(if you would like some music as you read please play   (You're Heart's Been Down This Road (c.2013 Worthy-Jurkovic)


Two Wives Ago

It’s a beautiful thing. Stockpiled.
Vacuum sealed. Purchased a little each pay day
for the last fifteen years
and two wives ago. Neither could see
my reasoning so I gave up trying.
You can only save yourself in the end.
Everyone else drains your resources.

Dated. Rotated. Each 50mm can
checked monthly for corrosion.
In this room mostly corn meal
and 50lb bags of sugar.
A tunnel to the highway
shelved floor to ceiling
w/corn and tuna.

In this room alone, my water.


Two Doors Down

There is no corner house
for your latest desire but there is
a cozy duplex, just off Main,
behind the shoe repair
and water department. Two doors down
there's a cute artisanal bakery
where cupcakes become dreams
and a toothless man rails for mince.

The Dutch Apple Chocolate
is sometimes dry. Other than that
it's a quiet town, sunny and white,
where Kalashnikovs make wealth
and Lotto governs the poor.
The ringleader lights his flaming hoops
as lost girls play hopscotch w/religion
in their earbuds.

The way is cleared for the prophet.
The riser erected. The carpet tacked down.
The faithful stampede. Bring their kids to the show.
Tomorrow could be the be all and end all
but it's still just a staircase, a footnote.
A cheap sleight of hand God sometimes uses
then overdubs strings. Then on Wednesday
the town board votes and on Thursday
another mass shooting.

w/Will Nixonthrallin


Screaming Jay Hawkins and Me in Our Prime

I'm lost in a parking lot on the left coast
w/an Afghan Kush and Grey Goose buzz
when Screamin' Jay Hawkins
jumps the Sierra's screaming:
"What can I do w/eighty-six kids
'n each momma wantin’ my jam?!"
"Get in motherfucker!" I salvo,
kicking the gas like a mule bucks gravity.

Hurling down coastal route one
w/an oft-subpoenaed legend in my car doesn’t faze me.
Hell no! I expect these things from time to time,
the brain unhinged, the whole world gone batshit.
Screamin’ Jay riffing in the passenger seat is no more nuts to me
than dumping poisons in the ocean to my left. Its vast sky
full w/the moans of our daughters’ womb engines,
pumping out pilots, privates, and warlords
no one believes can win anymore.


Weak Reeds

Sometimes it all seems so
prolonged. Protracted. Extended
beyond its natural life.
Sometimes the situations are so forced
you resent the abuse. The push 'n pull.
The shove 'n shank.
Sometimes all you hear is the clock
and the fridge making ice. Maybe a dying nightlight
exposes a clue. Maybe, if you just surrendered your checkbook,
it would all go away.



We'd progressed to the point
of extinction. So per her suggestion
I fuck myself and grab an' espresso.
Children of the pestilence
say the darnedest things.



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