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July 30, 2005
my kinda place
my creaky brakes
stop down in the front
of a foriegn bar
should I bother
should I not
fuck all the bullshit
and in I go
well the pig tailed negress
offers me 16 ounces of the high life
for one dollar fifty
I'll take it
and untie my boot laces
the subhumans that surround me
bring the casual grin
and I throw some coins
into the juke
though its math is a bit
confused
I forgive it
and take whatever
it will give me
I slug a few beers
into submission
and soon we're joined by
a mongoloid mechanic
who is more grease
than man
and his woman(?)
who weilds a dirty cast
on her left arm
and isnt that her
hobo cart, over there
waiting in the corner?
a negro comes in
and abuses the
phone privileges
and of course pigtails
has to kick him
out
after 9 different dial sessions
Im shootin my way into histroy
on the pool table
but then
the tune on the
juke box
fucks me all up
theres a monkey's
head
hanging over the register
smushed nose
and nervous eyes
wearing a leather cap
like a running back from
the 1940's
and I know
that I must come back
and shoot him
if you know
what I mean
the halfbreeds admire my wheels
which I
bring inside
due to fear of
theft from the avenue
the place is clearing out
and for once
it is not
because of me
I must come back
tomorrow
and make sure its all
still here
Posted by Drexler at 10:11 PM
July 29, 2005
ham hocks number in Juarez
so me and the young beauty go into her darkened cell or maybe it was her room but very small and difficult to navigate especially when you're under a sheet and trying to stir the molasses into a lubricous thing without a headlight. she said her older brother had the bad habit of getting put in jail for stealing things from the five and dime like blocks of cheese and glass cleaner in the little town where they grew up which she had escaped but he had not and did I ever steal blocks of cheese and did I like where I grew up and of course no and hell no from me on those inquiries as I fumbled with the hooks on her brassiere. Outside it was thunder but no rain and she said that thunder scared her and that in Juarez there was very little thunder and she liked that about the place, how long had she lived in Mexico I asked and she waxed on dreamily as if a film had flickered on somewhere inside her head: I came here when I was 17 with some friends on spring break and when it was time to go home I ran away with this lying bastard Id met in a club a couple nights before who promised the good life and all the accessories on the beaches of Acapulco but got me strung out on heroin in TJ instead so he could rent me out to filthy men that had the smash for it, the money that is and on and on she went...the fan whirled above our heads as I took her confession and worn flesh hand in hand into my tired brain where all the confessions of the world waited in line for some form of an apology but doesnt the sadness make you feel authentic I wondered to myself as she stroked my hair and I tasted the salt on her breasts like bitter fruit but who's complaining when your in the sack with such an unpolished beauty as this one was, only nineteen she had said and Im a bit farther down the line than that myself no spring chicken in these boots baby...well at least you got rid of your pimp and are your own boss now I tell her but no she says she hadnt gotten rid of him some men had shot him to death in TJ six months ago in front of the Gordo Gato while she waited in the car, she got out and ran back to their hotel packed her stuff and got on the first bus that passed the place, deeper into mexico and to hell with going back to her family an embarrassment to them anyway having a 19 year old junkie and whore for a daughter who had an ass like a ham hock. what do you mean an ass like a ham hock I wondered and she must of read the question off of my face because she said well, Tico, that was his name, Tico, he used to tell me I had an ass as firm as a ham hock and that it was as tasty as one too only his English wasnt the best when he was drunk which he usually was so it always sounded like he was saying 'choo az taze like a ham-ock' and well what the hell did a hammock have to do with my ass and it took me a long time to ask him that and when I did he laughed reaaly hard for about 10 whole minutes and when he finally stopped he said HAM HOCK not hammock you little fool, and then he told me that he'd lived in the united state once for a year, in new orlean and would get ham hocks with butter beans every tuesday for lunch at a place called Marsailles and would watch them in the kitchen from his stool at the bar cutting the ham hocks off of the huge slabs of pigs ass and how he used to think about he'd like to get ahold of that