Finally Found My Fathers Photos...

Grainy Black & white images
Leached to sepia by decades in a box
Bouffant or high & tight
Else flattop all
Massive chrome plated grills
Partially hiding bug impacted radiators
An entire society of current or retired military
All were Army, Navy or Marines the lot
All dead now & remembered only with the top off
And they all rejoiced when Yammamoto and Hitler died
And they feared them while they lived
War bonds in a kitchen drawer
Lying atop half filled S&H green stamp booklets
Church keys mixed in the loose blue chips
Rhinestone horn-rims a cigarette holder
A bent beer cap proclaims
Miller Highlife the champagne of bottled beers
And then saved by someone unknown
For reason forever unknown
Lying half folded against an unremembered face
Forever stuck in hysterical laughter

Never Fear

Death warts multiplying on the skin of your teeth
Death rattles syncopating in the hand of a baby
Lung cookies gather darkly
And bitch about you in particular
Happily slaved with a sinking certainty
To a free floating anxiety
Surprised by an Orgasm
While making a particularly convoluted point
In the middle of complex argument regarding celibacy
All of these things and more are yours my child
Blessed art thou flesh of mine flesh
As is mine, so shall yours be
An life of increasing weirdness
Never fear our schizophrenia
For it will bless as it bleeds you of every when
Of any possibility of love or hope or joy
Or maceration of true intention
The blind eye sees deepest
Being un-fooled by the curse of color

Spending Even My Own Sons...Or..When i say God, I probably mean something different than you

Many are the friends and miles between
Who have seen even into the depths
From which none shall report
Until such a time as death shall no longer
Tempt us from our comfort
But instead to compose a moment
Beyond repose
There shall I always stand with the artist,
The musician and god

Blank

Blank the page with broken pen
Blank the mind to gaze within
Blank to all & sundry show
To all your scattered bodies go
No field, No crop, No earthen clod
No Heathen to ponder forgotten god
But mostly blank that none should know
Bereft of conscience that they not show

Homage to Peter Jarius Friget