Death as Life’s Lover
It’s hard to live
between life
…………………and death:
We
exercise the body,
exercise the mind,
.
exercise your right
to smoke pink lungs to black
smack my daughter up side the head
with your new! shiny! frickin’ red car!
while she sleeps, hammocked
between front yard magnolias,
YOU BASTARD! FRICKIN’ DASTARDLY DRUNK!
……………………………..(ok, write him up)
……………………………..(verdict Friday)
……………………………..(sentence pending)
.
Mainline your soul to its knees
you bastard!
pant chant-like
after me,
I want to…….. LIVE!
(if you want to live)
.
I wanna live!
I wanna live.
I wanna see the Light.
I wanna see beyond
………………….steel bars
………………….cotton mats
………………….cell jars
Hear me! …I’da be a freed MAN!
………………….father
………………….mother
………………….trucker
………………….uncle
………………….sis
born of
………………….junkies
………………….hippies
………………….bankers
………………….jesus freaks
who go to church
…………………and work
…………………and grumble
…………………and do battle
unarmed genetically;
…………………too weak
…………………too worn
…………………too torn
is this freed man,
…………………who pleads
…………………who labors
…………………who cries
………………………………for change,
……………………………………………..for change,
…………………………………………………………… for change!
Mantra me
…………………with panaceas,
………………………………………newage gurus,
…………………………………………………………..spirit guides,
……………………………………………………………………………..and quartz crystals.
Madame Oracle me
………………………………..palm me,
…………………………………………………tarot me,
…………………………………………………………………..and tea me
into richer times and grander schemes.
…
SEE. ME.
.
I be a dead man.
I want to live.
I want to LIVE!
.
Mantra me, my man, mantra me.
Pass the panacea,
and table the God talk, wouldja?
.
As my steel gray matter clank closed.
Janet Leigh Dowd [Hear her roar!]
1 comment:
The photo is Jack Kerouac, who who you may not have made any specific reference to, but he died young and left a beautiful corpse, ala River Phoenix and Heath Ledger.
"It's hard to live/between life/......and death;/ Well, yes, and no. We must not forget that whatever our challenges, we are here, in this lifetime, in lesson, and every calamity was preset by our, ourselves, before our birth, putting us into spiritual groups and exercising metaphysical dynamics. And then the pain shows up; /exercise your right/to smoke pink lungs to black/ which is sad enough to watch, to view a person you care for killing themselves with each drag; thanks God that you stopped smoking, dear. But then a shocker; /smack my daughter up side the head/with your new! shiny! frickin red car!/ Abuse, violence--not acceptable, out of balance, requiring of a change and a solution. Someone you know,perhaps loved, was incarcerated (at least poetically), and you want to separate yourself from that negativity, from seeing/ steel bars/cotton mats/cell jars/, oh yeah, because, /I want to live/ and later, or earlier you want/to see the light/ as you, or the narrator struggles with drug abuse, religious hiprocracy, liers, seducers, con men...until overwhelmed, consumed with pain and anger--you turn away, turn off your mind; shut out the lies and pain. Man, this poem reads like Ginsberg's HOWL, or some of Kerouac's, or some of mine. Excellent job, lady.
Glenn
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