joe fran standing in front of the absinthe beer in his hand the corner of bourbon and bienville joe fran he's still wearing his grey pinstripe suit from the conference his blue euro tie falling loosely about his hollywood throat the collar of his shirt unbuttoned the white crest of his tee shirt stifling the mysteries within

reach a hand to the crescent moon grab hold of the hollow

joe fran he says hey i have a joke you guys want to hear a joke jay star he's ignoring joe fran not on purpose simply with his own unfocused stumbling self awareness he's looking at me he says he stumbles back a couple of steps he stumbles left right and back to me the french quarter hokey pokey jay stark he says

hey man

he points to his lip he says hey man does it look like i have a cold sore on my lip jay star he's looking a little funny been a few weeks since i've seen him jay star he's looking a little funny can't quite put my finger on it his hair is a bit longer true his shirt unbuttoned the red blends in with the grey pubic hairs that crawl up his chest that threaten to strangle him swamp spiders swarming the throat that's it the grey the lack thereof

on his head nothing but red

he's dying his hair

i say i say dude

well you know i wasn't going to say anything i mean you know not like i was going to take you down behind the bushes on jackson square and give you a good in out bend you over a beignet cart give you that special sauce don't you know it's not really my business you and your cold sores just don't be putting those lips near a pussy i might come across

he says jay star he says dude

that's where married but sometimes free girl put her lips on mine got me in the lip lock just wouldn't let go goddamn that girl i don't got no virus that i know of

i say i say dude

that woman she put a spell on you she set you spinning she broke your heart now she got her lips locked on you again

he says jay star he says dude

the zan man he says running his hand over his smooth shaved head walking up in his finest south miami strut his florida by way of new york glow exploding like a gaslight on the streets of old you can hear the sizzling of moths entering the flame the zan man walking up joining us at the corner

the zan man he says yo jay star dude what's with the hair man

when you go weeks months without seeing someone i guess it's just the little things that pop right out at you jay star he turns to joe fran he says unconsciously running his hand fingers spread like a fleshy hair pick through his hair he's letting it go long he says

tell me a joke

joe fran he's forgotten the joke he's trying to talk to a couple of women ten fifteen years younger he does well he's got them giggling blushing one is playing with his tie sliding the knot slowly up and down

zan the man his hands in his pockets jangling his balls zan the man he says comments i bet she's shaved clean and smooth me i say yeah it doesn't matter she still wears the iron clad panties her baptist mom gave her jay star he says yeah but they're edible 

joe fran he looks a bit like frank sinatra maybe frank sinatra junior jay star he grabs him by the arm drunkenly pulls him over the girls the women they look at each other they look at joe fran stumbling backwards his eyes still locked on the tits and ass all wrapped up in new orleans evening ware jay star he says

tell me a joke

joe fran he watches the young ladies walking away he shakes his head he walks back up joins our little group we're on corner patrol outside the absinthe joe fran he says

so this guy he's walking in the woods with this kid it's late at night it's dark as death a low fog meanders through the trees an owl hoots from the darkness above a screech jumps out at them from behind the brush the kid he looks up at the guy the kid he says it's pretty weird out here in the woods i'm scared the guy he looks down at the kid he says yeah i know what you mean you think you're scared

i've gotta walk out of here alone

joe fran he stands there before us he smiles no he grins toothy and wide joe fran he his arms out slightly palms up a shrug

a moment of eerie silence

a snicker a cough a shuffle a laugh a guffaw soon we're rolling we're slapping each other on the back it doesn't take much we're in the french quarter

we each have to walk out of here alone

the faux gas lamps on bourbon street set the sky aflame the humidity oozed in from the waterfront seeped up from the swamp

just like back home

the sky aflame late in the evening a couple of old tires a couple of short stumpy pine logs a mess of fat lighter a couple shots of everclear the night is on fire

in the middle of the woods two or three dirt roads off the hahira highway  a clearing bordering the railroad tracks we drive up slowly easing the tires of my barracuda through and over the mud holes driven deep and wide through years of thunderstorms and four wheel drive monster trucks we creep up through the darkness of the woods driving with only our parking lights navigating by feel and knowledge of the woods enter the clearing all aflame three or four over by the fire a couple others meandering back from their car earl the pearl he of the legendary cock is shaking it off along the edge of the far side then shaking his leg hokey pokey style as he stuffs it back into his pants