well at least it made more sense than a hammock anyway...I watched her inkwell of hair spill over the dirty pillow and her lips writhe over her teeth as I rode her and she finally quit talking as I think she was getting into the groove of things here in the now...after the fireworks I dismounted and washed my cock in the sink and she began to whistle a song that rang a bell somewhere on the front desk of my mind but I just wanted to have a pull from the mescal and take a moment in the shadows to ponder her cocaine thighs and buttocks beneath the last remaining light before inventing a reason to leave even though I would see her again tomorrow of course for another bargain go-around and what would her daddy say if he could see her now without her pigtails and picked flowers just for you but maybe it was never like that with him and then again maybe he was the reason she hated that town so much and man she hadnt talked so much the first night no she was just interested in the satisfying of my needs department not that I minded hearing her life story as it kept me from thinking about my own too much...well I told her Im gonna go get a bite to eat before I head back to my place and Ill probably see you again tomorrow at El Rey if you were there and would you be, yes, well until then and then a lovers kiss and then I close the door tightly and adjust my belt on the way down the stairwell towards the plaza de armas and its wooden benches and carts where the mustached men sell tacos and cold beer on this early july evening in Juarez Mexico
Posted by Drexler at 07:31 PM
painting the young mare
lying with a pressurized earlobe on watermarked sheets of drool and sweat with Nicole nestled between my breastplate and armpit, flicking me with a hair tie. The jazz station has mutated and there is too much macho guitar filling this house and where is that crackle of scratched vinyl and the old negros strumming a warped six string with railroad fingers howlin at the bottle of moonlight on the kitchen table next to a sad and empty glass while his big legged woman lies on another mans bed...Nicole is wearing a baseball cap and is looking for the cigarettes that Id like to smash and crush into coffee grinds, now she is going to the corner store for you know what and would I like anything, yes something cold to drink and any girl that wants to fuck. And is that what I do, go to the store and find girls to bring back to fuck while she sweats for our rent money at the Ugly Dog, well yes of course but only the ones who dont smoke and goodbye now. She leaves me with the jazz and I wonder if the denver broncos are gonna be winners this year or just another cock tease like all those other jokers I root for only to end up long of face with no parades to miss...Nicole has eyes like a dove and she says that I fuck her like a whore but she doesnt get paid like one and isnt that how you like it I ask her other than the money that is...there are smoke rings wandering out of her mouth and she calls me outside to watch two geckos that are making time beneath our mailbox but there doesnt seem to be much action so I just snap a picture and go back to the couch sanctuary...theyre painting the house with the crooked porch and collapsing overhang at the end of the block she tells me and of course she is alluding to the fact that our house is the only one on the block that looks like it is a hundred and fifteen years old even though the other ones on this street are too, Those Mexican painters made sounds at me again, whenever youre not with me they do it and I say it was probably just spanish and theyre probably just simple laborers whove never seem breasts as unlikely as yours and are they still painting that house goddamn pink I ask and apparently they are, for reasons Id like to uncover with a backhand and then bury in the soggy infantile ground beyond the shed...I need to get a football shirt for work because football season is starting soon and Ill make more money on sundays if I wear one but I dont know which team to like. the broncos are the right way to go I tell her with a nervous ring in my chatterbox. Yeah the broncos, and on the back I can have it say 'I ride like a bronco' yeah! Yeah but you have an ass like a mule I tell her and now shes trying to claw my eyes out but only in a fun way and I make sure not to spill my raspberry tea on the orange couch, someone on the radio has a fine old girl in New Orleans and I suppose that I do too.
Posted by Drexler at 03:02 PM
the bill collector
his name was Derek
and he was a real
pain in my ass
every day
around 1:00
hed call
asking for the wife
who wasnt home
and would I
take down his number
we already have your number Derek
I would tell him
but then the worm
would say
then what is it?
