November Novocain 3.0
When Black Fridays Comes-
12.00
*
When Black Friday comes
I’ll stand down by the door
And catch the grey men when they
Dive from the fourteenth floor
When Black Friday comes
I’ll collect everything I’m owed
And before my friends find out
I’ll be on the road
Steely Dan- Black Friday- Kiety lied- sing along link-Just follow the bouncing bimbo
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTMj8x75pWk
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When Black Friday comes
the Consumers of Gridville
huddle in the parking lots
in predawn frozen blackness
waiting for the sensor doors
to activate and swing open
so that the ensuing stampede
into the widget warehouse
can gush cheap trinket
torrents of electronic desire
to purge themselves
of what limited imaginations
they have left and have not
squandered and impaled
upon product acquisition
suggestions programmed
to them by fiber optic
daily behavioral vampires
so well appointed
with glistening fangs
of fashion compulsion
obsessive consumption
in a I-Pad-I-Phone I- Me Me Me Me vortex
instantly alerting them
of the nowhere
they lust
Is here
In stock
On Sale
And they simply cannot
live with or without it.
#useless/clueless
*
– The Terrible Now 2007
All Souls Day
*
November shrugged at the time the masks slipped
Stripped away in the face of high wind warnings
As if this season begged advisement cautions
Still mild that morning fooling few to believe
That this day would pass swaddled in a gray soft gauze
While the light diffused diminishing increments
Was that encroaching mist unraveling like a ball of yarn
To cascade down a slope of cotton yawn
Falling in needle pinpoints liquefied
There was this puncturing of scattered shallow puddles
Reverberating in sound wave concrete circles
Auditory auditions sharpening a deaf set of eyes
In these stains of ink
Lurk faceless memories I think
Past persona gone non-grata
November shrugged at the time the masks slipped away
Reveling the naked face of high wind awnings
As if this season begged advisement cautions
Stripped away now in alibis and warnings
*
Uncollected 11/13.
*
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Chock Full of Nuts
is no longer
a heavenly anything
anymore
Transparent as black coffee
understood at last;
He was now merely
half a pound of chopped chuck
handed over by Bruno Kisski
Who spoke fluent tracheotomy
to an over the counter fool
wrapped in stiff white common paper
with the price
penciled in on the top.
All I had to do back then was pocket the change
and deliver it back around the corner.
Once it ticked upon your face
and the sound escaped upon your ears.
The price
……….this time.
All that you never conceive being true
Merely justify the overhead
and define the bottom line.
So now you try to force the black hands forward
Faster than they are supposed to go.
While a single slim red finger
that sweeps so sure and fine
that seconds soundlessly slide
in an inkling of eviscerated hope
The movement imperceptible impression
toward an inevitable destination.
Maybe some
Novocain in November
Maybe not.
This would then plug your ears
To hear any further
Than just you what
You didn’t want to hear
To believe this…..
the texture in this request
to embrace the selfish din
and when put to the question
to the naked test,
“Where is it have I been?”
Smile and nod and start with, “Listen….”
I would pull the fingers from deep your ears
and lick the wax
that accumulated in there
to harden, numb and deafen
with the passing of the years
Next I whisper now,
“Watch”
You just watch
Then tune the tongue out
in time to match
the mute with the deaf
over a bottomless cup of
freshly brewed
numbness.
– From Sometimes Grief 2012
f 20
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Supper Time
*
In the first chill of any dusk
the gathering in November
put vermillion in blue blankets
and put your dreams to bed.
When the chilly air smells like a menu
but your being sent to your room without any supper.
Tonight’s Special is vapor.
There is this fresh watercolor gone slightly stiff
to walk out into
One sidewalk year at a time.
Just waiting for your everyday heel and toe
to provide demarcation, passage and impression.
Here is the supper time on earth
where all is ordered and consumed flesh.
It comes in by the mouthful
or the plateful
The harlot; the hopper; the carousal caress.
Here all that has been grown
has been harvested if in season
seeds did flourish.
Inside the breath is of forced air
that rustles invisible fingers
running across the
fine hairs on the back of your neck
till there is this brush back
and your container rots off
and you’re never hungry again.
*
From Another Rubbereden
Summer 92
12
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