i've been away haven't around much lately been away for the year the old gang is here the rain has been kind and gentle the fungal harvest bountiful i've been away most have remained behind there's a draw there's a haunting pull to the place family the lack thereof strong

we fall out of the car we me the tall wall cee kay we have a paper bag a crumpled brown bag doubled up we reach in we are the disciples of the lord we walk through the masses we reach in we hand out buttons here we hand out buttons there the basket of loaves never seems to empty we prepare ourselves for the sermon on the mount

blessed are ye who weep now for ye shall laugh blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see god

we gather round the fire though we are far from being pure either in flesh or spirit we fear not the forest but stand in awe before our fears our sins simmer in the song of midnight singe the sky with lapping flames the rhythm of the song the heavy bass pop popping of pine tar bubbling the tires hissing a sizzling swamp solo gaseous and guilty we move we sway the old bullfrog preaching the word the chorus of the cricket choir chiming amen brother amen sister

we laugh we laugh we laugh

we are in love with the world the south georgia clouds sit high against the crescent moon heat lightening flashes orange leaving lingering lashes of lust sky swirling we try to speak we endeavor to maintain conversation we are easily distracted thoughts interrupt thoughts the heat lightening oh my hey charlie kay hey big tall wall hey earl the pearl hey hey hey sweet little yvonne whom i never told the truth the truth of my love hey annie green hey sally tee hey weatherman red we move we sway we giggle we play

we waltz

a bow a curtsy hand to hand dust kicks up it's more a mosh pit of meager meandering than an ivory merchant period piece ex marks the spot sugar soothes the morning shakes we spin around the fire we seek the tribe of lost ancestors all of us mongrels

where is this place

deep in the woods within the swamps next to a railroad track coming from some dark nowhere leading on to another dark nowhere maybe they will meet up down the road we dance we slide

and when i'm sad i slide

back on bourbon street mister vee walks up with mister fitz and big bald bry who points at a young lass walking no actually skipping up the street bry points and says

ass to mouth

we look her way we look bry's way we look her way we look bry's way he shrugs he says hey she's a porn star jenna something she's famous for

ass to mouth

we check her out we let our imaginations loose a bit we wander in that mind's menagerie of personal debauchery we lusted in our hearts we lusted in our loins then we let her go

yet she increased her whoring remembering the days of her youth when she played the whore in the land of egypt and lusted after her paramours there whose members were like those of donkeys and whose issue was like that of horses

ah have your freedom jenna

jay star he looks at mister vee he says hey man want to hear a joke he doesn't wait for an answer he wraps his arm around mister vee ropes in fitz and bry he says grinning big and looking from side to side he says

so this guy he's walking in the woods with this kid it's late at night it's dark as death a low fog meanders through the trees an owl hoots from the darkness above a screech jumps out at them from behind the brush the kid he looks up at the guy the kid he says it's pretty weird out here in the woods i'm scared the guy he looks down at the kid he says yeah i know what you mean you think you're scared

i've gotta walk out of here alone

vee looks at me i shrug

an owl screeches from the sky a shadow sails silently across the ground the dancing stops suddenly we listen for god to speak

i could never understand the wind at all was like a ball of love when i'm sad i slide

the bullfrog's sermon drones on and on and on fading into nothingness like god himself fading into time it's about time it's about space about strange people in the strangest place fading into the darkness we all fade off into our own respective corners of the clearing weatherman red sings to himself off key but enthusiastic thirty eight special cover song

long time gone

annie greeneyes throws a pine cone his way it lands near the fire bounces big tall wall kicks it over the flames it disappears into the shadows he moans a long awwwww it disturbs the force we shiver with goose bumps bubbling up and down our legs

tickling my balls

my feet move shuffle lift and separate like festus in the bar marshal dillon drunk debauched six shooter dusting the bum's boots with little puffs of dust and cedar splinters i am a flame flying faggot in tites leaping across a burning piece of log strayed from the herd arms spread wide chest puffed plaid shirt tied about my waist wafting back like superman's cape i land gracefully my knee buckles ankle twists i eat the big brown breakfast roll roll roll my own come to a stop fourteen miles down the tracks

i sit up in the dirt picking pieces of the swamp from my knee wise blood

a crown of thorns

i wear barbed wire round my waist i put cut glass in my shoes i beat myself with a clothes hanger in the darkness of my room at night no god to hear my screams