and I would tell him
its 1 800 eat shit
then
I would hang up
then the phone would ring
3 seconds later
and his mouth
would already be running
when I tapped
the answer button
if I had music playing
which I usually did
I would set the phone
on top of a speaker
and let him listen to a song
until
the song
played out
then I would hear him
squawking
through the line
but then
on cue
a new song
would drown him
out again
sometimes he would last
3
or 4
songs
but eventually
the line
would go dead
it seems that he
didnt like
my taste in music
good
now I can get back to my
unemployment
drinks
while somewhere in
Denver
our friend Derek
will get back to his
song and dance
that no one
sees
nor cares
to listen
to
Posted by Drexler at 03:01 PM
July 24, 2005
passing time
fucking
drinking
smoking
sucking
snorting
these are all just things
that we do
to pass time
death still waits
in the hallway
with a harmonica
there is no such thing
as living
because theres only so much
time
to fuck around with
then your dumped into a box
for the worms
and that
is it
like being on hold with the electric company
or waiting for the doorbell to be pushed
by the woman with the nice ass
and the bottle of vodka
life is a waiting room
a search for a distraction
from the inevitable
you are reminded of this
by the fallen leaf
and the crushed sparrow
by the brown lettuce
and the headless chicken
passing time
that is all
this is
Posted by Drexler at 09:48 PM
accidents
not every day
is mashed potatoes and corn on the cob
no
on some days we should consider ourselves
lucky
to have scraps
thrown at us
I sit on a barstool
with the rest of the winners
playing Russian roulette
with my drink selection
I scribble some bullshit
on a napkin
and swipe some glances
at the barmaid
she looks like one of gods
accidents
and I wonder aloud
to no one in particular
if Ill ever get out of this place
the music on the juke
sounds like a funeral
my ham and cheese
tastes like a weapon
and the a/c unit is acting
like a lazy bitch
the nurse asks me
if id like another
cocktail
I tell her she doesnt need
to ask me anymore
that well just
assume it
and spare ourselves
these conversations
Im taking a piss
in the sink
because the urinal
is urging me to vomit
and the sound of running water
just makes sense
maybe tomorrow
my outlook
will shine a little harder
maybe children
will be seen
playing
in well groomed yards
maybe dogs
will wag their tails
and smile
instead of trying
to rip my balls off
Posted by Drexler at 08:28 PM
July 22, 2005
Molly's
scrambled thoughts
purgatory daydreams
I hear you scarping around
in the living room
and Im trying to place
my mind
at the reality of the scene
eyes running wild
tumbling over these 4 walls
onto the collage
weve collaborated upon
and I find your pastel
the lovely curls and winking
eye
and amongst the ruins
of our love
and your sweet soul
it almost brings a tear
to my own
almost
Posted by Drexler at 09:42 AM
A.T.
the signal is
breaking up
even the sharpest of lines
are beginning
to dissolve
that face from
so many
years ago
is slowly being relegated
back into the
shadowbox that lies
buried in a shallow grave
somewhere in an attic
it was only for a moment
that you were here (there)
evading the shadows
from the juniper
and casting light
upon the lake
and all my words
crept quietly
inside the gallows
hiding from speech
we were going to go
somewhere
less poetic
somewhere less quiet
a place where I might feel
more comfortable
fumbling shoestrings
and spilling wine
in the presence of
such a vision
cropping sweat
from my brow
when I awoke
I felt only
relief
nothing
and no one
should cast such a
spell
over the lowest
and most common
of denominators
Posted by Drexler at 09:20 AM
July 18, 2005
men and women (?)
what ever happened
to when
men
wanted to get some pussy
and women
wanted some cock
I go to the bar
and the television has
three eyes
one shows some fag dramatical show
another is womens volleyball
and the last is men
wresting in tights
all the wrong eyes
are glued
to all the wrong screens
for what appears to be
all the wrong
reasons
I order
a double
and stare
at the mirror
behind the bar
the voices around me relay
reverse-genre dialog
and my steering wheel
is feeling
a bit tight
another double
and a peer at the fold
of a skirt
that waits on my left
she has stars
tattooed on her wrist
and we know all know
what that means
(I think)
the point is:
should I really have to wonder
this much?
men peer at men
and talk like theyre all from
Barcelona
women wipe away
your curiosity
with a different type
of disinterest
I call for the check
and wander home
back to the
argument
in the bedroom
and wonder
which of the two
is harder
to comprehend
Posted by Drexler at 10:21 AM
July 14, 2005
Nyquil
people can come see me
in a photograph
and they will see
that I
never was
what I used to be
twisted sheets strangle
the contortionist
into tortured designs
a current of sweat
wrung from the pillow
wrung from the flesh
spills down the vine
while
the teeth of the alarm clock
grind the minutes into
daybreak
nightmares
and
motion detector
floodlamps
play flashbulb
in the purgatory
of the mind
hours fold
into days
days
stuffed into minutes
and the bathroom sells
lightning
sardined behind the light switch
behind the curtain
in the shadows
amongst the reptiles
cold water
stands in a glass
on the floor
and of course
it is empty
the sun is crawling
in through the cracked pane
and restless night
hangs you
out to dry
Posted by Drexler at 10:32 AM
July 11, 2005
the O.G. House of the Rising Sun
the original lyrics form the 1930's
There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun.
