Un Dunga Dook

ten million years ago, right here
give or take a couple thousand millenia
bo chaka came back from the hunt
with a fat sack of elephant meat
and his youngest son
cho locka cho
with the cowlick dredlock
and a heart full of pure love said
un dunga dook

which means nothing in the here and now
with unlimited text cell phone internet plans
and ten million digital channels
but what he said to his father that day was
daddy, where have you been

and bo chaka the brave
with his well-scarred flesh
said son, I killed me an elephant
but it sounded more like
un dunga dook

un dunga dook the boy said
how did you do that daddy

and daddy said un dunga dook
with a little help from my friends
T-boy and shorty,
and lazy-eye ned with the limp

we went to the jungle and ned hid in the branches
and T-boy hid behind the tree
shorty went to scare up an elephant
and chase his fat ass right to me

and when he ran up I told it a joke,
to keep him distracted while ned jumped on down
and T-boy hit him low, shorty got the behind
and we got us some meat for the town

cuz cain't none of us take daddy elephant
by ourselves, we get squished just like grape
but un dunga dook son with a little bit of help
we can be something more than an ape

and un dunga dook, poetry was born
it a hot cave in a swamp in a jungle
and ever since
we been trying to get it right

but that's a fallacy
a pipe dream
a phantom in the wind
because there is no right
when you share it
when you paint the world with your heart and breath
or peel paint with the force of the stench
it's all good

un dunga dook
it's not about
looking cool
being right
fitting in
or being proper

connect letters
into words
string words into lines
lump lines into something like stanzas
and with enough truth you got yourself a POEM
connecting two minds, two hearts, in telepathic synchronicity
like Corsican colonies feeling communal pain
we beat with one heart, scream with one voice
the fittest beast only in company

because a poem unshared is like jizz in a sock
it might feel good, but nothing will come of it
and a poem in the wind is like dandelion seed
carrying love and pain like a desert monsoon
sprouting weeds in the gardens of stepford
un dunga dook

speak your heart
speak your mind
and fuck anybody who says they didn't like it
it's your poetry
it's what you're made of
so make love to my soul with your wind

bill (a poem)

Bill

he put three cigarette lighters
shaped like pistols
on the coffee table
between a test tube
tweezers
and a flat-tipped jewelers screwdriver
before passing the pipe to the left

he said they made these torches too weak
the smoke like an albatross
around his neck

he lit a cigarette
through three-inch butane jetfire
and drank cheap beer

somebody complained
that Bill would take forever
but nobody meant it
and he wouldn't hit it
until the fire was just right

but it don't matter
the meth high lasts
and he had stories
to fill twenty minutes more

he said he
stole the third lighter from the gook
that ran the quikstop and
talked about
how easy m-16s clean

as he pulled two of those lighters to pieces
laying each part down
side by side in pairs
and he put the third one in his pocket
and he only put one
back together

and i don't know what he did with the pieces
but they were gone
and it was tight
as his nerves on the fourth of july
and shot flames twice as high

and I wanted to ask him
about the stories nobody can finish
unless they're trying to sell you something

because Paint It Black is just a song and
Willem Dafoe is just an actor
and Bill is just a shell
that moves and smiles sometimes
when he's high enough and
shakes most other times

and he's alone not fighting Spiderman
just spiders in his head
sometimes he dances though
to Paint It Black and cries but
now he's focused

and tonight he's smoking glass and
fucking his best friend's wife
and it's all right
I don't want to ruin that
I take the pipe
and try to make him laugh

Revelation (a poem)

I hope I never lose the memory
of what it felt like to hold you complete,

To know my arms
are the only thing
that kept the world from crushing you,
though I can barely save myself.
The fear empowers
and overpowers me.

To save us both
I whisper-sing into your ear
a military marching song
of boys graven in their father's image
grown,
staring,
sobered at a fun-house mirror
as the lights come on
and the D.J. plays the polka
to scare the bacchanalians into
stumbling out the door
blind and vital
alive in Christ
like no seminary alumnus
high on Eucharist
and Jesus juice
could ever hope
to give witness.

And I remember it
as the most divine rendition.

Last Ride

2:30 on Sunday morning, next to Sassy's gentleman's club, a drunk stripper ran out into the middle of A1A right in front of my cab. I hit the brakes so hard I spilled coffee all over the passenger floor. Lucky it was late enough, the bar crowd was home or at the Waffle House. Thirty minutes earlier some drunk woulda ate my rear end.

In the club parking lot, a couple cabbies from another company and Greg the head bouncer stopped yappin long enough to rubberneck. They didn't pay any attention to the chick in the middle of the street, just stared at my taxi grinnin like a buncha idiots, shaking their heads and chuckling.

Eduardo's Soliloquy

I greet the morning sun with a warning and a shout,

Stretching full to   
And stretch full to let her bask in my glory.

It's my turn;
Today I shine.

I've seen the others,
And tasted them.
Too weak to make the cut,
They'll make the chopping-block instead.

Their watery blood whets my appetite
but lacks substance to sate it.

When the man comes to pick his winner,
"Eduardo"
Will be the name on his lips.
And I will win for him,
And for myself.

Galaxies Colliding (a metaphorical love poem)

Galaxies Colliding

When galaxies collide,
It takes a long time.

Sometimes one gets trapped in the other's enormity,
And can never pull away again.

Sometimes neither one survives.

Sometimes gravity knocks planets around;
Down black rabbit holes like cosmic billiards,
Splashing through nebulae,
And smearing dark matter
On the walls of a chuckling God's clean living room.

Sometimes suns swap systems,
Asteroids tear through atmospheres
And vaporize crusts into colossal acne pocks
For future life to live within and puzzle over.

But most times,
When galaxies collide
Nothing inside of either one
Ever gets close enough to touch.

Image courtesy of Tom Brown of Baltimore