then silence

no crickets no frogs no boogie man rustling in the bushes no snickers no letting of flatulence even the sizzling tires have hushed

i hear the love spinning in the whirlpool of life looking forward many many eons waiting for both feet darlin' i'm still waiting the water ain't that cold don't hold back ain't no fair keeping the secret wall safe forty left eighteen right second half left click click spin try again

both feet baby need both feet

oh my hey charlie kay hey big tall wall hey earl the pearl hey hey hey sweet little yvonne whom i never told the truth the truth of my love hey annie green hey sally tee hey weatherman red

hey hey it's lovely to see you it's been a while i know i been away only been a few months only two three hundred miles seems like forever seems like a galaxy far far away seems like i've returned from a foreign land after the wars i've been tainted i've gone through intimate alien anal probes it's just not something a guy talks about how does one tell friends family that it doesn't work any more that it never did work

really

just didn't know just didn't realize it wasn't working at all anyway

didn't know just didn't know til i went away til home left me

dancing in the darkness
beneath the wide open sky
home seems so small
don't know why
don't know why

the bullfrog preaches love thy neighbor does preacherman embrace the message in his core does he merely desperately wish pray beseech oh lord please don't let me be a victim of a vicious midnight gigging his last vision some bubba standing in the front of a flatbottom boat a q-beam in one hand a gig attached to a long grapestake in the other

a bearded neptune trident in hand it is mine to avenge

ehud then approached him while he was sitting alone in the upper room of his summer palace and said i have a message from god for you as the king rose from his seat ehud reached with his left hand drew the sword from his right thigh and plunged it into the king's belly even the handle sank in after the blade which came out his back ehud did not pull the sword out and the fat closed in over it then ehud went out to the porch he shut the doors of the upper room behind him and locked them

a gooseneck bud in the back pocket of his three sizes too big overhauls

bullfrog he says amen

god comes riding in on a freight train blasting through my head she's tied to the front on the cowcatcher splayed crucified

if i afixed
the cross
between your breasts
would your friends cry for
barabbus
as i crucify your heart

closer my god to thee splayed crucified a scar on her throat she breathes fire whispers

come free me

it takes me another thirty years to find my god my savior my salvation she's still just outside my reach

we wander

to our respective comfort zones at the edge of the clearing over near the tracks

the rumble the silence broken by the rumble we feel it in our feet up through our legs groins belly lungs head a whistle blows a light a tunnel of light blows through the edge followed quickly by the lead engine then car after car after car we move as close to the tracks to the train as we can we feel the dank breeze of its wake the smell strikes our stomachs strings of open cars stacked high with pine logs strings of empty box cars with the doors open on both sides a kinetoscope of

the other side

back on bourbon street we wander from bar to bar we are stuffed with frog legs from arnauds oysters and soft shell crab from the acme bread pudding from brennans tequila from the absinthe kind green bud from my suitcase thoughts of lust and potential debauchery from deep within

we stand as close to the train as we possibly can if we lean forward only an inch we'll be smacked back into the womb

we stand as close to the women on bourbon street as we possibly can if we lean forward only an inch we'll be smacked back into the womb

so this guy he's walking in the woods with this kid it's late at night it's dark as death a low fog meanders through the trees an owl hoots from the darkness above a screech jumps out at them from behind the brush the kid he looks up at the guy the kid he says it's pretty weird out here in the woods i'm scared the guy he looks down at the kid he says yeah i know what you mean you think you're scared

i've gotta walk out of here alone

deep in the dark woods of new orleans and all that

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food,
For love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.
        --  Ralph Waldo Emerson


aw c'mon slip it slip it to me sugar you can slip it to me all night long slip it slow slip it smooth hit me with your couplets they be so old fashioned they be so paisley and patchouli just like the hippies before my time they be so

traditional

i've always been a sucker for a good prayer always loved a good prayer

goddamn

i like 'em heavy from way down deep pray the lord your soul to keep twist you all up make you ache make you shiver make you shake lay you down in a feverish wake grab a hold embrace the snake fall down wiggling on the floor speak in tongue like abraham's whore

i like 'em floating all about like butterflies and smiles i dig 'em spinning and twirling like an uncaring child running in and out and around jumping up and tumbling down rejoicing oh rejoicing in the free fall laughing giggling girlfriend tickling my balls

