Monday, December 15, 2014

Moe Howard in the Underworld

The winter sun tells its own story

The beach sliding beneath the foam & variegated
sparkle of the winter sea tells another

the sound of waves crashing in a bottlecap
for example
         flickering neon behind scarred glass
                  a nun weeping at the ticket window…

Souls out of Erebus or Bakersfield
or any given night on Hollywood Blvd
stagger into the spotlight
led by one who is little more than a shadow
sketched in a mirror
armed with a seltzer bottle, a lead pipe,
& a Beatles haircut

Those sledgehammer eyes glaring beneath
         thunderous eyebrows in that dark place
                  & the spiked kool-aid reflecting all of this
                           like wet sand at low tide
carefully folded like a piece of concrete
& kept close to your heart
that we may learn the steps & the consequence