the gift
When my
sister
was here last
she left
some gifts
among them
a flat little
box for
me that I
immediately
believed
was a book
Turned out
that it was
a leather-bound
bible w/my
name engraved
in gold on
the bottom
right corner
Inside
the box was
a three-page
letter
from my sister
a very
nice letter but
one she was
not sure
might not offend
me
knowing that I
sometimes take
offense so
easily
My sister is
worried about
the state of
my soul
although she
didn’t say that
directly
but it
came through in
what she
felt was her
testimony
to me
and to
my brothers
who received
an identical
gift
She
took note that
we had
never discussed
religion
on a
personal basis
but always in
some oblique way
that removed
the personal
especially
from my angle
as I’ve
known beyond doubt
where she
stood on
the issue
I did not
take offense
reading it because
I remembered that
one year ago
today her son
was laughing
in her kitchen
full of life
and fire and
two days later he
was lying lifeless
in a morgue
broken and gone
She does not know
that I have read
the Bible
cover to cover
many times seeking
answers to questions
and sometimes I
found them but
most times I didn’t
but I have to believe
there is something
greater than
myself
or else acknowledge
that life is
meaningless and
we are merely
tinkertoys
in the hands
of blind fate
scattered in
random
fury
**
Elegy to a Tall Man Gone
-for Ben Hiatt
I was sorry to hear that you
had dragged up, old friend,
packed your bags for that
long last trip.
We had a lot in common.
Same age, both of us
rural redneck types who
somehow found the urge to write.
We both came from
families torn by strife,
had fathers who could become
monsters in the shade of alcohol.
Men rattled by the Depression
and the War, men who never
learned to love enough to
equal the hate they bore.
We grew up rough and tough,
lived life hard and fast, out on
our own young, learning
all about survival.
Too much booze, too many women,
it all became a circus
with descending rings, emptying
faster than it refilled,
A reservoir drained through
all those broken rifts, the
run-off of time spilled
out the broken edges of life.
You lost your breath finally,
after years of breathing from a tank,
the heart gave up, couldn’t carry
the burden any longer.
Put you down to silence, where
the mountain winds and
the spring sun you loved
never find an entry.
We all go finally to dark quiet.
Some call it eternal rest, this
withdrawal from the quest
to find our place here.
Smoke rattles in
my lungs this morning.
I have no tank-yet-but
I am not far behind.
I raise a cold beer to you,
Tall Man, one a head above
most of the crowd in
more ways than one.
You now know the answer
to the mystery. Soon, I
shall know it too.
May we laugh in Heaven
or hell, or in the blank space
of nothing between,
if that is our destiny.
**
America’s Birthday 2010
and I’m cowboying shots
of Kentucky blend
inside under the AC
windbags too worn
for the porch
or drowning in humidity
under God’s blue
skies
coming upon that year
of numerical percision
birth wise
that beast w/two back
inverted
the land of lore for
the nimble young
a position still pursued
by the oldster
drunk
glance at the clock
tells me it’s
don’t-give-a-fuck time
but then that’s
par for the course
it’s been so long
since I gave a fuck
I’ve forgotten what I
last gave a fuck
about
or maybe I never
ever gave a fuck
to begin with
**
Vodka
The big bottle
of vodka
rests in its little
niche
in the freezer door
right in front of
the large plastic
container
of store-bought
ice
barrel-shaped slugs
of ice from
the tobacco/beer store
not those little
fast-melting flat
chips sold
at the local market
Vodka is an old
friend with a
sweet voice that
sometimes calls me
before noon
and always calls
to me long
before sunset
though I know
that it’s always
sunset somewhere.
My once defeated
“drinking problem”
has reemerged in full
bloom, been reborn
in exquisite glory
but then at
this point it is
perfectly acceptable to
slay what’s left
of my rapidly depleting
mind
Sometimes I have
visions of Heaven
a great ocean of
neutral grain spirits
sided up to a
lake of unsweetened
grapefruit juice
all towered over
by a mountain of
ice slugs
and I think I
can hardly wait
to die
But until then
I shall answer the
call to the freezer
door at times
appropriate and
not
Let’s just call it
practice for
The Big Show
**
Blazing morning sun breaks
The vault of night, spreads among
A million worlds beyond my sight,
whispers among universes unknown.
Day comes to touch these rolling
Plains that I love and hate in equal measure,
Day that brightens this holy sod I have trod
Lo all the days of my life.
Amidst the brightness of morning nothing
Is sure but uncertainty, little is known but
That which we will never understand; the maw
Of eternity opens wide, ready to gulp,
To swallow away all that is, even the
Parts that have no name, no definition
Carved in heart or mind.
No song in mountain or valley.
I wonder where is the Omega, there
Beyond the blazing blue, yonder past
The trailer park two blocks away, awaiting
Either God’s tender mercy or the wail of
Lucifer’s hammer. They may both
Sound the same when the ends of time
Spin around.