i dig a prayer for the dead we all die alone tis true all loners in our grave no one left to pursue makes no difference who understands yet being left behind it ain't so grand we all need someone to hold our hand

i dig a thanksgiving prayer coming right from the heart

i like 'em to take a moment to give pause think about them things that we just plain forget to think about

goddamn always did dig thanksgiving always did yes ma’am always liked the food always liked hanging with family friends some years i got drunk some years i just got stoned some years i played football some years i just watched football some years i did it all but

i don’t think i ever got laid on thanksgiving don’t you know i thought about it shit don’t you know i’m thinking about it right now

but all in all this don’t suck

says brother dee jay we’re sitting on the roof sitting outside enjoying the redneck veranda outside the kitchen window sitting beneath the wondrous rays of november san francisco sun sitting in kicking back in camping chairs complete with cupholders into one we have wedged the almost perfectly fitting ashtray round block round hole ready to provide comfort and joy to the phat one we’ve rolled prepped ready for indulgence on this glorious california afternoon we’re watching the waves roll in ships sailing away across the horizon sailing in through the golden gate all viewed from within between the wires chimneys satellite dishes and other rooftop accoutrement

urban redneck at its finest

i nod concurrence agreement acknowledgement little brother dee jay an understated man of complex thought and action in town to support his older brother during times of emotional distress helping to buffer the reality of the lonely transition to living alone to living on my own how old am i how old doesn’t matter i’ll always be older he’s the little brother me the elder the responsible one carrying the burden carrying the name

continuing the line

love has been fertile the raising of chirrun nearly done the love of family strong painful joyful and vague the tears they flow beneath the sunburned cheeks the dreams heavy in the morning fears of the children’s well being never quite dissipating little brother dee jay he wraps me in his big old man arms squeezes me up against his big old belly he tells me he loves me

he come all the way from louisiana with a banjo on his knee headed to alabama his own true love to see he gives me a hug on thanksgiving day comes all that way to be  sitting in a skinny tube of aluminum after all it's just me and him it's just him and me we're orphans in an orphaned world

death becomes us

we whisper a prayer of thanksgiving amen we whisper a prayer for death amen we whisper a prayer for life amen

god is great god is good god is hate god is food god is your cunt wrapped round my cock god got lost on her way to tend the flock

one day god abandoned the south
set it afire
then settled down
we kneel in her house
call her a liar
without uttering a sound

we whisper a prayer

for south carolina

fuck yeah

nineteen and ninety one i ate turkey in south carolina whole mess of food whole mess of family me my daddy my little brother aunts uncles cousins legitimate and illegitimate not my momma though my momma she be long gone my momma she just ain't making an appearance this year my momma she done been dead for a whole year

it's not her fault at all

but i got nobody else to blame

fuck man

lemme tell you death it fucks a fella up sends a son spinning gives a guy a glimpse of the gods tiptoe to the top can't look into the face of the lord scratch out my eyes fill my ears with ashes let my blood flow circle the drain lemme tell you about death ain't nothing change a child like death can't leave a child alone with death lemme tell you about death

thanksgiving in the woods look death in the eye hold my hand give a prayer for jesus take care of what's yours but give yourself to me

best let me in best give yourself over to me death ain't kind death ain't blind if you don't let me in then i might as well walk might as well walk away you don't give yourself over by then it ain't never going to happen

death i know lemme tell you i know

death it fucks a fella up you ain't all in by the time death rolls around you ain't reaching out for a hand taking the hand offered by the time death dances through the door might as walk away ain't never going to happen

i'm dead fucking serious i ain't sticking around to see you be alone

fuck it's nineteen and ninety one

south carolina

sitting just sitting

red clay driveway hard and slippery lined by moss-covered bricks sprinkled with crisp and rotting leaves oak elm maple leads up to a rectangular outline of two by fours partly sunk into the ground sparsely filled with dulled and dirty gravel runs right up to and underneath the three wooden steps that serve as stoop propped up alongside the doublewide trailer sitting atop a cinder block foundation

a trail of a red and yellow plastic big wheel trike red and white fearless flyer wagon a cracked and peeling rainbow hula hoop two mismatched roller skates

oh baby i got a brand new pair of roller skates you got a brand new key why don't we get together and try them out to see slide my cinnamon stick into your tea ain't the world such a lovely place to be

