Four Poems

I know I said my next post would be about my first ever “pig slaughter” in The Czech Republic, but due to technical difficulties (i.e. I’ve been jetlagged as fuck and can’t seem to turn out a decent word) that post has been delayed until further notice. In the meantime, I thought it would be nice to share with you guys some poems I read recently at “Alchemy” – an open-mic event held on the first Monday of every month at “Napa Bar and Gallery” (Prokopska 296/8, Prague 1). There are four poems in total. The first three I wrote while on holiday in California this Christmas. The last one I wrote about a year ago here in Prague.

Now, I know y’all are used to my filthy, knife-in-the-throat humor, but these poems are a bit different. At the very least, give them a quick read-through and if they don’t tickle your fancy, I promise to castrate myself on camera with a lemon-juiced razorblade (just kidding).

Laughing About the Moon

I have a group of friends

They are old friends that go

Way back to the time

When I was fishing for boogers

And scraping my elbows on the asphalt

We’ve done everything together

We’ve even bounced the

Globe around and spun it

On our fingertips

I  Love these guys

And it’s sad

When I have to leave them

Every so often we see each other

And when we do

We sew our friendship back together

With booze, pot, and stories

On rare nights you can find us

In my garage

Sipping smoke from a

Jeweled horn

And laughing about the moon

Birds

When I was a child

I hated birds

So much so that

I scoured the canopy of our backyard

For their nests

And when I found them

I plucked up their eggs

And smashed them

To the earth

When I got older

And more murderous

I bought a gun

I loaded it with

Pellets

And tiptoed around

The trees

And when I spotted

A swallow

Raven, dove, or finch

I cocked the hammer back

And blasted it

From its branch

In a “POP” of feathers

Now that I’m a man

And the rage inside me

Has slowed to a

Trickle

I can watch a bird preen itself

Without wanting to

Crush it

With my boot heel

Have another Sip

I sat in my

Tiny room

And watched Bukowski

On my computer screen

And ate ham

And swilled whiskey

Meanwhile

Bombes burst

Far away

In skies I’d never heard of

And mothers’ hands

Went up against the flashes

While they huddled their

Children

Into mud-brick homes

Before being blown away

In so many flakes of ash

And I thought

Who am I

To be sitting here

Watching Bukowski

While all this happens?

Then I took another sip of whiskey

And forgot all about

Those mothers with

The ash-flake hands

Gods of Yesterday

We’ve shut them out!

Gods

Ghosts

Ghouls

Everywhere they turn

Another door

Is slammed in their faces

As they roam the streets

Forests

And riverbeds

Men with gasmasks

And weapons

Come to collect

They heard them into corners and bathe their bodies in fire

They hang them from the trees and let the crows pick out their eyeballs

They strip them of their skin and make shopping malls with it

They drown them

Till the streams

Rivers

Seas

And oceans

Are FILLED

With twisted and dead limbs

Those of our kind

Who take pity on theirs

Who listen to what they have to say

And keep the door open a crack

Are called crazy

And either locked up for life

Or given the same treatment

As those we used to worship and fear

What changed?

Why are the Gods of Yesterday

The branded figments of today?

Can’t the killing stop?

Can’t anyone give them a home?

They’re cold and scared

They’re us