Dinner at the Sizzler

if purgatory

is a soup kitchen line

in a catholic church

hell

is serving up grub

on the corner of 8th & vine

southern baptists

pulling up

in their tax exempt jesus wagon

to serve homeless people

hot chili in july

heaven, happens

in Cincinnati

when pigs fly

posthumous letter mailed to the marvelous hunter s. thompson at his trashy extended stay suite nestled on the briny shores of hell’s lake of fire

h,

 

hey louisville,

long time no hear from, don juan try hump fat

i’m about to get waynesburg on your stubborn ass

and i want you to know for years

i forgave you for blowing your head off,

hell,

i applauded your ballsy choice

you were nothing if not consistent

you were proof the most intelligent and keen amongst us

are prone to depression, suicide, and addiction,

because we understand how fucked up the world can be

and simply can’t bear the soul sucking siege and insult of it

no one should be made to suffer,

but you should be alive now

we need your voice now

more than ever,

gonzo journalist,

who thought the best was behind you

and it had only just begun

n’ don’t you tell me all the best kentuckians die young and grandly

you’re dead as a damned door nail

you can’t talk back

and  aye, that’s the rub,  old friend

i’m so mad at you for going away

if you weren’t already dead

i’d shoot you again myself

 

love you, fucker

a

romulus and remus

having twin teenagers with autism
is and will be
the greatest challenge of my life
if i survive this
i can whip anything

see
there are days when it’s hard to tell
who is screaming at you
the autism
or the 18 year old asshole

their teeth come out
bile and vomit spray the walls
over being asked to pick up their dirty socks

it is then i remember there is a tall bridge
perfect for giving up
right down the road from my house

and i think of what would happen
in my horrid wake
the abusive father the only one left
to care for them
the equivalent of throwing them to the wolves
romulus and remus made flesh

death is just another luxury a single mother can’t afford

besides
not loving them enough to stay alive…
that isn’t me

that’s what my father would do

fifth & mercy st.

our lady of perpetual sorrow
hear my prayer
as my need is great

it’s thursday night
there’s a bottle of wild turkey
pleading the fifth
on the night stand

lou reed is singing about berlin
from a warehouse in brooklyn

grant me strength

as i have one more night to spend
fighting the good fight
inside the devil’s head

before a flight back to sanity tomorrow

just to kick my cat

he counts the syllables
of my haiku hoping my math is wrong

he sets his alarm clock for 2 a.m.
to wake up and purposefully misdial my phone

he would deny me water after soaping

he would wage war on my dinner plate
by squashing to death all the baby peas

he fantasizes about my being seated
on the bus seat in front of him
so he could pull my pigtails

he would rip off all the heads of my dolls

he would walk a thousand miles out of his way
just to kick my cat

he wears a hair shirt
and regularly gives himself a good lashing seeking store brand martyrdom

he curses raccoons
for dragging away the dead horse
he so loves beating

all because i do not desire him

he does everything except
leave me the fuck alone

dante’s

we meet up every few hundred years
at the same special little place

our private table always waiting

black leather booth lined walls
covered in pictures of us
with frank sinatra
caesar romero
and every grinning kennedy

the bartender no longer asks what bourbon to pour into our manhattans

mutually assured destruction
the only dish on the menu

this year i bought new heels just for the occasion

a sumerian demon draws seams down my thighs

so i tell him wear your red suit, baby

it will match perfectly

with the armageddon in your eyes

while angels are at war

the skyline of the early evening city
rising behind
soaring diocese minarets
and crucifix adorned steeples

a cathedral flanked by
brick and mortar chess pieces
surrounded by cloudy machinations

god is content this night
to reign only in heaven

for the king is not yet dead
and bishops must be guarded
by mortal men

we glide across marble tiles
fingers laced together
to find our way into the sanctuary

you anoint my head and yourself
after threshold is crossed

asking me to look to the choir loft

the pipe organ sings out not to heaven
instead pleading sympathy for the devil in hell

our laughter causes the sainted statues to turn their heads

swords collide in the painted ceiling
their embers fall
burning our skin

you pull me into
the red velvet confessional
by my waist

i wish to be captured

plunging your hands into my hair
lips pressed to mine in worship

pleading to a heart full of grace

you say,

“my queen, you make me feel so alive…”

i am undone

as beads fall slowly
to the floor

paradise must dwell within us before we may dwell within heaven

i have taken

to walking at night

through the backfields of my life

 

drawing ink from the well pond

surrounded by a chamber choir of

minstrel toads

 

tenor and baritone balanced

the bass has a loose string

my smile shapes into nirvana

as i am

a lover of imperfect things

 

in this place where i wash away the blood

from gruesome playground injuries

i know myself to be a reality

an unfolding lotus blossum

 

the drones buzz around me

urging me to assume my place as queen

at the risk of being beheaded

 

fear be damned

i have nothing to lose but regret

 

when the world has given all of itself

to nocturnal things

i seek the sage counsel

of the elders who placed the pomegranate trees

in eden

 

they tell me to command the fireflies

to float upward

becoming stars

knowing it is i

who determines my fate

 

avalon built in one night

to be burned again tomorrow

 

the planets revolve in the palm of my hand

when i consider the algonquin princess

from whose ancient earth-mother chromosomes

i sprang

 

greek gods conspire to please me

nectar sent from mount olympus

i am humbled with acceptance

 

my feet no longer feel the ground below

i float over the river styx

 

hummingbirds fly with lanterns

hanging from their bills

filled with luciferase glow

 

all of this majesty

so that i may

find my way to heaven

before the gates are closed

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