a trail of treasure junk and living not quite so well winds its way round to a couple of old tires leaning against the makeshift sears and roebuck shed bought out of the catalogue back in nineteen and seventy three

got a few spots of rust got a couple of screws missing and one of the sliding aluminum doors is bent inward like maybe someone kicked it hell fire maybe somebody did

my cousin mark he’s been known to have a temper fuck it’s in the blood

me my cousin mark we’re sitting outside in lawn chairs beneath the canopy of a fat old slash pine probably sliced for turpentine fifty years ago still wears the scars

hell sweet chile don’t we all

we caress chilled goose neck buds snuggled up in insulated beer titties colored petty blue sporting logos of the local package store over a cartoonish drawing of some frightful plymouth superbird rearing up on its rear tires like tony the fucking tiger its front grill all teeth and saliva

i don’t know why the baptist mullahs aren’t up in arms this blasphemous representation of my jesus mohammed abraham from the seventies iconic spiritual leader who wrought thunder on the blacktop where are the riots in the street king richard thou art lord

sitting outside in lawn chairs wearing sunglasses cool blue yellow november sun hanging in the mid afternoon sky all around us trees naked of their leaves leaning over scraggly creatures of the forest come to life babes in toyland there is no escape from this world the only way out is in a pine box eaten by worms and weevils flesh to bowels and bowels to shit and shit to dust sitting outside in lawn chairs a mild mid afternoon drunk drifting in settling in

my cousin mark he says tipping beer to lips his fleshy adams apple jumping up and down beneath his grizzly adams beard cocksucker has pubic hairs from dick to chin and back again

oh my yes

my cousin mark he is the perfect son built a house nearby so he can visit his momma every day cooks for her comes over and takes out the trash builds her birdhouses feeds her dogs washes her windows repairs her deck shit like that he goes fishing hunting sailing with his old man my uncle stan

mark lo he is the perfect son takes care of his momma she has no wants in her southern simplicity mark lo he is the perfect dad  takes care of his kids they have no needs in their living in the middle of god knows where redneckia south carolina lily of the field lord of the flies go tell it on the mountain world my cousin mark he’s a fucking rock of gibraltar he’s big he’s gregarious he’s a gentle giant good old boy who hates niggers and ay-rabs and wetbacks but never met a man he didn’t like don’t matter what color he is

he respects the jewish race damn good fighters don’t you know but he don’t know what to make of ‘em don't want 'em around these part and catholics are just good christians gone astray they’ll be all right eventually

my cousin mark he takes care of his family takes care of his sister she lives in atlanta he goes down to atlanta every now and then for a visit we sit and visit there beneath the tree he drinks a little more we drink a little more we toss the empties over on a pile beneath the bow of the trailer we talk story mark he talks a good story

he say

he stands wanders over to a slash pine he unzips he lets loose a stream strong with life and vigor he looks back over his shoulder he say

he makes a little trip down to see janie she lives down atlanta way with her two kids her husband he used to be in ronnie reagan’s air force fighting communism tearing down those walls mister gorbachev he checked out he clocked out got himself a job in the private sector working on jet planes

something to take us away

we all need to be leaving on a jet plane we all need the doubt of when we’ll be back again don’t you know baby best be giving all you got because i ain't gonna be happy with the crumbs of love

i got a cake to make

janie’s husband he got himself laid off lost his job got himself all worked up lost burn in the belly got himself all wound up twisted into knots of grief and angst and despair and bitterness and blame and don't you know a few drops of whiskey was all it would take he’d get upset he’d take it out on others ain’t nothing new about this same old story different place different face different day

my cousin mark he makes a little trip down to atlanta departs spartanburg early one morning before the sun comes up drives on down to atlanta takes the loop on around to college park east point only about ninety minutes maybe a little more my cousin mark he knocks on janie’s door there’s a bell a buzzer he ain't studdin' no buzzer he knocks fist to wood the screen door slap slap slaps back at his world mark he opens the screen door knocks on the hollow pseudowood outside door thud thud pound lets the screen slam shut it screaming whining as the taut corroded spring claims its proper shape and form paint chip dust puffs and huffs janie’s man appears he's looking like some grainy black and white television picture dark attitude covered by the screen's fine mesh

he’s surly he says to mark pausing just long enough to bring in a little early sunrise noire taking a drag on his cigarette a baby crying in the background the smell of burnt coffee floating alongside his morning whiskey breath he says

