Monday, March 17, 2014

Poem: Vampire


Dynamiting the firework stand,
blowing sparks at the gas pump he
lives the life of immolation.

The sun hangs from a barren tree.

Two-bit sorrow meant for
race-car drivers, Everest climbers,
occupational drunks.
You knew the price.

Death stalks tiny innocents,
genetic casino losers who never
once put the gun in their mouths.

We love the reaper with all
our hearts, call it flag,
call it glory, saint, hero,
daredevil, messiah. We
love it because it is not ours.

Crème brulee on the
nightmare square. Tell us
how he did it. Show us the parts.
The holes, the marks, blood,
semen, ligature, laceration,
blunt trauma. Make us
feel better.

I have a gift for you.
Open it slowly. Savor, measure,
study, indulge.
Someday I will take it back.

From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV

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