Dickinson, Emily, 1830-1886. Herbarium, circa 1839-1846. “Cannabis Page.”

 

After Reading Kent Johnson’s Because of Poetry I Have a Really Big House

 

The Rattlesnake that Married the Garden Hose
“Let me tell you, that made me hotter than the rattlesnake that married the garden hose.”[1]

Washington Square 2020
Catherine, meanwhile, in the parlor, picking up her morsel of fancy work, had seated herself with it again—for life, as it were.     — Washington Square, Henry James (1881)

 

Morris Townsend, where do you start,
we’ve all had that boyfriend,
the first serious one,
the guy who all of a sudden ghosts,
just when things are good,

                                           and
then, he shows up on Facebook
a lifetime later with a Friend request
like nothing ever happened,
yes. that boyfriend.

Only it did happen and who you were
didn’t become someone better
just someone bitter about
the therapy bills and why couldn’t
he have died in a plane crash,

                                                 and
now it all tsunamis back on you:
your 20-pounds-ago body,
the way his abs rippled like snakes
coupling in a garden hose.

                                            So,
you block him and go back to your FB page,
for life, as it were.

 

The Account of a Deceased Person


I’m posting this for some people I don’t know
about the death of their son I never met
but we were friends on Facebook.

Andy was into techno and punk and
stupid dancing cat videos. He loved
his dog Ernest named after Hemingway
because he read The Old Man and the Sea
in high school and it stayed with him.

He got me into the comix where Snow White
fucked the Big Bad Wolf and Prince Charming
was a dick. We had a weird number of friends
named Meredith and he helped me make my
NA amends and not to revengeporn my ex.

There’s a link in the Help section
where they can let Facebook know
and then let go and let God or whatever.

 

ODing in Nazareth

Gender aside for the moment
pre my recent excess of Percodan®
I seem to have been a nun
possibly in this lifetime.

But right now the only thing
I know for sure is this seems like
a good time for a Hail Mary and
a 911 call cc whatshisname
the EMT with wings who
when not otherwise employed
delivers the results of surprise
celestial pregnancy tests.

So maybe when I get back from
whatever the hell is going on
I can go back to being a nun
possibly in this lifetime.

Or not.

 

 

[1] See “Can Someone Tell Me Why”; p. 81.