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August 27, 2005
Hurricane Katrina
The Hurricane is coming to kill us and knock my barbeque over.
We will probably be flogged sometime Sunday evening and found sometime during the following week. I blame this on Mars
Good Luck with your own lives
Steven D.
Posted by Drexler at 02:59 PM
cracked coffee at the diner
stepped into the hash house
sometime after four in the A.M.
swing sets beneath my eyes
and frozen hands in pockets
find a table near the window
and order coffee
outside the snow is falling like a white shadow
wiping away anything that lies still
and my truck is dissolving into the landscape
the waitress tosses me my coffee
and I wrap my fingers
around the hot cup
hoping to bring life
back into them
there is an old man in a torn hunting jacket
asleep on the counter, gathering moss
a small foghorn blows from his breast
periodically
and the waitress pays him no mind
I suppose this is a reasonable hour
and place
to give in
I ask for some eggs and sausage, hashbrowns
and she plods along
annoyed at having something
to do
Ive come eight hundred miles
and its always the same empty faces
same empty lives
staring back at the reflection
of my own
and I wonder
if its even worth the trouble
to go any further
down the line
Posted by Drexler at 02:55 PM
Katrina
a black waterfall
lies in my hands
or my claws, after an obvious comparison
and what am I doing here
and to whom do I owe this
pleasure?
your aztec nipples
and starving thighs
climb the sheets like raw wind
I fumble with my indecent nature
and the crushed confidence that I
gave over to disregard
long ago
I stand behead the streamers
that decorate my mind
as she lies there, coyly
investigating her torso
with curious fingers
outside I can hear the neighbors
fleeing from the danger zone
some say a hurricane is coming
in
from the haunches of Cuba
but I only know hurricanes of dialog
and despair
brewed down in
the ashes of our lust
the world outside these walls
goes by on its own time
not mine
if I am to be swept away
from this scene
from this warm, hungry body
that relies on my ignorance
for survival
well
then at least I stood in the place that I know
a place
others fled
for somewhere
remote and unfamiliar
in anticipation
of what shall probably
amount
to nothing
better to stay with what you know
and eat the neighbors chicken
Posted by Drexler at 10:58 AM
In the Disco; an excerpt from the upcoming story, "Last Days in Juarez'
she was washing up below the dj booth
wet hair and curved shadows
the place was loaded
and the lights were occasional
her shoes lay in a mop bucket
dejected and alone
her fingers chased away the lines
from her face
behind her were the other girls
coining worthless banter
and smoking tea
she took no interest in them
the music dripped down from the speakers like syrup
as she pulled her tank top up over her hips
somewhere near the back
ice toppled a glass and kicked at cheap bourbon
and I sat watching her dress behind that shutter
her shift was over
no glory had been gained
no memories had been lost
the magnetism of my eye
caught on her hook
brought her to me
taking the seat that I offered
and the cigarette I didnt smoke
she told me she liked wearing
fishnet stockings
like a mannequin or betty davis
and why do other girls draw their eyes out to look like raccoons
I told her I didnt know
but that I liked those stockings too
we took it all out
into the downpour
raced a couple blocks
with newspaper umbrellas
up to her room
and our soaked clothing
became a precursor
to the ritual
we lie there listening to the rain
on her broken bed
panting like the hunted
under a dim bulb
and an august moon
in the morning I found myself
covered with the sun
and weak in the liver
she slept through that shower of light
and the minor noise
I accrued, putting on my jeans
she looked broken and beautiful
drawn into a fist against the world
honest and imperfect
among those tired sheets
as only a woman can
I left a ten on her nightstand
and stepped outside
into the barrage of heat
ready to face the day
Posted by Drexler at 09:50 AM
August 20, 2005
the illuminated bow
I was there
slouched on a bench
with my beers and book of negatives
when the streetcar finally closed in
upon entry I gauged a heavy burden
a fascinating little doe
planted next to some doldrum
whose melon head and polo shirt
worked to obscure my view
but I still had
the freckled crest of the shoulder blade
illuminated by a halo
trickling down her back
and the tiny laughter
spilling from those dainty lips
the inquisitive gaze
cast from seascapes
drawn from the center of the ocean
and the cusp of the neck
swept with silk
each time she dallied
those caramel tresses
I had these things
in my windshield
periodically
I had six beers
in a grocery bag
but couldnt drink
a single one
for fear of being
ejected
it was a long
ride home
but the time
moved
rather well
Posted by Drexler at 04:30 PM
August 19, 2005
