good ways to die
like johnny depp in "from hell"
dying in an opium-den in the late 1800's
drowning is supposedly
preferable to burning in flame
ascending too quickly
from depths of ocean too,
the head just
explodes, instantaneous
a suicide
bomber -- bang
without
echo, just intense light forever.
green leaves
it is a clear & pronounced progression
from the bare brown trees of erie county
down interstate 79 south one hundred & twenty
miles trees are beginning to bud open
like little green flames
we drive sixty-five thru
the start of bug-splattering
against the windshield
& raindrops, not ice or snowflakes.
spring is a spinning
woman. maybe she's drunk,
but by god she surges with ecstacy.
spring is a dollop of cum
on her thigh in open-window,
wet-screen morning:
listen to dripping
spill of rain
i shiver, arching on our bed.
ah, spring cum & the smell
of her hair. deep within her
she's a young girl, 19.
i can't say the same for me.
i age daily, hourly,
irrevocably.
opening day
opening day of trout it's black
outside, dripping rain. birds are
still singing, warbling around
sounds of pre-dawn wetness. it's
58 degrees, foggy, early april.
i'm back about 5 years ago
& doug's leading me over dangerous
arrays of boulders down by greengarden
park -- a little creek runs thru it.
we follow the water under bridges,
we ascend & climb guard-rails,
cross a highway, carrying our poles
& supplies. we pass other
people also climbing over rocks
& things with their fishing-gear.
it's happening right now,
i'm sure of it,
even in this light, steady rain.
good chance
there is a good chance we'll be watching
the movies of interstate seventy-nine
tomorrow heading south to pittsburgh
& spruce court condominiums.
otis, when standing, is easily
7 feet tall. ann is a straight 5 feet.
otis loves jumping onto her,
his paws over her shoulders in a very
friendly dog way.
it's bart's dog, after all.
bart, the great corrupter of
21st century poets. what is history
ever going to say
about bart solarcyzk?
i rarely spell his last
name right -- i never
remember! z or s?
meantime, we chug green
cans of rolling rock
from new heavy thick drinking glasses.
i'll phone bart within a few hours.
i urge everyone on this board
to make a pilgrimage
to pittsburgh, to see bart as
bluto.
brutus.
a large drunk
polish middle-aged man.
if he's happy
with you,
& what is in the
bowl, we are comrades.
we
are
bart's doktor frankensteen
creation.
he sits
on his new couch.
i sit on his love-seat.
otis sits on ann beside me.
vitaminized
downing a centrum
size of a small football
or a trout
with chug of ann's
iced tea
we imagine we rectify
existence
with happiness &
health -- we do nothing
whatsoever
to postpone
our end. repair
is
all
illusion.
15 miles from erie
we're singing with marvin
pontiac, loud, heading north,
back home, in our rain-clean'd
jeep well before sundown,
especially within this terror
of daylight savings time.
it's been a trip of adventure
& gleefulness.
we're so happy
not to be so hungover
this drive -- not like
last time. tho tami's
double hydrogen molecule coffee
sparked us up enough to get us
like a ricochet'd red moon
back to erie. this time
we're healthy, relatively sane,
well-rested. but piss
becomes an issue -- & the rest stop
at slippery rock exit mysteriously
disappears so i'm red-face'd eyes-bulge'd
from a full & ready-to-burst tip of
cock -- pull off the side of
an exit road, blinkers blink,
i unzip to piss in a wide-mouth
juice bottle telling ann to turn.
she turns & i unzip
but my frantic cock does not fit
at all, i'll piss all over my hands
& legs if i let the flow go,
i am a tense electric ghost,
i drive, squirming, a back road,
turn off fast into a car-wash,
into a stall, i stand outside the
driver's door & i oh so wonderfully
piss into the open drain all steamy
& muddy & wet,
i groan oh darling this is
perfect you can look
i say into a crack of my window.
ann peeks up,
beaming a smile.
we agree what a great idea this is
finding a car-wash as a
place to piss on the road
especially in the rain
of an april day
on interstate seventy-
nine. then at bart's:
to be able to
piss into a clean,
pink-peach toilet,
less frenetically.
returning home
pissing again at an
easily-available state-run
rest-stop bathroom,
15 miles from erie
thick
pea-soup
fog
as if the entire lake
is a ghost laying
down across
our moving lives,
& i don't slow
down,
we sing
almost screaming,
smiling.
click to view movie/poem - eggs