It's been the ruin of many a poor girl, and me, O God, for one.
If I had listened what Mamma said, I'd 'a' been at home today.
Being so young and foolish, poor boy, let a rambler lead me astray.
Go tell my baby sister never do like I have done.
To shun that house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun.
My mother she's a tailor; she sold those new blue jeans.
My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord, Lord, drinks down in New Orleans.
The only thing a drunkard needs is a suitcase and a trunk.
The only time he's satisfied is when he's on a drunk.
Fills his glasses to the brim, passes them around.
Only pleasure he gets out of life is hoboin' from town to town.
One foot is on the platform and the other one on the train.
I'm going back to New Orleans to wear that ball and chain.
Going back to New Orleans, my race is almost run.
Going back to spend the rest of my days beneath that Rising Sun.
Posted by Drexler at 05:39 PM
July 08, 2005
moral fiberglassing
what cloaking
lies
under the canopy?
under the textiles
of your rapture?
a smoky voice
in an empty hall
winding slowly
around your excuses
cutting off the oxygen
to the lower limbs
of your morality
and really
who cares?
the flesh
speaks a language
more forthcoming
than detours
that we create
to avoid an open door
than derailments
that we cause
to sidestep our
moral fiberglass
under a canopy
with an unfamiliar form
ceiling fan
humming
a different tune
than I
she lies with the silence
and draws breath
like the moon
asks for nothing
in the afterthought
and craves only
completion
in the trails
of comets
and fallen
stars
Posted by Drexler at 05:31 PM
all the dead winds
ordinary rustling
amongst the vipers
and cracked leaves
oak limbs
and crushed sparrows
line the deserted side streets
that no one dare navigate
light sockets
listless and dark
observe the silence
without casting
shadows
soda cans jingle
across broken asphalt
pressed lazily
by the dead winds
left in the wake
of the storm
the milk is turning
the thermostat is rising
the lines
are dead
the worst
is slow
in coming
Posted by Drexler at 03:48 PM
cash advance
struggling against
the page
all the silver
is
long gone
Bobby D. is winding on
about the watchtower
that Hendrix stole
my wife is out
trying to find a new place
to make drinks
I am sitting
in the kitchen
hammering on this glass
folding words into
pelicans
thinking that
the best plans
are the ones that we throw
into the rubbish bin
Posted by Drexler at 03:46 PM
July 04, 2005
curbing the dogs
walkin out of the A&P
with the groceries and wife
in tow
I see an antique
driving a brand new Cadillac
into a parking spot
and I say
give me that mother fucker
Ill be pimpin all kinds of redheaded bitches,
Ill be scoopin em up like dog shit
the wife and I
look at one another
and burst into laughter
this July
New Orleans weather
seems to be
affecting my mind
and
my dialog
Posted by Drexler at 01:07 PM
July 03, 2005
the options
its easy to forget the banter
stockpiled by the wayside
once you get
farther
down the road
the words
thrown
like daggers
fall away
like leaves
nevertheless
you must take inventory
of the
damage
that you can afford
to compensate
you must strangle
the truth
out of
the hatred
in the darkness
with numb fingers
and silent tongue
you must make space
for error
on the foreground
of the playing field
where we all challenge
one another:
humanity
dignity
gratuity
until
we are bare bones
and lying naked
swollen
and bleeding
shattered
in places that no sunlight
shall enter
Posted by Drexler at 12:27 PM
the death of 10:59
at 10:59 I
drank water from a glass called
smoke
I
blew hair from the mocha colored
sheets
I
saw the phone lying
upside down
I
heard the wife
slam the door
I
realized my mother
was gone
forever
Posted by Drexler at 12:25 PM
Saturday in July
youre all alone
up there on the wall mama
Id like to say
that that will change soon
but things arent exactly
ideal
over here
as Im sure you can see
not having either of you
at 30
isnt exactly ideal either
but Im trying
to get through
the day
as best I can
you showed me a few things
some tricks
and Im trying to
apply them
to the situation
the results arent always
pretty
but Im not trying to build
a flower
Im not trying to build
anything
usually Im trying
to salvage
things
like this relationship
my mind
the farm
etcetera
Ive got a shamrock
sewn on my hat, mama
thats about the best
I can do
for now
Posted by Drexler at 12:16 PM
quiltwork
funneling in the vodka
at 8:30 in the a.m.
