Old Daniel was a riverboat rambler, unseeded with money, unlucky in love and unbreeded to marry, but gambler extraordinary until schemes busted; poisoned in the extremes by backroom fables, Black Labels, marked cards, and round tables. He was baptized under the down spout of Old Man, a plan that only a Maker could understand, and […]
Tag Archives: Poetry
Daniel in Bigtown
February 27, 2009
Uptown in Bigtown New Orleans, one Of many brown dumpsters on Melpomene Breathes the sulphur smell of Hell. Guarding bins one to three is round Hard work. Of territory, you’ve got To know the story, else you roll foul Into Old Man and float downsea. Daniel searched for lunch and found A Spanish onion, an […]
August Night
February 27, 2009
The last bus finds no passenger waiting at my end of Twentyfirst Avenue. Slate shingles of overlapping leaves block the intrusion of the corner street lamp. Without a breath of air to stir the shades, when even old Who-owl is out of breath, the black furnace of the night burns my eyes with pale green […]
A Night on Shell Island
February 27, 2009
Spider wading in the Gulf, Underbelly sucking oil, eyes Gleaming from landing pads, Fish nibbling chitinous legs. Diesel organs pump blood, and Men, like aphids, gather The sugars of need.
Trustnot
February 27, 2009
So there weaver, fleeing fuzzy, gravitating two-ward ruin, similar to starchless spinach, ourselves shambling through doors sporting mysterious, complex knobs and stuff. Groping through the salad, the olive ajar with the eyes of Job kindled a sparkly prescience with a tongue twisting word knot like a level winding reel with a backlash of wild hair. […]
Foul Utopian Blues
February 27, 2009
At night, when bricks are wet and cast iron lamp posts glisten with rough pebbles of cold rain and when the laughter from Ernst’s Café is out of reach, when bored with flame broiled pancakes and the walk from the Jax Brewery to the shelter of Janet’s screwery is just too damn far away; or […]
Muddy Boggy Creek
February 27, 2009
Hiking, not far from Pawhuska, I discovered an abandoned orchard and paused to listen to MBC, grasshopper static crackling, frogs in full screech. One fruitful apple tree bent down to me and asked if I were a mushroom filled with gloom, spore on the floor, as I lay in the grass of July. Thunder Bunny […]
February 27, 2009
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