EAT THIS

Some vultures gathered at

the bookstore to eat some road-kill

poetry over in the art section,

but that was OK because

no one was listening

except us buzzards.

The beard took off his schizophrenic

beret and laid it in a chair

so he could keep an eye on it,

then fed us on love and bees,

where are the bees, the bees,

bees, bees, bees, and

the sting of his psychiatrist

dream lover, beautiful bee

in his bonnet.

He is worried about his bonnet,

always trying to cut knives

with his wrist, his words sharp

as knives, where are the knives,

the knives, knives, knives…

Another circled in, landed,

and told us how lonely

his loneliness was, then wandered off

choosing not to eat with the rest of us.

So that old beatnik buzzard

Raggedy Ann spent

some acid time pissing

on every skunk

she’d ever made love to

in streams of yellow words

she’d watered since the fifties,

laughing about it all

as she fed us from her bitter garden

kept fertile by those missing bees,

the bees, bees, bees.

At that, the new bird,

bald buzzard me, taking a too big bite

dragon flying in the hot rain of words

we came to eat over coffee

in the art section

staring right into headlight eyes

looking for more road-kill. Here...

Eat this.

Author's Note

A report on my first Nashville reading

Reviews

[Lorry]

Sounds exactly like every poetry reading I have seen! 😊
I love your descriptions of the poets, who are acting out their parts to perfection. Love "the beard" description. I might even start calling hipsters walking beards in my as yet unwritten, but it's only a matter of time before one annoys me with their existence. 😊
I've met a few raggedy Ann's too, but I have nothing to say about them at all, because they scare the bejeezus out of me.
I am left hoping that as the credits roll, a view of a buzzard spattered beret fades to black 😊

[Vol]

Lorry,
I love it! And wow, do I miss those Nashville readings! Lizzie Tanner was a beat poet, met John Kennedy when she worked in Washington and he was a freshman congressman... they ate lunch on the lawn. She encountered a bunch of protestors outside the whitehouse and somehow found a place that sold bullwhips (well, it WAS D.C.) and got arrested for assault... The last time I saw her she gave me a fifth of Jack Danials, said "I'm giving you all my alcohol, In won't be needing it... she died of a stroke before I could see her again.

[Lorry]

Ooh! Spooky biscuits Vol. I guess she must have known. Now I must Google DC bullwhip emporium. If I find it I might just s**t a brick with laughter 😊

[Vol]

Lorry,
Hahaha.. bricks ain't tapered, so your a*****e will snap shut so loud, the guy in the next stall will hear. it.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

some parallels I see here to Plath with the Bees, Sexton or Levertov with the "streams of yellow words."

I need to try on that beret.

loved this piece, Vol...

having been involved in so many poetry readings and Jazz poetry duos with my clarinetist friend...
never know what to expect.
j.

[Vol]

Jacob,
I know right, you get a bunch of free thinking, free associating poets together coffee or beer, and everything takes on a new perspective...

[Ken Simm.]

Metaphors galore. Thoughts beyond the obvious and strange happenings. I am reminded of so much .Perhaps this genre could be called American desert?
As they said in the day weird vibes.
But interesting.

[Vol]

Ken,
It's every poetry reading ever...