Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Non Omnis Moriar

Bury me beside gravel crossroads
tell Ol' Scratch I did him bad.
Bury me with pugilist dreams, yesterday's glory
bedtime stories with my children long ago
before life's trick.
Make my monument a chrome bar stool
split red vinyl seat.
Remember wandering soul: gypsy spirit,
the way I would have loved if only I had tried.
Gusting winds North, South, East,
winds of Wild West blowing
scraps of paper bursting with words,
the real me.
Surround my grave with untamed heart house wives,
other men's wives, secret crushes I never knew.
Johnny Cash eulogy on a come down Sunday morning.
Funny stories like Father's funeral
anecdotal evidence, never conquering the world
settling instead for a draw.
Let loose hillbilly howls, shoot guns into the air
and whiskey from the bottle,
someone dance naked  'round the fire but
don't tell Mother.
Pray to whatever god that you know
that I remain free of Hell or Valhalla.
Instead reaping whirlwinds, chasing horizons,
passing away as sunset.

Haiku

The poems that I write
are whiskey-straight-no chaser
burning throat and gut.