yeah what do you want

mark doesn’t say anything mark smiles that big toothy cheshire grin mark shrugs them big old man shoulders mark swings his big sledge hammer fist through the rusty screen cracks janie’s man in the chin cold cocks him as if he were death himself janie's man ronnie reagan's dude he don’t say nothing else he falls back cousin mark he don't say nothing else he opens the door reaches down grabs janie's man by the collar with one hand drags him out on the front stoop down the cement steps holds him down slaps him a couple of times with an open palm

the humiliation so much worse than the pain

mark leans in like a lover his lips next to janie’s man’s ear his fist full of starched sea island cotton his breath harsh breathing harsh lovin’ he says soft and slow and sharp as the razor he'd rather be sliding across this unshaven throat he says in a voice  steady and calm all emotion lost to yesterday’s dream he says

i ain’t afraid to fucking kill you

he says lemme tell you

i know death and death it'll sure fuck a fella up i ain't afraid to fucking kill you

he says

ain’t nothing in my heart ain't nothing around my soul ain't no jesus preventin’ me from putting my hands around your dumbass cracker throat and squeezing the life out of you

be like putting down a bad dog i done it before ain’t much to it

he says lemme tell you

you touch my sister again i'll fuck you up i am death it'll fuck a fella up

mark he looks over at me beer to his lips looks at me out of the corner of his eyes holds my stare holds the bottle still one gulp two he tosses the bottle onto the pile never stops looking at me

i nod he nods we know

hell

once many years ago long before mark and me got birthed into this world before we went from dark to light back to dark way back when back in another time another place his momma mark’s momma my daddy's sister mark's momma she got married young and south georgia wild

she was hot sauce on a cracker

she drove her men to despair she drove men to fight she drove men to think about death to think about life everlasting to think about thanksgiving

one man though he snagged her they got married with no money with little hope with nothing but love in the south coastal marshland they struggled they fought one night her man he came back from a tear came back late in the wee morning hours came home after ripping one up he came back staggering he had drunk all their money she got angry he got angry

he cracked mark’s momma upside the head

mark’s momma she told my daddy my daddy he paid a visit to mark’s momma’s man my daddy he took out a pistol my daddy he pointed that pistol at mark’s momma’s man my daddy he put that pistol right up to mark's momma's man's head my daddy he told the cocksucker he was going to shoot him he was going to shoot him in the leg shoot him in the foot shoot him in the stomach shoot him the liver shoot him in the head make him hurt make him dead mark’s momma’s man he cried he whimpered

my daddy he kicked the sorry bastard out the house my daddy he told him to leave

mark’s momma’s man he left they never saw him again

love it can fuck a fella up

goddamn

every night i dream the soldier say

burn that flag before you drape it over my coffin

sitting on that little patio out there on the outskirts of spartanburg out toward mayo south carolina me and mark kicking back mark just sitting there half reclining big old paw of a hand holding his beer resting on the arm of the chair little blonde girl maybe she’s five maybe she's six she comes running up jumps into his lap laughing giggling he gives her a hug tickles her he’s the jolliest motherfucker you might ever see long flowing black hair big beard some reincarnated early seventies stud all he needed was a leather vest never woulda known never could tell this big old lovable mug of sweet vanilla pudding had only a couple of weeks ago whispered heinous threats to a fellow human being

ain’t shit funny that way

mark he talks about love he talks about life he talks about giving his momma god bless her blind self talks about giving his momma a twenty two rifle for her birthday the year before says his momma my aunt virginia she liked to sit out on her back deck with her rifle locked and loaded couldn’t see a goddamn thing cataracts and diabetes and old age taking away her eyesight slowly and cruelly she liked to sit out on her back deck out on her back deck shooting at noises in the woods noises that crept up to the edge of her yard noises that haunted her at night

baby it's best to learn to how to love your ghosts you can't outrun them you can't hide

mark he say yeah always have to call before i head over to momma’s house never know if she’s sitting out with that rifle sure makes me all happy though to hear her laughing to hear them little twenty two snap crackle and pops an occasional tweet gone screech as a bullet accidentally finds a warm feathery target

goddamn it don't take much to make an old blind lady happy

he say

the kids they know to stay away from the back woods behind the trailer me i'm learning to stay away from the back woods too i'm learning to love my ghosts i'm looking for the happy it don't take much i'm listening for her laughs listening for those little snaps those crackles those pops

