New Years

Gunna get my kicks
before the whole shit house
goes up in flames

Hard Core Breakfast

The knock at my door awoke my hung over self.
Piercing blue eyes and a 50s style haircut
a crazed look in his eyes that could go either way.
It had been at least 20 years
since our last acquaintance.
I had changed plenty
as had he
other than the look.
Put back eight beer
for breakfast
and realized
there is no sense in
hiding the past.

Don't Run

There was no warning
no alarm sounded
when they came for Jack.
A coat of restraint,
Jack went along easy
he had rode this horse
before.

Too Far

The gear grinding bone crushing sounds of Jack being eating by his own machine. He had gone too far, his mind was racing, it was like a bad LSD trip , filled with monsters and black holes. A black hole was all Jack was convinced of seeing, he wondered if there was medication for such fear.

Demands

The Russians told jack it would be best if he waited inside as they were familiar with the girls and would have no difficulty moving both, them and the Vodka, from the crate into the dungeon. It didn't feel right to Jack but he followed through with direction and went through the thick fog into his house. Within 20 minutes the larger of the two Russians appeared in the threshold stating that all was in place and warned Jack never to contact them again. He pulled back the side of his winter coat to reveal a hand gun strapped to his side. Jack said nothing, only nodded in agreeance. As the fog rolled out, so did the transport truck. No turning back now. Jack poured himself a whiskey on the rocks and went to check out the merchandise. The lock worked perfectly. Jack entered the dungeon it was cold and quiet, when Jack pulled on the chain attached to the trouble light, he knew instantly that something was horribly wrong.

Jack knew that Bishop would be pissed off but he had to call someone.
"Bishop, those fucking Ruskies have fouled me, they ripped me off, one of the girls is missing fingers and another an eye. Fuck, they where supposed to be blond, and man do they smell bad. They were to be fully functional and one can't bend her knee. As for the Vodka, it's airline sized bottles, I've got stacks of these little fucking bottles. And one of the girls just repeats herself over and over and I don't know how to quiet her, there must be a string to pull somewhere and they seem to be made of some light weight styrofoam, not even close to the weight of a real woman.

Bishop laughs of relief could be heard throughout the valley.

Delivery

The russians called Jack stating that everything was running ahead of schedule. They told him that the cleanest way to deliver would be via crate and they requested GPS coordinates.This all stirred jack up. He had been told they would be arriving in time for New Years. The dungeon was still in need of mattresses and chains. He would be forced to improvise, the lighting would be minimal and security measures had not been thoroughly reviewed. It was too late, the Russians insisted they deliver. Jack offered them a civic address as he had no inclination of coordinates. Panic struct, Jack filled the floor of the dungeon with loose straw and hung lengths of hemp rope and hand-cuffs. He checked the key in the locks several times and filled the key hole with WD-40 so it wouldn't freeze. An inversion had come about so the cloud cover was thick, perfect for delivery as the lights of the transport truck appeared in the driveway. Jack began to shake, anxiety overwhelmed him, he couldn't turn back now for he had arranged clientele and the Johns had payed up front. The Russians backed the truck all the while the "beep-beep- beep" of the reverse indicator sounded. This Jack hoped, would not draw attention. The Russians fixed straps to the large crate and using the trucks boom they cautiously unloaded. Jack handed the Russian in charge a hand full of cash and inquired about he Vodka. "Yes sure to be inside" the big fellow replied.

Reasoning

The screams could be heard throughout the wetlands. Bishop could hear Jack from down the valley. Jacks fingers were frozen white all but the one that was bleeding. The trap door had froze over in the prior nights cold and Jack had been working on it all morning. Pry bars, sledge hammers and whiskey, Jacks tools of choice, but with the light on, on the inside of the dungeon, and humidity on the exterior, a solid mass of ice had covered the entrance non-permeable. Bishop came by to plead with Jack not to go through with the whole sex slave idea, but Jack was in no mood for reasoning. "To hell with you then, don't let fear and common sense get in your way!" Bishop sped out of jack's driveway spraying the neighbours fence with gravel. "At least you didn't back into it this time" Jack laughed under his breath. Then fear came over Jack, had he simply gone too far? Bishop was by far the more reasonable of the two and Jack usually took his advice.

Sanity

Jack wasn't certain
just exactly where he had put it
but it was definitely missing.
There had been
no sign of it in quite a while.
Even some of his close friends
searched.
Maybe he had lost it years back
maybe he never possessed
it at all.

But he knew now that
it was missing.

Bishop had given him
fair warning.
But Jack had an addiction.
He had created
this addiction
and lived it through.

The girls were to arrive
Sunday next.
The dungeon
was complete.
His nerves
rattled him.
Had he gone too far?
Christmas was nearing
and what a treat it would be.

