when the storks are all gone who will bring us our children?

October 24, 2007 on 4:55 am | In poem | No Comments

After Manuel Vilas asked me if I still write, and then I crossed my eyes

pearls 12,13,14

Oh my
tapioca tongue, every
pearl on its way down, dancing in pudding,
has the message that something’s happened,
something a long long time ago, deep within my tummy,
a great pleasure was already there.

Hillsborough, friday afternoon [welfare of America's children]

I saw the man had no nose, just a hole
where it was gone, and I blamed cigarettes, but then
I realized perhaps I should blame cancer which could have
come first, and the chicken or the egg, which could just be nothing
but an eternal chicken. And as I looked down at his pickup truck,
and his face, his face without a nose, the idea came to me
that I was not to blame, because it was my fault to begin with. That night
I went home, had a beer, and smoked four joints, and the next
morning, I woke up feeling good.

meditations 12 & 3

Forget about the drought,
the war was over to begin with. Tonight
I drink hot water out of a cold tub and tomorrow
I wash my family in the front yard with a hose.

It was here all along, and now here we are,
living to tell the story. This week they sell Che Guevara’s stuff
to make some money, because this guy outsmarted him
many years ago and can sell the lock of hair he cut
from his corpse. It’s not his fault, this guy, though
it’s easy to blame him. We had already bought him
ten million times. Santa Teresa turned over in her grave.
And then it made sense that all we see is
nothing, plain nothing, and it sounds very pretty to me.
I could never forget how beautiful his face looked, long before
I had ever seen a t-shirt, and that was why.

for Amy and a baby

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