Nobody is Legit
I down shift my Dodge to help out
the brakes & it almost worked
but my grinding bomb plows
another beater stopped at the red
on 8 Mile Road at Mound Road
a minor cave-in but the trunk pops open
on the crap looking Ford I rear ended
showing shiny black garbage bags
so I struggle to get mine into reverse
the clutch another source of grinding
as my grill avalanches to the pavement
then I pull off to the right but a huge
hand out the window waves me
forward so I pull up close
all windows down in both our cars
two guys looking to read my eyes
one goes “You good?” & I nod
“Fuck it then!” he screams
& they peel off with lights out.
We all know nobody is legit
no proof of no-fault insurance
possible outstanding warrants
or felonies in progress
in the wee small hours
on the borderline crossroads
past the Railroad Crossing Bar
just down from Kwicky Bar
Alibi Bar & the Golden Greek
all the hang out joints for a hive
of Chrysler plants & a hot spot
for traffic stops which lead to
1,001 ways to send you to hell
& a lifetime of the long dick of the law.
Beer Laced with Hallucinogens
10x ODDS ON DICE
up on the marquee
“the D” hotel on Fremont St.
I am not seeking truth here
just wearing my Marvin Gaye
WAR IS NOT THE ANSWER
t shirt to represent my hometown
to hold my own and drink for free
my mission to camp at penny slots
close to the bar & server parade
just pump the pokies
the fruities & slug slut slots
bad poetry but optimal play
payback is running on the payline
a world of possibilities maybe
but mainly to park in the path
of the beverage runners
where I tip a sawbuck
on the important 1st serve
to a half-naked pre-med student
it’s a dirty mixed up world for
working people in this freak show
but now she will come back
every 15 to 30 minutes
& I will go the max 2 drinks
per person per order every time
as allowed for players in the game
to keep blood alcohol ascending
to shut down the prefrontal cortex
for instant karma & world peace
& I’ll reflect on the Nick Cage movie
from the John O’Brien book
the novelist would suicide
by gunshot 2 weeks after
getting word his Leaving Las Vegas
would make it to film at last
& I’ll find courage in unexpected places
dodge the fear & loathing gut boiling
as what did Hunter S. Thompson know?
crapping out with his suicide play
his ashes blasted out of a cannon
by Johnny Depp (stunt cost him 3 million)
& Johnny lost in a court room
trying to grow his pirate mustache back
to get back in his game
& run the table for what?
so let us build massive ritual sites
like hunters & gatherers
in pre-history & drink beer
laced with hallucinogens.
David Bowie Rescued Me
David Bowie rescued me
from the Bicentennial of the USA
when my new bride and I awoke from fitful sleep
Sunday morning coming down
at the crack of noon
July 4, 1976
when my wife spoke of a Japanese legend
that when you can’t sleep at night
it’s because you are wide awake
in someone else’s dream
and I told her that I felt 200 light years
from the American Dream.
I’ll just make the coffee she said.
I put Mingus at Antibes on the turntable
a new Live album we called “Church”
our sweet soundtrack Sunday ritual passion play
Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting
Prayer For Passive Resistance
Better Git Hit In Your Soul
when 2 friends came bounding up the back stairs
Big Z and Dirty Joe busting through the screen door
proposing an alternative Bicentennial celebration
a Sunday Matinee at an art house cinema
The Man Who Fell To Earth
and there we were gaping at the grainy film
David Bowie as an androgynous android alien startrooper
doing a header into a vector of New Mexico of course
an extraterrestrial from an unknown planet
landing with a preposterous British passport and accent
wanting a glass of water for his family
with grainy drought landscape vistas of thirsty family
flashbacking from home planet
but then going full-bore American corporate greedhead
Does he want all earth’s water?
Learning to be human by watching TV
a whole stacked bank of TV’s
watched through a presumed fly’s eye
perception, learning, memory, grokking it all
an overload freakout to Roy Orbison’s Blue Bayou:
“Get out of my mind all of you.
Leave my mind alone.”
Hooking up with an American girl, Mary Lou.
The Bow tells her he is Thomas Jerome Newton
and then Mary Lou takes him to church
introduces Tommy to alcohol and fucking
Tommy immersing himself immediately in the lush life
lining up top shelf liquor bottles like bowling pins
the water caper fueled by booze
the screen filling up with sex with Mary Lou
lots of it
The Bow as Tommy deconstructing the body feminine
Great scene of Gun Sex full frontal Bowie nudity
Bow as Tommy wielding a pistol like a phallus
pistol loaded with blanks popping them off
Hello Mary Lou, Goodbye Heart.
Mary Lou really goes batshit when Tommy
morphs back alien
ditches the human eye contact lenses
exudes full body slime while fucking
Tommy is getting the hang of it
and why does the alien have the standard male package
the same as every red blooded American male human
singing the Star Spangled Banner with a hard-on
on the 200th Birthday of the United States of America?
Postscript: Came home & barbecued.
Drawing inspiration from the film
Dirty Joe blew away a faulty car stereo
with his new Ithaca 12 Gauge in the back yard.
The faulty unit had been removed to fix.
Big Z launched it off the back porch.
Joe nailed it when it hit the lawn.
We had been drinking the High Life
and smoking what we called Rat Boo.
We lived in an upper flat on Detroit’s Eastside.
Dirty Joe rented a whole house across the street.
A night of Ordinary Madness in America
and not a birthday party.
Cry if you want to.
Dug David Bowie in all his incarnations
especially for at one time aspiring
to be a Buddhist monk.
The Bow studied at a Tibetan monastery
with Leonard Cohen in 1969
at Samye Ling in Scotland of all places.
David Bowie said he was one month away
from getting his head shaved.
RIP Thin White Duke
and whitest Duke
to ever perform
on Soul Train.