inside each child

Inside each child
there is a rock star,
and as the child grows
the rock star gets sick
and eventually dies.

So there is a
dead rock star
inside each adult,
still smelling like perfume
and last night’s booze.

It’s painful to carry
this corpse around,
so also inside each adult
is a middle-aged pastor
who has a shovel

and a bible
and will be happy
to conduct a funeral
of sorts. But
inside that pastor

there is a rock star
who is very much alive
and ready to rock.
His name is Jesus Christ.
He used to be with

the twelve apostles,
but he’s
been doing a lot
of solo stuff
lately.

theophany

Past the swath of the horizon
God lingers—or lurks, more like,
way up in the air with his son.

No one can really see either of them,
though we can see the swath okay
with its fire by night, smoke by day;

farmers and ranchers have divvied
it up. It’s no longer interesting
to us, just a flat gulf. In the city

where I live there is a lot of crime.
I don’t even know why I’m
telling you all this. We get

the sense (my wife and me) that God’s
left us here, though in theory
we know that he manages every

feather on every one of the birds,
keeps each soft gusset in its place,
even as he grays the hairs of our heads.

God’s gone dark but still he ranges
like a huge, invisible Jesse James,
beyond the edges of what we can see—

or so we reassure each other as we
take out the trash, butter our toast,
and the sun continues rising, rising.

fall 1988

symphony

Sometimes we run out of things to say
(not the “royal we”—the men and women
who live in his head) and just want to sleep.

Sometimes we’re hungry and you’re not there
to feed us. Sometimes we need a bunch of hugs.
We’re stuck in this dorky man’s head like bugs

stuck to that sticky bug paper, still alive.
Sometimes we wish we each had a car
and could drive to the beach and back

blasting Van Halen. And sometimes—
sometimes we pretend we’re martians
and speak to each other in gobbledygook;

blatherskite; made up words like “floogy”
and “atta toint”; and one of us lowers its head
out of one of his nostrils and waves a tiny hand

to the crowd and collects the applause
we know we deserve. The rest of us recline
on our cushions and imagine taking a bow.

fun times in stl

“Two people were killed and one was injured in an apparent robbery today of a wholesale shop at 1120 Howard Street, just north of downtown…

“All three victims were shot in a back room inside the business. Several shots were fired.

“About the same time as the shooting on Howard, two people were shot in the 4200 block of Gano. Darrell Simmons, 27, of the 4200 block of Gano, died at the scene. William J. Rhodes, 37, 4200 block of Lexington Avenue, died later at a hospital.

“Then at 7:15 p.m., another man was killed about three blocks away from the shooting on Gano. The man was shot in the head as he stood in a parking lot in the 4100 block of Grand Boulevard, police said.”

excerpted from an stltoday.com report

edson

.
A HISTORICAL BREAKFAST
by Russell Edson

     A man is bringing a cup of coffee to his face, tilting it to his mouth. It’s historical, he thinks. He scratches his head: another historical event. He really ought to rest, he’s making an awful lot of history this morning.
     Oh my, now he’s buttering toast, another piece of history is being made.
     He wonders why it should have fallen on him to be so historical. Others probably just don’t have it, he thinks, it is, after all, a talent.
     He thinks one of his shoelaces needs tying. Oh well, another important historical event is about to take place. He just can’t help it. Perhaps he’s taking up too large an area of history? But he has to live, hasn’t he? Toast needs buttering and he can’t go around with one of his shoelaces needing to be tied, can he?
     Certainly it’s true, when the 20th century gets written in full it will be mainly about him. That’s the way the cookie crumbles–ah, there’s a phrase that’ll be quoted for centuries to come.
     Self-conscious? A little; how can one help it with all those yet-to-be-born eyes of the future watching him?
     Uh oh, he feels another historical event coming . . . Ah, there it is, a cup of coffee approaching his face at the end of his arm. If only they could catch it on film, how much it would mean to the future. Oops, spilled it all over his lap. One of those historical accidents that will influence the next thousand years; unpredictable, and really rather uncomfortable . . . But history is never easy, he thinks. . .

copped from Web Del Sol
.

reading tonight

Tonight’s the night! I’m reading poetry at Lucas School House before Leslie’s show…

water potatoes

I would sell you gumballs, girl,
But all I have are these fluvial bunnies.

“River rabbits” I suppose you’d call them.

.
(April, 2003)

nj buzz

Here’s a story in the TCNJ Signal that mentions my reading for INK. It may have helped my stage presence that the rental car was a zippy 2007 Infiniti G35—which was wrecked by an errant tractor-trailer the next morning.

Late-breaking update: One of the students sent me a link to her photographs from the reading. They’re really good!!

car names deemed “too academic”

Subaru Syllabus AWD
Isuzu Interview
Lexus Lecturer 400
Toyota Tenure Trak 4WD
Buick Bachelor of Science
Audi Assistantship 2.2
Volvo Voc-Tech CX
Honda Hermeneutics Hybrid
Chevy Curriculum 250
Pontiac Professor
Dodge Dissertation Defense V8
Chrysler Course Calendar Convertible
Acura Academic LS
Nissan Research (same as Infiniti Inquiry)
Mazda M.F.A.
Ford Fellowship SE

cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

local buzz

So I finally rated a mention in Deb Peterson’s Post-Dispatch gossip column, albeit on the coattails of Leslie Sanazaro. I wish Deb had included an adjective or two… like “ballin’” or “tight.” At least it’s now official that I’m moving to Cali.

By the way, I’m thrilled to be appearing with Leslie, an immensely talented singer-songwriter whom I’ve heard perform three or four times around town, most memorably in the great hall of Union Station. She has an old-fashioned jazzy voice, just makes me feel like it’s the 1940s again. I hope there’ll be a good crowd Friday night.

wwjd

So I got rid of my WWJD wristband—
it wasn’t working. I updated to one

that says WWWMDD—“What Would
Weapons of Mass Destruction Do?”

Now, whenever I’m in a moral quandary,
I look at my wristband and imagine

that I am an annoying catchphrase
that helps my nation’s leaders justify

the razing of distant villages with daisy cutters.
When I can’t decide which path to take,

I imagine making Americans paranoid
that they might be instantly destroyed

by an insane terrorist with a scraggly beard.
This wristband sucks. You know what’s weird,

though? All the guys who wear WWJD
wristbands think it’s awesome. They’re like,

“Amen. Star wars missile defense. Patriot act.”
And all I want is my old wristband back.

my ginsberg flower

ledzep.doc

I can’t quit you
Microsoft Word

but I think I’m gonna
minimize you
to the task bar
at the bottom
of the screen
for a little while

I said you messed up
my happy home

all I’m getting is
an hourglass now