dmseay

d’ya ‘member time we went ta’ Memphis an’ all hell broke loose ‘tween them coloreds an’ da’ white boys o’er at that diner on da’ South side ah’ town…

 no…do not…

all dat’ screamin’ an’ cursin’ ta’ one anotha’ like dey was a bunch ‘ah’ wild injuns on a war path…out ‘ta kill Custer dey was…

sure that was Memphis pop…

wait…wait…wait just a minute…naw…dat was over in Carolina…da’ Blue Ridge Mountains all covered in leaves…autumn’s blanket…

uh…really dad…

yep…dem’ niggers kept mouthin’ off ta’ da’ white boys an’ dem white boys…bunch ah’ no good trailer trash cross burnin’ mothas’ dem selves was not gonna let-up…

don’t recall this dad…

well…it’s true boy…it’s true…saw wit’ my own two eyes…

Carolina…

uh…mmmm….maybe it was Detroit city when I was up ta’ no good…way from you an’ mom for a while…lookin’ for some kinda’ work ta’ put food on da’ table for all ah yall…

sure pop…O.K. ….

boy dem’ niggers put up a fight too…nothin’ worse than an emancipated negra…think dey gots ta’ world comin’ to ’em…

gotta go pop…

where’s ya’ taken-off ta’…

don’t know…don’t know…

ya’…comin’ back…

sure…sure…goodnight….

keep da’ door unlocked…

’round Manhattan…Montreal…Paris…a woman in mind…

skyline pictures…bridges over rivers…bays…taking me to you…always to you…

statues  keeping company with lonely souls…roses left behind…wine on lips…she is always near…a drink away…

i read Bukowski on Love…Ginsberg in madness…Miller’s prophecies coming true…world collapsing…the skyisfalling theskyisfallingtheskyisfalling…falling…falling…

and i…i think of you…

Maine’s September chill..long ago…used to talk…

pleaded…begged…actions unbecoming…for what…for what…

saw a boardwalk…tall grass wind-blown…song by Cousteau…on the last good day of the year…t’was…

ate…slept…drank…read…cried…laughed…howeled…yes…howeled…at a moon bouncing off waters…’tween tides…waiting…waiting…

to be saved again…from myself…searching for faith…something…

not in the business of salvation…never your bag…and i…i was a fool who thought…thought…

should’ve bought stock in the moon…ocean…waving weeds…trumpets blowing through tinny speakers…Riverside Records…

but… didn’t…didn’t…

asked ya’ to save my soul…asked…

never…never get somethin’ for nothin’…a price left at the alter…

laughs heard clear out east…

this we do in remembrance of you…remembrance of you…

began a poem ’bout wind…playgrounds…mom’s swinging kids high in the air…slides of different colors…trees in autumnal hue…

started that poem…quickly decided…,God….this is fucking aweful…truly horrendous…what the hell is wrong with me..

then.. read some Flannery O’Connor…i felt so much better…

THE END.

morning…sun has not awakened…streets asleep from night’s pounding…no strollers…nor buyers or dealers…just quiet…quiet…

jazz from far away…memories…Madison Park…Bryant…Central…Washington Square…

walks alone…listening…tuned-into surroundings and bop…surroundings and bop…

sitting in libraries…reading Joyce…Beckett…Shepard…poets an’ prophets…poets an’ prophets…

crazies talkin’ to the moon on street corners…drunks…junkies…an’ drag queens out for a buck…Port Authority toilets overflowing…the shit in America starts at 42nd Street…

and it is morning…jazz from Jersey comes in waves…i am elsewhere…elsewhere…

not here…there…floating…floating…wandering in an’ outta darkness…

not ready for light…never wanting light…

do not wait on me shining candle..

i will be gone…

he sat on a back-stoop…this white kid with a shaved head…cigarette behind an ear…lookin’…just lookin’…

a yard made of gravel…junkers parked along the side…rap music blasting outta SUV’s… rollin’ up and down Calhoun…goin’ nowhere…

every once in a while the kid would laugh…not at anyone…or…anything…he’d just laugh…

maybe he was laughin’ ’bout a joke he saw on his phone…perhaps he laughed ’cause ah the whiskey he took from mom made her curse…coulda’ just laughed to be laughin’…

down the alley…an old black guy sneaks behind a tore-up house ta’ take a piss…looks ’round ever’ once in a while…nobody comin’…he struggles back to the streets…duckin’ and dodgin’…lights a Philly…he laughs too…

an’ over in the yard next door…all these Mexican workers are drinkin’ Tecate…shots of Cuervo…pass to the next guy…music plays…laughs…laughs…laughs…their bones ache…they just keep-on laughin’…

i sit here…eyes flippin’ from kid to black guy to Mexicans to kid to black guy to Mexicans to kid to black guy to Mexicans….

till i laugh…till i laugh…

see ya tomorrow…

yes….yes…so…yes…

it comes to this…

right…

you think…

no…no I do not…

huh…

huh…these choices…choices you made…not me…you…you made these decisions…and what was created…

tell me…

nothing…zelch…absolute zero in any way shape or form…

we all…

no….no we do not all…

you’ve never…

let me answer that….no….

and it comes to this…

yes…this…

huh…

huh…

when do you…

now…now….

can’t even…

now….

give me a minute…

now…

…..O.K. ….

good luck….

really…

no….not really…just a formality…

huh…

yes…huh…

so lonely…

away from you…and you …and you…

all gone…

there was my best man…a friend from youth…a songwriter now pushing booze to Lincoln Park patrons of fine single malts…

gone…

a chef who i cooked with…drank till dawn in dives when Wicker Park was edgy…he too was edgy…put on a helium helmet and told all goodbye…

gone…

mom…yes…her…well…never…

gone…

this Ugandan with a penchant for Bukowski and Tom Wolfe…went through women like a madman in an asylum goes through pills…always in search of the America his family fled to…

gone…

sanity…the ability to reason… plan…now replaced with visions of nothing but words running a gauntlet after midnight on a page next to a twin bed…

gone…

and i have stayed…through mere misses…near deathly departures…round after round after round of drifting along from one city to the next…

i am not gone…i am here…

done…a myth ended…ever exist…hard ‘ta say…hard ta’ say…got somethin’ comin’…don’t count on it…

lou was right…a bus-load of faith is needed… no family…churches… nothing  but sheltered taxes an’ budgets…what’s the bottom line…

an alcoholic’s safehaven  built ‘cross from a liquor store…foodstamps limited…forms are needed…murder always a block away…

and what…the senior class office sought  by two opportunists…two fakes…two salesmen…statesmanship gone…##fuckme…tweet that…

i lie here…under blankets…gunshots heard…in the arms of no-one…no-one…

not even a country…

taking in surroundings of this…this…
a Catholic Church on the corner…taqueria one block over…stained-glass gazed at by two…

porches with homeboys hangin’…alleyways open for business…isn’t everyone…

and girls walk in a dance-like step with ear- buds blazin’…texting in cadence…heads lowered…never coming up for air…we move-on…

transactions behind dumpsters…he goes his way…she…another…no numbers exchanged…just roll one on an’ hope for the best…

yes black lives matter…yes the city melts…yes the scales tip to the rich…yes many go hungry…yes thugs are stupid…yes cops commit crimes…and yes…i am done…done…finally finished…

a Catholic church on a corner…taqueria one block over…

this is where i live…

this is where i live…