rosaries

do you know that
fairy hells retch silvered ribbon on want road
which spins aloft on a perilous wind
of delicate and deadly fire
leaden wishes pound underneath dulled skin

I tell you
string love pearls and white seed and lunar lust
to crown desire with human frailties that gape
like the maw of baby robins or sharks

shut flowers evening terrors will yield and
onions disrobe revealing layer upon layer
of the softer core - the stuff insides are made of
constellations shiver in hot nights sweats
and drip snowdrops or molasses drops
onto our tongues from fluid seas
that cross the cosmic barrier eternal

we offer our bodies to be broken as bread
and shared on an unforgiving glass bed
our alter... that shatters far too easily
trembling lips wait...
for the exotic, erotic wine of communication
your wine on my tongue
my wine on your tongue

I promise you that then love becomes
plum-colored, soft and mossy
deep burgundy brown, glassy black
with leafy moistness, like dew in the deep dark forest
it's sweetened within the mind and heart
but lingers on the tongue
as the flavors of bitter and salt

I tell you we see but darkly
through eyes of grayed steel wool
as metaphoric hammers slam inside
sanity's skull, leaving us weak and ill

string onion flower emotions,
snowdrop plums, molasses rapture
robin frailties, glass bed beads and
whatever else you need for your prayers on your rosaries
the mallets will still slam us
string your beads that click and
wear away from constant fingering
string them on those silvered ribbons
you stole from fairy hells
leave us... sane
we all must click and pray, click and pray
and click and click, and pray and pray
damn you, I said "pray!!!"

---

Joplin, Mo

single file line of
cars, trucks, semis
one booth open
they stop and get a
ticket for the toll
to Joplin, Mo.
why in the hell am I here?
engines race
anxious to charge
through the gate
why are you here?
I wanna know!
and why in the hell am I
gunning the engine
like I had a place to go
a purpose to serve
like there was a point
to
it
all

I wanna get out and
interview the drivers
and passengers
I see myself going
to their windows
excuse me, sir, mam'
why are you here?
what's it all about?
what is the point?
no, mam', I don't want to
know about visiting Aunt Jane
mam' I want the big
picture of your life
what is your point?
mam', I mean why
the hell are you here?

sir, what is the point of it all?
what are you in a hurry
to get to? tell me sir,
so maybe I can make
some sense out of it
sense out why am I here,
cuz I surely don't know

I can see myself walking past
their windows looking into
sunglassed reflections of me
glasses to filter out the
"sun's big picture"
hell, they don't know either
no answers here
only vacant eyes and vacant heads
where are the wise ones,
when you need them?

tapping fingers on the dash
fingering coins
lighting one cig from
the butt of the last one
wanting to reach into the
cooler for a cold one
change the channel to
jazz to lift my spirits
I wait till this urge passes
cuz I know they don't
know anything -
this craziness of wanting
answers from strangers
from anyone
do you hear me?
I'm desperate
for some answers !!

attendant sticks ticket
in my window
clearing my throat
I begin, "excuse me"
empty eyes tell all
what the hell...
I gun the engine and
race on through
like everybody else
on to Joplin
the fool in me is hoping
maybe Joplin's
got answers
somewhere
somebody must...
I'll keep looking

I wanna know and
why in the hell am
I gunning the engine
like a had a place to go
a purpose to serve
like there was a point
to it

all.

---

plaster and plastic

white plaster Mary
flesh painted face
blue painted shawl
hands and arms outstretched
a gesture of supplication, acceptance
by the front door
on the rickety porch
in the yard with the withered grass
sucked dry of all green life
in the grass with the broken rocking horse
rusted bed frame and lawn chairs
she gestures supplication
to the dead
she gestures acceptance
to the cast off and forgotten

would she protect you, comfort you,
supply you and be your caretaker?
when no one else will?

we're all lost in a marble and stone cemetery
of labyrinth roads
all leading around,
and back and across
linking - leading us where?
to the bright plastic flowers
of regret and remembrance?
is it in or out for us?

but Mary is not here - nor is she there
neither is the facsimile silver plastic Jesus
that dances from rear view mirrors,
hanging, dangling like a doggie toy
does he guide you like a compass?
with his outstretched arms
pointing in opposite directions
you must truly believe and have faith
in something that is not plastic or plaster

is it all a plot of artificial things
plastic and plaster fabrications
to take revenge and inflict pain and suffering
on that which is real and has a soul - us...
or is it just a perpetual sadness
that lifts only for a moment
like a fog allows us a brief glimpse beyond,
into what we don't know?
perhaps it is written
within some forgotten chamber
of the human heart
this hungering, this constant longing
witten in secret writing
that neither I nor anyone else can translate

Mary, wipe that smooth look off you face,
open your plaster lips and answer me.
if love is not enough,
if family and friends are not enough
then... what is...

enough?