Vodka

Jack sent a message
to Russia.
Heard the sex trade
was booming.
He ordered a half dozen
and dug a
dungeon beneath
the outhouse.
Friend told him
this was the way
to keep them fresh.
The temperature
remains constant
and cries are muffled.
Jack thought
this may be a good place
to store the case of vodka
the Ruskies promised to send along.

Now if this doesn't reward me with comment
I give up!

Knees

Jack sat eating out of the can
he kew the most difficult thing
about drinking and dialing
was finding the number.

He knew if he looked
he would find her.

Awkwardly

Fresh squeezed legs
He was eating instant coffee.
The buzz
incomparable.
Panties around her ankles
duelling the flashlight
to a gentle red hum.

The baby turtles
pushed awkwardly toward the water.
He tried not to be noticed.
He, certain they had seen him.

Every instance noticed
he walked in the shadow of himself

Hank

Hollywood and Western
Bukowski in the back seat
drinking and smoking
calling out to whores
A drunkard
loving drunkards
'ol alcoholics
no way out
drug fiends
Drunkenness
a suicide defence
Tired and no more will do
bottle a whiskey
meet some bitch
Now that's living
Alcohol
it's the thing
All you need
is an apartment
for something good.
tragedy is accepted
no reservation
A man whom eats breakfast
for dinner
is the same man
who has the strength to go on

All The Freedom

local vagabond
on the move
saw him
bike trailer in tow
moving
guitar and bags
and all
his quiet secrets stashed
along refundable bottles
and cigarette butts.

James

James!, he blurted out as he stood pissing in the toilet. The urine smelled musky. It was the name of a fellow he was drinking with. He'd not met him prior and considered the importance of recalling his name. His name was James and they'd most likely become drinking buddies. But that was far off, first he would have to find the car. That damn Subaru, the bloody thing appeared as any of the other white Subies in the parking lot. It had been a highly successful seller in the car market, territorially at the least. It seemed everyone in the West Koot's knew someone with a white Subie station wagon. I think they labeled them Legacy. After pissing and a brief interlude of vomiting, Jack zipped his pants and chucked his empty beer can into a barrel in the corner of the dark lower level parkade. Fuck it!, just test the alarm. How else would he find the white Subie in all this that blended like a Daiquiri. Jack reached into his shirt pocket as the Subie's alarm sounded and drew a cigarette from a twenty pack. The tobacco had dried in the heat of summer and fell like dandruff at a curling rink. He knew that time was running short and that his dignity was on the line and that his future lay in the hands of James.

Shakes

Jack should have followed Bishop's lead to the East side of the valley. Bishop always on the East side, while Jack scrambled snow covered hills reaching for the last of the afternoon sun on the West. By the time he got to a high ridge the sun was to set in short order. He took Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath" with him and one beer. Jack was shaky and he knew that just one beer could pull him out of it.

The days prior Jack had drank so much just to feed desire that he had plum passed out 'round 6:00pm. He and Buck made their way over the pass headed East toward home. Jack's ribs ached from wrestling with H.D.D., and he resented the fact that he had lost his flashlight in the snow. Buck struggled to keep his eyes ajar as he drove South up the valley.

Jack was welcomed once home but passed up the family hugging for a hot shower to clean himself of a three day smokey drinking binge

Late Night Drive

Up and over Roger's
slipping on frozen
thin layers of frost.
Meeting the ferry
in the snow falling darkness.

Seven tight switch backs
on the unploughed 31 North

Coldness awaits
beer passes time
cold as ice.

Roaring fire
and daylight
warms extremities.

Ice

The stained glass rattled in the window.
There was a slight tinkle from the ice in his brandy
as the train past on the cold night.
The moon was out, yet a cloud cover had rolled in that had dropped crystles of ice, that he ran around collecting in his drink. Most of the company had gone but she was still there in her red dress.. she clung to his mind like frost on water.There was no way she would leave with him, hell, he was on foot and it was cold and what did he expect. Not much, he hadn't thought he had a chance, that was until she motioned him into the kitchen where she let him know that she was tired of her current situation and that she would like to walk home with him, but everyone would notice and that was too much to risk. So he waited outside in the full moon in late November for her to come through those doors alone , but the time would not come and he would find himself more alone than when he arrived.

Uninterrupted

Red eyed
but someone had to write.

Bishop was missing
no one had seen him for days.
His truck was parked in the driveway
next to the wheelbarrow
loaded with fresh snow
and frost.
It had gotten cold and
Jack wondered what had become of Bishop.

Bishop had some big story to tell
and Jack
a gallery show that he was preparing for.
Neither one of them
would make good on their efforts
but they had reserved themselves
uninterrupted.

Yestermorrow

When you eat breakfast for dinner
you know it will be a late night.

