Hierophany

knock knock
I don’t care who walks into a bar
or who’s there
or how many polock chickens
                      it takes
to screw in a lightbulb
or what the lawyer said
to his shoe or what religion
the shoe was
                      I’m not waiting
I’m not waiting who
for the punchline
of that joke you’re supposed to tell
                      all dirty
and when a phone rings in the bar
& is Jacques Strappe there?
           I’m crossing the road

and you shouldn’t have to ask me why

This entry posted by J Rand : 08:40

Breath stinks
Of brandy.
The woman, the drink.
The first girl
I ever slept with
Now works
For Brown Forman.
She’s still drunk I guess.

This entry posted by J Rand : 09:15

it's too god damned hot
i feel like ending it all
when will autumn come?

This entry posted by J Rand : 09:11

  murmur

                  aria

“there’s a voice there,”
            says the mother

     babble

                           traffic


  in all these ways
  she speaks to me

This entry posted by J Rand : 09:08

           —BASIC.

756*

        "Toss the ball back."

Like they did in Wrigley

       when I was young.

    When a home run

         meant the ball left home

    & if you wanted it back

           you had to run after it

           as it rolled down Waveland...

This entry posted by J Rand : 13:27

26
Out in a field,
Weaving a wreath
Of cornflowers.


27
Head hurts, sounds
Of the faucet upstairs—I don’t
Want to write any poetry.


28
Reading on summer porch
Surrounded by oak and maple.
Beyond, useless world.


29
Squirrels the lorax
To my bygone yellow patch
Of sunflowers.


30
Alas!  A sound the dog and I
Both thought could be her car
Was only a weedeater.

This entry posted by J Rand : 08:40

helicopters, distant hammering, trees rustlin, plants tussling, a crack-house green-house, dirty white chairs, car engines, pots, pans being pounded, faint TV (very faint), craigs list furniture, ants, a dangerous looking hammock nestled in the ominous shadow, some pot, some water, some sot who sought to wrought a write under a rotten umbrella, flies buzzing, kitchen tinkering, hidden keys, dunhill (full flavor), matches + bic lighter (red), pink railings, one branch of (red) roses, bamboo shoots, a pause, then a breeze, garden hose hidden in only green patch of otherwise dead back-lawn grass, strange bird in house, rugs both rolled and un-rolled, crushed red pepper next to umbrella handle; poll w/ umbrella handle and supporting useful umbrella, picnic table bench that can comfortably support three people of appropriate body-mass-index, five used matches, two fully smoked butts (one marlboro) resting comfortably in the crack of a well-worn picnic table of the typical burgundy hue, cell-phone, pen, ink, motion captured right her……

This entry posted by J Rand : 15:08