not that I havent
accomplished some deeds
while the wife sleeps off
the previous nights
ugly performance
out shooting film
an hour earlier
in the catacombs of
the neighborhood
finding some diseased
items of interest
broken homes
failed businesses
some funky citizens
who fear the lens
like vampires fear
the sunlight
they must have their reasons
and I have mine
for the attempt
but now
into the bottle
a touch of piano
on the Hi-Fi
curtains
slightly parted
certain panes of glass
unobstructed
for the observation
of human traffic
as I observe the traffic
in my thoughts
they clear the road
inside
Posted by Drexler at 12:10 PM
phoning a letter to a friend
just calling
to ask
if you can
remember
my actually ever
paying
for something
with my own money
I remember distinctly
purchasing a can of beer
when I was 17
with monies I earned
selling baseball cards
other than that
Im drawing a blank
I only mention this because
recently
we purchased
$4,000 in furniture
and Im responsible
for none of it
just like the phone bill
and the air-conditioning
have I always been
a fucking vampire?
or did I sign a check
somewhere along the line?
by the way
thank you for sending
a return envelope
with your letter
it will make it
easier
for you to read this
sincerestly,
Drexla
Posted by Drexler at 12:07 PM
July 02, 2005
death of a butterfly
butterflies
scattered among the ruins
the weeds
broken propellers
and
frozen gears
bring them
down to earth
inside the mansion
I cannot find the switch
for the chandeliers
so I sit amongst cracked sunlight
and spinning fans
with a bottle of tequila
and a bag of lenses
waiting for my
inspiration
to
surmise
my talents
and see which is greater:
the gift to forget
or the gift
to forgive
Posted by Drexler at 08:10 PM
second wind
after the Port of Call
and all the fixins
I deem myself
straight enough
to stand
and I do
stand
before you
with this glass
of agave
wondering where to go
in this mid
afternoon blur
back to the prison barge
to the leather tongue
whipping at my solitude?
back to the mouth
that forms
fists
from my mitts?
Id rather crawl
into a barrel
of laughs
into the arms
of a whore
down an alley
to the suicide shack
if you come looking
for me
watch out
for the landmines
(posthumous temptation)
Posted by Drexler at 08:07 PM
Constance
unemployed and drinking
Pabst in the morning
Taaka in the afterthought
the wife is copying down
recipes
into her little flowered book
I sit here
wondering
if all the new furniture
fits the personnel
slabs of gourmet
and
fine woven threads
shower the dance hall
ignite the lighting
behind columns
and stained glass
the gallery is laid bare
waiting for her dressings
monochromatic rectangles;
images of the world
trapped inside small blocks
we fill the square footage with
comfortable trappings
something to smother
the lesions
gathering amongst my wanderlust
I know that it is only
I
who wear the long face
with each passing train
each hailed cab
each
form of movement
that takes others
onward
another humid afternoon
in the Irish channel
flags lain limp
dogs napping in the recesses
and I
in the dregs of another
worthless day
Posted by Drexler at 07:56 PM
Mama Rosa's #4
the air conditioner
has formed a lake
the fan
is missing a limb
the toilet
has stalled
the neon
is flickering
the veal parmesan
is burning
so is the Mamas bread
the cable tv
gives no reply
the freshly brewed
is three days old
the lime
is entertaining gnats
the silverware
is dirty
the dishes
are chipped
the knives
dont cut
the operating license
is expired
so is the milk
this bottle
is empty
Posted by Drexler at 07:54 PM