attacking in a different direction

i was tom sawyer in a musical
one of the drama professors had written
based on huck finn
and in the scene where we prick our fingers
with a knife and write our names
in blood
something happened at a matinee
we did at the veterans
hospital on a tiny stage all of us crowded together
none of it making much sense as
we bumped into
one another entering and leaving from stage right only
because stage left was just a fire
exit that would set off the alarm if you opened it
so i whipped out
my knife which so frightened one of the paras
on the front row that he
started screaming and yelling and racing his
wheelchair this way and that until
the orderlies finally got him cornered and put the jacket on
and dragged him away far off somewhere
in another wing
which was his favorite place they told me later
and he would use just about any excuse
to get there because
of the view of the courtyard below
where the aides liked to go on their breaks
and he had these pentax binoculars
that got him in real close especially to this one woman
from the mail room who he said
was the ghost
of a pregnant korean girl that he
had stuck in the belly and killed her and the child both
with a k bar he got off a marine only
when they would show him
a k bar and ask like this like this one here
he would say no it
was longer like the one jim bowie carried in that movie
john wayne made about the alamo
which was not accurate on a lot of things but they got that right
you don't bleeve me you can go ast her

to the woman who gave me acid

i loved the way
you walked away
as a wraith will seem to drift away
yet suddenly
there you were again the kissing
the laying on of hands
and how you convinced me
to lie face down
on the stinking
carpet next to the footrail at the bar
so you could
walk on my back with your bare feet
and heal me
heal me you said but the next day or however long
it was i knew i would
be afraid of you and those fucked up
candles for the rest
of my life

christ with his head shaved

as i sat up in bed
this morning
i saw him that way domed
and deeply tanned
like an iraq war vet not bearded but
stubble-faced sweating
behind aviator shades, wearing a ballistic cammy vest
over an olive drab tee shirt
a beretta service automatic strapped
to his thigh
and he's standing on the shore
of the sea of galilee
amid his seated hadjis all
of whom are dressed
in traditional robes, sporting beards, sandals,
long hair, etc., but seem not
alarmed at his odd appearance and he wastes no
time explaining
nor is himself surprised at the sight
of a juggler a sword swallower
a belly dancer nearby
must have washed up from that fellini film he muses
the one about the whore
with a heart of gold and a name
he can hardly ever spell right
which was another thing
about the damn romans he thought
they never took the straight path to anywhere
or gave their whores
a good christian name you could put your arms around
like mary maggie

all around

all around
hordes of people
mostly women
it seems
are writing
glorious unforgettable
prose and poetry
and every day
i learn a little bit more
that i will never
learn
enough to catch up
with them
like this morning
overcome with despair i sat down
to take a crap
but could only throw up
instead
and nearly forgot
to thank god for teaching me to hold
the waste can
between
my jittery knees

did she ever have an equal?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiDFWGoCfy8

i've put so many

i've put so many
of them down
that most of these
old man days
unlike the gattare in rome
i don't much
think about
how their little souls 
abide within me
but now and then
like when
reading molly peacock's poem
widow
i bust out bawling all over again