

Nail us to a purpose

Nail us to a

purpose

Nail us

to a 

pur

po

s

e 

I sat down at a café in Paris

The man sitting at the table next to me welcomed me to his country

I told him I was in Versailles earlier that day

He asked me what I thought

“It seemed like a bit much,” I said.

He said they took half of France’s money to make it

And then he asked me if I saw any toilets in the palace

I hadn’t

He said there weren’t any

He said they used to shit in boxes and throw them out the window

“Yeah, why not?” I laughed.

“All those rooms,” he said, “…and not a single toilet.”

“Well, sure, toilets are for the poor.”

He said the world is falling apart today

He said Capitalism is to blame

Said it makes the rich richer

I wondered if it makes them rich enough to shit in boxes 

Je me suis assis dans un café à Paris

Un homme s'assied à une table voisine, me souhaitant la bienvenue dans son pays

Je lui ai dit que j'étais à Versailles très tôt dans la journée

Il me demanda alors ce que je puis en penser

"C'était un peu beaucoup", dis-je.

Il s'exclama, me disant qu'ils avaient pris la moitié du capital de la France pour sa construction

Et puis il me demanda si j'ai pu y apercevoir de quelconques toilettes dans le palais

Ce n'était pas le cas

Il me dit qu'il n'y en avait pas

Il me dit que les nobles utilisaient des boites pour chier, puis les jeter par la fenêtre 

"Sans doute, pourquoi pas?", dis-je en rigolant.

"Toutes ces pièces", dit-il, "... et pas une seule toilette."

"Bien, sûr, les toilettes sont pour les pauvres."

Il me dit que de le monde s'effrite aujourd'hui 

Et que la seule cause à blâmer est le Capitalisme

Il a dit ça fait des riches encore plus riche

Je me demanda alors si ça faisait d'eux des gens assez riches pour pouvoir chier dans des boites 

I drank Pălincă with a man in the folded hills of Romania

Where the clouds hang on every piece of topography

And the sunsets are turquoise and jade, and they blanket the sunflower fields and Communist cicatrix alike, and they look like the sound an orchestra makes when it’s warming up while the stars prepare to take their place on the stage of the blue night sky

We were near the border of Serbia

At the edge of town where the eyes of wolves and boars can be seen through the tree line

And a man’s eyes can be seen through the rim of a shot glass

Me and this man

A man with man’s hands

Put to use in the way that God reasoned we’d need them in the first place

We sat in the house he built with those hands, in those folded hills, on a gravel road that leads into that forest with eyes

And while his dog was biting my feet, and the dice he was rolling were grinding my teeth, his daughter shot me looks

And his wife made piles of schnitzel she stacked on a plate like flapjacks

And his mother-in-law talked to the chickens out back like they were all in big trouble

And the Pălincă flowed

And you drink it up to your nose, and it bites your damn throat and burns all the way to the bottom of your gut, and everything gets real hot, and the sweat on your forehead drips into your glass

But when that man smacks his lips and unscrews the cap on the bottle for another pour, looking at you with those vibrant eyes, saying through a big smile in his heavy accent that life is good, you know he’s right

And it’s all Pălincă

And it’s all Romania

Da 

Am băut Pălincă cu un bărbat în dealurile pliate din România

Unde norii atârnă pe fiecare bucata de topografie

Și apusurile de soare sunt turcoaz și jad și acoperă ca o pătură câmpurile de floarea-soarelui și tot odată și cicatricea comunistă și ele arată ca sunetul pe care îl face o orchestră atunci când se încălzește în timp ce stelele se pregătesc să-și ia locul pe scena cerului albastru de noapte

Am fost aproape de granița cu Serbia

La marginea orașului, unde ochii lupilor și vierilor pot fi văzuți prin linia copacilor

Iar ochii unui bărbat pot fi văzuți prin marginea unui pahar de shot

Eu și acest om

Un om cu mâini bărbătești

Puse la lucru în modul în care Dumnezeu a știut de la început că vom avea nevoie de ele 

Am stat în casa pe care a construit-o cu acele mâini în dealurile astea pliate pe un drum pietruit care duce la ochii din pădure

Și în timp ce câinele lui îmi mușca picioarele și zarurile pe care le rula îmi scrâșneau dinții, fiica lui îmi arunca priviri

Și soția lui a făcut grămezi de schnitzel pe care le-a așezat pe o farfurie ca niște clatite

Și soacra lui vorbea în curte cu găinile ca și cum toate ar fi fost în mare necaz

Și Pălinca curgea

Și o bei până la nas și iti mușcă gâtul și arde până la capătul intestinului și totul devine foarte fierbinte și transpirația de pe frunte se scurge în paharul tău

Dar când acel om își ţuguie buzele și deşurubează capacul sticlei pentru a turna din nou, uitându-se la tine cu ochii aceia pătrunzători, spunând cu un puternic accent și cu un zâmbet larg că viaţa este bună, știi că are dreptate

Și totul este Pălincă

Și totul este România

Da 

You don’t have to worry

How I’m gettin’ home

Got more time than money

But no place to go

I run outta toothy smiles

Man, I’m tired of lookin’ fricasseed

But I’m fixated on a harpy

Won’t give me no heartbeat

My mind needs shelter or a hobby

If there’s a better way to live

I ain’t found it yet

Just a million ways to be unhappy

Yeah, I run around

Stealin’ looks, robbin’ cradles

Findin’ meat for my hooks

Drinkin’ bars under the table

And if I don’t read that Good Book

I’ll be in jail or chewin’ on a bite o’ rope

Biding my time till I swing

By hiding

If there’s a better way to live

I ain’t found it yet

Just a million ways to be unhappy

But as my hair fades to that tombstone gray

I know you’ll never change me

But I want you to try 

She fit my frame

Breathing in reason to live

It all started with a Face

A Private pivot away

All my ties are cauterized

And I am whole

Again

For once

So, go West, young woman!

Find yourself a cage

Realize your agency in actual evacuation

And I am just a detail

And I am just a subplot

I thought we were cutting clocks

By taking a leap

I thought we were cutting clocks

But my calendar’s trying to lose weight on me

O her stem glass wrist went limp

I can’t make her pulse quicken

Talk to me

Who’d expect indifference when I’ve collared the leash?

Yeah, we ran around

We ran around for a little while

But there’s only one pulsing specter

Calling me back

Hovering above me in dreams

At the tips of my fingers

Just out of reach

I pulled the ripcord

Pulling at the thread

Will I be in space to meet her?

Will she ever pulse again?