sounds of life sounds of death

lemme tell you death it can fuck a fella up lemme tell you it don't take much to make a fella happy such a fine line don't you know

she ain't killed much we're thankful for that

thanksgiving in the woods look death in the eye hold my hand give a prayer for jesus take care of what's yours but give yourself to me

south carolina and all that

matty she say standing over the sink those pale palmed hands blending right up and into those blue black arms both plunging down into plunging in and out of grey soapy water she say a heavy sigh heaving from her big bosomed chest a blessed bounty that swallows the leather cross hanging dangling from a throat soft deep lyrical she say shaking her head slowly back and forth matty she say

mistah mike they done gone kilt martin

me i sit at the formica kitchen table a month into my ninth year getting ready to head on out to missus coates’ fourth grade class at halifax elementary school i sit on my knees on the chair the humidity of the season already floating up off the morning dew creeping in through the screen door my hairless pre-pubescent legs wet with smelly young boy sweat sticking to the padded vinyl

springtime hormones driving my little dick to a regular stiffness that both frightens and fascinates

what in the world am i ever going to do with this thing

the sports pages and comics spread out before me propped up on the wooden napkin holder my morning altar the phantom in purple tights and hood black leather panties black leather boots black leather mask he in all his homoerotic glory sits upon the great throne of his ancestors well within the skull cave his lair his refuge within the womb of deepest darkest africa native tribesmen in loin cloth feathery headdress earrings and spear they serve mister walker lo the ghost who walks they serve him as they have served his ancestors as they will serve his heirs he our mister walker he loves diana he mourns her presence she with her high powered career she who travels the globe he’s but a lowly crime fighter out to save the world and protect this small lost tribe of cannibals black men ignorant but deserving to be left alone by

the exploitative dominant white paradigm

thank god for the ghost who walks thank god for the righteous white man to keep the world in balance

i sit at the kitchen table a month into my ninth year eating breakfast using an unadorned stainless steel fork to mash a couple of heavily peppered fried eggs thick chewy chunks of crumbled bacon shredded american cheese food into my grits scooping shoveling hunks into my mouth thick yolky embryonic trails oozing down my chin leaving behind a dried yellow brick road of tales to be told tales to unfold

martin yeah they killed him that’s what the voice on the tee vee said last night

one and only youngest son the big aitch we’re driving to school in the morning big aitch sixteen sporting the scraggly whiskers and buff bod of a he-man hipster white boy bee baller

poetry and the round orange ball in the city

big aitch we’re driving to school baby boy is in high school we’re talking we’re talking final four we’re talking books i’m slinging my pseudo-intellectual morning daddy bullshit i’m saying he’ll dig the walker percy book i just gave him i’m saying yeah young dude he’s a kind of kurt vonnegut channeling catfish hushpuppies cole slaw jesus love and sugar shack insanity

we have gaps of silence father son the holy ghost

we got kay pea eff ay talking to us in high fidelity stereo ninety four point one on our eff em dial the pacifica radio dudes in all their amy goodman dressed in flowing garbs of radical social attitude they spread the gospel of martin on this day on this fortieth anniversary of the evening where a bullet burst through his skull spattering blood bile and brains on the balcony spattering shit spitting phlegm on history big aitch he says

how old were you when martin luther king died

how old is love

how is it when we talk about him it’s always all three names it’s always martin luther king

how old is love how much do i love this boy

i wonder i envy him his life he is so young and wise beautiful and rough streetwise and innocent perfect in his imperfections i say turning to take him all in as we glide through the early morning fog settling in and among the redwood cedar and eucalyptus jungle comprising the outer edges of golden gate park the windmill peeking up above the canopy to the left the viciousness of the pacific breaking with anger passion and foam to our right we ride the middle goddamn i could eat him up i love him so i say

nine

i was nine that april of nineteen sixty eight just turned nine and i gotta be honest i just gotta tell you the truth kind of hard to admit to the boy i want to be superman for him my baby boy i want to say i was the super liberal white man leading the crusade for civil rights signing up voters fighting against the klan fighting against the man

shit

truth be known his old man was nothing but a dumb cracker kid in missus coates fourth grade class i didn’t even know who the fuck martin luther king was

fuck

in halifax virginia piss ant little town down southside eight hundred people within the incorporated city limits missus coates a gnarly hulking country woman sparing no rod lending no patience wielding a yardstick like she was joan of fucking arc nearly every one of us been smacked with that stick at least once whacked quick and sharp

