May 20, 2011      James Hayes Nichols
Posted to: poems - 0 Comments - Click to Comment


The air smells of salt

and tastes of dust

a chalk as fine as

powdered wig workshops

and black cats waiting

in the wings

in the dark

for tunacan handouts

and rainwater in beercans

and broken mirror beardtrims

of SatNite pre-revel

drunk on nighttime and sauce —

powdered nose nightcaps

powdered nose nosebleed

powdered nose bloodsneeze —

filling up only to empty

and fillup again

all that agriculture

down our throats

in service to muses unknown

in parlors and bartops unnamed

but names known to kids

like us and blackcat kittycats

on carpenterbee porchtops —

black like riversilt

black like ocean like

nuclear raindrops

Chernobyls of time

and times short and flitting

merciless —

hourhand minutehand

secondhand Vlad —

impaling us all with heaven

and sunshine, imploring

nothing but life and striving

but getting nothing

for pains but what it is –

beercans on porches

Titobottles on porches

vomit off the porches

nourishing soils that

no one deigns to feed.

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