Jazz and Junk

Judas’s Jesus Feast             So after we took him off the cross, we severed his limbs and barbecued him for a late super. We used the robes he was dressed in as the table cloth. We scalped him in preparation and decided to give it to one of the lepers. We thought he’d want that. We skinned parts of his body to make a few nice coin sacks which would later contain some of the blood money we sold his life for.             You know, everybody said he was such a good guy, the Lord’s son even, but I swear to Christ he tasted just like chicken!

 The Lovers  Fingernails melt leaving White hands dripping slush Of skin and smudged bone He is burning of the canvas While eating make up off Her face The tub fills Up with bleach, They sip black ink breathing Words of yearn Smoke engulfs Bright eyes High brows And Lovers.

Used Crayons and Ripped Paper They converse, white teeth, enzymes diminishing pretty photo copied paper. Skeleton cream walls surrounds Old Yeller (her license barely printed horizontally) and me. 6 AM, day two: Acupuncture draws blood, All here are HIGH RISK. Porcelain lips crack ‘til Vaseline coats seep. Absent coffee morning, caffeine free and a gum free security. Old Yeller raises her quiet chin, ceiling glass taking motion pictures. Packrat contraband. An entire Lost and Found building dedicated to being an empty box. Feet pace in hurried clicks. Moans of distress inhale sipping paper cups, sample size disguise intoxicating helpers burns edges of neurons. Our maps drop globs of ash Burning our memories incomplete. Legs do not walk themselves anymore. I asked before she left , “May I borrow your crayon and paper?”   -rip, scribble.

My car was on the side of the free way on a curved over pass, battery issues. Yellow car plates of the government glaring in my eyes like a yellow jacket before it stings. She just called me saying something about going on "vacation". I get out of my car and the man gets out of his car, government plates. He's dressed in some white. He's got the most menacing pocket knife in his right hand. His body trying, non-convincingly, to say he wishes he didn't have to do this and we can work this out. But I was preoccupied listening to his eyes and hands to hear his mouth. I admit, I don't know why I got out of my car. Behind him, she show's up. Her message of taking a vacation was a red herring for wire taps. It's not paranoia if they really are after you and we don't know how woven into the system we may be. Her eyes, she doesn't want to catch his attention. Saving me from this man is her sole momentary priority.  I think about striking out at the mos...

I miss  you.

It's great, the idea of projecting yourself into masses of people and never being noticed. And for whatever reason I am compelled to do so. I am terrified that I have not nurtured my voice enough. Maybe I'm just a little narcissistic, well, all actors are. I have missed capturing so many moments and now so many are lost. I have forgotten so many poems and there are so many people I don't recall the names of. "Jazz and Junk" is to help me remember.