Sat round the fire
all day.

Wished my friend
would have stopped on his way.
It's his day so
it's entirely
up to him.

Took in smoke
from fir bark
then I smoked a little for Jer

Heard the music playing
as
I sucked back my beer.

Saw some pictures
Denni Blue
brought by

This is how it was
then I got high.

Lived in a tipi
and Denni
in a tent

Cutt'n trees
and saving on rent.

It was along
while back.

but I can taste it
today.

Shirley-Mae

I miss my mother's
tender touch
and her blackened
bruised skin
her bent fingers
and greyed hair
I miss the most gentle
person
that ever lived.
I miss Shirley-Mae.

Her awake with
champagne in hand.
She took no shit and offered
unconditional love.
And when she left us
the only thing I could say
was
You were
the most
awesome piece of my life.
Bad choice of words
but in her dying
moment she smiled at me.

Afford Love

When they both fall into bed.
The night I own.
I hope they're not angry.
My piss
smells of asparagus.

I pick bottles
in my sleep
to
afford love.

I'd trade
desire
for black eyes.

And I'd fight for real love.
The love that
is canned
and stocked
on
my shelf.

Hard Sun

Like prayers answered
my glass half full
My heart
beating
and
woman at my side.
In the slow season
getting old.
The Hobo fire burns
littering my soul.
Run to the cold
with sun on back.

9-0h

Looking for contenders
ready to ice drag race
never done here before.
Gunna bolt up the Ural
strait pipes
on a strait away.
9-0h
flat out fast.
Looking for contenders.

7-11

Denny Blue entered the 7-11
went straight for the
Slurpie machine,
Pepsi,
always!
Then he spotted
the mini bottle of
red wine,
started mixing in the store.
"Red wine and
Pepsi slurpie,
What are you drunk?"
"Get the hell out of here!"

Ponderosa

The tree I saved
spared by Hydro
a small victory
knowing
there's not another
for tens of miles.

Take Me Away

Tried to clean up the
Tower Turbulator
portable Typewriter
model #603.22
Produced for Sears-Robuck
by Underwood
all the way from
Heartford Connecticut.
Came back from the studio
smelling of mildew
so I headed for the hills
with pen in hand.

Gate-keep

When he reached the gates
of Purgatory
they opened his passport
only to find that he'd been to Hell.

The passport had been stamped
"Failure" and "Remorse".

The gate-keep flipped the page
and could see he'd traveled alone
for a long way.

There was a bottle
of Cyanide
in his handbag
it had been opened
and was only half full.

You don't need no bus pass
to get to hell.
You just need to hitch a ride.

Lost

Where are you my friend
with words
littered by booze

Do you expect me to keep it up for the pair of us?

Transitions

A thousand flies on the window sill
slowed by the season change
Awake mere hours
slow to response.

I grab for my beer
for the first time
with my
left hand.

This is the transition,
first
splitting kindling
now drinking.

At 43
I learn that
only one side
can't
keep the stand of time.

What's next?
The liver will be the
next to go
then sanity
will fall from
the skeletal grip.

And I'll need
PAIN RELIEF
in some form
or another.

Of Wind and Beer

Just fetch me a beer

Fuck off, she says
Honey you've got to be kidding
I've been at it all day.

Yah, me too
you think it's easy
sitting along side the lake in all this wind.
We only had a six pack of Old Milwaukee
the tall ones of course.
But damn I'm still out now
and you know how I hate sobriety.

Chairs of the Cabin

I sit in my cabin on any of the decrepit chairs busting my way through this manuscript. One side of my ass hurts so bad that my neck grows tense. I know it is time for bed, but I love the beer and wine so damn much. My back is in need of a new chair, this one left behind by that mad writer "Fraser". Straight up posture, twisted leg, taped together early 50's vintage. Or the pure luxury studded dinning table chair which is the only cabin original , seat cushion rotted off years ago, but the back support stands out amongst options. The old capuccino bar stool set, vintage early 80's discarded by my neighbours years ago, have seen their day and lean with a twist when used. My late brother Gordon's chair sit's in the living room waiting to devour someone. "The Green Monster". This chair has been in my life since I was 10 years old. Besides my brothers chair in the living space in front of the open fire place, [that is a hit only in the cold of winter] is another circa 50's green arm chair [grandmother's]. This one mildewed on the backside from where the roof leaked overhead. And finally the soft lean twister chair upstairs looking out the window.
Light fades as pen runs dry. There's that polluted little object I fill with M-J, some one put it away. And the girl on the beer-can winks at me and it feels good as light fades the words grow.

red eye

hung over
had a big
Hunter Thompson breakfast
with beer and clam
put on the sun glasses
down low

I lounge out side
sun and a jet stream overhead
take me away