didn’t even know who the fuck martin luther king was fuck it

missus coates she never told us anything about martin luther king she taught us reading writing ‘rithmetic she taught us virginia history with a righteous reverence seven presidents hailed from virginia sir walter raleigh’s lost colony prospered then mysteriously perished along with little virginia dare then came jamestown founded in sixteen oh seven hard valiant times turkey tobacco and tomahawks teasing the nape of john smith her own ancestors those of missus coates her ancestors brutes and indentured servants like my own

in and out of the stocks

sixteen twenty two a red letter year they brought over the first slaves after that the world just got right

we didn’t have no black folks in our school none to speak of they had their own school inez williams she showed up in the middle of the fourth grade one day there she was like someone had brought her in for show and tell standing there in front of the class braces sparkly sixties framed glasses black braided pigtails and black shiny mary janes buckled around lacey white ankle socks

jefferey oaks he sat the across from me the next row over he whispers out the side of his mouth the side sliding my way he says she’s a goddamn nigger giggles snickers scatter settle about the class like sugar sprinkled on the winter morning’s cream of wheat

it’s all funny

matty she says mistah mike they done gone kilt martin inez she wasn’t at school that day the sports page it don’t say nothing bout martin luther king the comics page it don’t say nothing bout martin luther king

the television last night the night before it didn’t want to say nothing about martin it didn’t want to but when i was watching

bewitched

i did dig that show i did i did dig samantha she made darrin have a dream she was so sexy that way casting her spells with a wiggle of that pert little nose lo many the night many the shower with warm soapy hands all over my pre-pubescence all over my excitement she came to me she wiggled her nose she helped me through my times samantha she spun silhouettes in darrin’s heart he got greedy the world discovered sammie’s secret the army came and captured them they were in a jeep headed someplace where darrin he didn’t want to go then they went away the show

bewitched

it just went away poof that all too seemingly familiar voice it came through with breathless clarity that we interrupt this program with a special news bulletin

mistah mike they done kilt martin

me my momma my daddy my little brother poster children for the nuclear family my daddy scraping by me my brother we had no clue we was just little crackers with dirty bare feet and hee haw haircuts we all sat in the den in the back of the house sat around the television my momma and daddy on the couch me and my brother on the floor in front of the tee vee

those innocent nights when pajamas were still oh kay

i looked back at my momma who was looking at my daddy who was looking at my momma who was shaking her head my daddy he said well i guess it was gonna happen

my momma i saw my momma whisper a little prayer

and bewitched samantha stevens she split the scene amidst the scene never saw that episode again i always wondered i just never knew whatever happened never really watched the show after that she my faithful samantha she just up and left me abandoned me on that fateful night

martin who

stole away my woman with the wiggling nose

goddamn him and his kind inez she didn’t come to school that day missus coates she didn’t really mention nothing about martin nobody at school the next day said nothing about martin way down in southside virginia where we had our black folks under control where we had our boys and dey’s people safely tucked away on the other side of the tracks scattered along the dirt roads down around the edges of town down by the river below the dam

sixteen twenty two a red letter year they brought over the first slaves after that the world just got right

we aimed to keep it right

mistah mike they done kilt martin

and i couldn’t do anything about it we’re driving down the road me and one and only youngest son he says he asks how old were you when martin died i say buddy-roo i was nine i didn’t even know martin didn’t even know we had

issues

and by the time i figured it out by the time it became clear by the time i really understood i just knew there was nothing i could do about it there was just nothing to be done

i just waited i just bided my time twirled my fingers learned to suck on a busch beer studied the gate the walls around me smoked a little kind green bud tapped my fingers and when the door was sprung i was gone

abandoned that place like samantha stevens abandoned me

i tell one and only youngest son sometimes i just feel bad didn’t have the balls to do the right thing all i knowed all i felt was that i had to cut and run

threw my stone all smooth and shiny across the water across the muddy mississippi skipped right across the surface all the way to san francisco shit son i’m still running i just want to tell him i ain’t ever gonna abandon him though i tell him i’m done running soon

gonna grow me some balls big and round

it took me a while but old martin he finally let himself be known to me it’s a sad revelation sad at that just want to thank him though just want to say thanks martin i finally get it

mistah mike they done gone and kilt martin

finally i can cry and all that