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2 Poems - By David Dannov 2 Poems - By Glenda Cooper |
You're the ones who keep me sane. You're the ones who grow pale flowers into yellow and scream out with the terror of the damned. You're the reason it rains. You're why Autumn comes around and why the homeless sleep in peace and why my childhood was filled with blue skies and street lights glowing jack-o-lanters in the night. You're the reason I write this poem and why the Inidan weeps and why the wolf howls at the moon. You're the reason I can work. The reason I can step out my door and still feel the soul of the earth. You're the reason the birds sing even when the hard-hats murder the trees. You're the reason for violin playing and why old women twiddle their cunts and why the serial killer smiles when the blood runs warm. You're the reason why cops beat the shit out of their wives and why generals wear maid uniforms and why that man cut his dick off and walked down Century Boulevard, bleeding all over the road. You're the reason why planes crash and people drown and the sea is as deep as a ten mile canyon. You're the reason for that distant fog horn at 2 in the morning. You're the reason why alligators attack babies and why snakes slither around and why insects roam about in a jungle of bones. You're the reason why smoke rises from an oil rig and why the fish swim free. You're the reason why dolphins get slaughtered (for a can of tune) and why the sun feels alive on the skin. You're the reason I breathe and the reason I'll croak and why everyone points the finger and says crazy while Uncle Bill slits his writs in his car on the side of the 405 freeway. You're the reason why I've jacked off to the Home Shopping Network or why my mother died when I was ten and why I can't sleep at night and why the rage is still pulsing while the ghosts wander around in our dreams. You're the reason I've worn lipstick and Ms. Hyde had her nails done that Hallows night. You're the reason the earth spins and why it's so beautiful out there, out there in space with all the solitude of the stars. You're the reason why the rose-buds bloom. The reason why I can't list every god damn analogy in my head. You're the reason why the poor starve while the rich eat platters of jewels. You're the reason why cats fight, drunkards drink, painters paint, and why Van Gogh lopped off his ear. You're the reason why the mountains are Gods. The reason for the butterfly's wings. The siren passing by. The end of the sidewalk. Hell, even the huff of the buffalo. Oh, you poor sweet children of the madhouse. You're the reason for the reason of the reason. Lord, how you comfort me so. The Horseman With Death's Head In His Hands I know a man. He's a beautiful man. He works at a gas station. Graveyard shift. 8 hours a night. He's been doin' it for the last ten years. He's a writer. A poet. A novelist. He hasn't cut his hair since he was sixteen; never shorter than his shoulders I mean. He's got big ears and black galaxy eyes. He's not published yet. 37 yrs old and still not published. But he's never given in, this guy. Never. His moment are his. And, in a way, I feel privileged to know this rare human being before "they" do so to speak. I know about a garden they haven't trampled on yet. My own secret little garden. He spins spider webs and whole jungles in the solitude of his mind. He is the dawn when it comes up in the morning. The pink clouds like a firebird sundae. The flower in the trashcan. But most of all: he's my friend; always encouraging me for the fight. He's been around and he knows the score. When the madness arrives, I can talk to him like a true soul. No, there's no bullshit when it comes to this guy. He tells it like it is. Like a horseman with death's head in his hands, he seems to fill me with God's might. - David Dannov 2001
- Glenda Cooper 2001 |
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