Barrel o Monkeys
monkeys
with rifles
loom on branches
of sprawling oaks
just beyond
the hedge
they are
assassins
with black eyes
sewn behind
green lenses
they
eat squirrels
who venture too close
drink kerosene
to stay awake
they wait
patiently
methodically
endlessly
for the rain
to stop
and business
to commence
Posted by Drexler at 12:34 PM
stacks of two
red car
between the trees
tinted glass
plasticized metallic hubcaps
cover rims
whose tires hide
tiny frogs
fleeing from the thunder
mosquitoes ducking inside
a cantina
shooting buckets of blood
into the needle
pizza menus
navigate storm drains
like suicide pilots
clogging arteries
chasing oceans
the gravel is giving way
to the earth
but she will never
get it back
entirely
Posted by Drexler at 12:19 PM
August 16, 2005
something for the spilt wine
stranded without fame
in the burrows of a casket
I need a glass of
something
for the pain behind my eye
lemons and tinker toys
spill from the unfurnished reply
robes slide under the doormat
and freckles hot to the touch
the shopping cart has shrunken
and the sirloin is safe
only a few bottles of piss
to break ice for
I only follow the path
for as long as I can see the door
there is a catch
and Im not sure when it starts
to kick in
Posted by Drexler at 01:27 PM
August 14, 2005
tokens
drums of intoxicants
pour into the tanker beneath
my moustache
crowns of ice
slip into the abyss
my steak is broiling
ten dollars
and I know that the crack in the moon
is just a hook
that your photograph
hangs upon
sweeping nettle from the bricks
beneath this landmine of sun
I collect small tokens
of your casual disregard
and stow them inside a pine box
one never knows
when the blade
shall turn
Posted by Drexler at 08:45 PM
Barboque
shred the lemonade fingers
till they concentrate the rum
Ill follow you on over
with chicken breasts and honey
and a conversation mint
in my pocket
three jokers standing in a row
with the vulture overview
sharing the x-ray machine dreams
of failed adulterers
that girl has a hole
in her vertical alteration
and I can see the fold
of her doves
under the hyacinth
beneath the umbrella
the turntable is blowing smoke
and we need a little more beer
but her head is involved
with the lettuce and chives
with the proprieties of playing hostess
and her skirt has risen
higher than the overflow
inside the kitchen sink
everyone pets the pet
they crush their cans
into flying disks
for the recycled thoughts
flowing through the dialog
even the third wheel
manages to hold the floor
down
for a moment
I wipe sauce from my face
and pinch the hindquarters
of the one who I bed down with
and she knows that I
am the lesser
of two evils
that
is modern living
Posted by Drexler at 08:32 PM
August 13, 2005
Mother
the winding road to the falls
and the attack of bumblebees
on sleeping chocolate
afternoons in spring
waiting on the rain
and the roses
sparklers on the 4th of july
and pizza pies
checkered wallpaper
in the kitchen
riding in the Willis
to the vending machines
and the color forms
to the dog and butterfly
the stains on the glass
are what is lost
only what remains
shall be spoken
here
Posted by Drexler at 02:22 PM
b-sides
down here with some chameleons
basting in the sunlight
flecks of gold
drop from our tongues
into the mainstream
dissolve inside shallow pools
reflecting the undercarriage of autumn
acres of b-sides
to rummage through
those unopened bottles on the dung heap
waiting for the twinkle in my eye
like kittens behind plate glass
showered with a red light
set fire to some oak chips
lying in the kettle
while mosquitos suck the life
from the strain in my ankle
too many vampires
biding time beneath the brush
I need a new song
to forget
Posted by Drexler at 01:53 PM
August 10, 2005
an attempt at songwriting that ended up the same as everything else
Down In Mexico
sitting on the couch with a pabst
dreamin of clueless virgins
or something of the like
some people could drive a corvette
to the grand canyon to stick their fingers in the dike
but I never got that far
my bike was just too slow
but maybe some day I would make it
down to Mexico
it was time to go to work
but I couldnt find a job
so I bitched about the weather
until the clouds began to sob
and the presidents a bastard
and I dont like corn on the cob
I wanted carne asada
and a cerveza to go
maybe I could find one
down in Mexico
the wife had had enough
of all my complaining and random shit
she said why dont you get out of here
youre nothing but a money pit
so I packed my hoboin' bag
and told her where she could go
and as for me
it was down to Mexico
waiting at the greyhound station
with the night of the living dead
the people all had infections
their eyes were made of lead
one guys shirt looked like a tortilla
and he had a pinto bean for a head
No I wasnt like these jokers
who had no place to go
I was takin all our rent money
down to Mexico
finally the bus marked for El Paso
pulled up onto the curb
I stashed a bottle of whiskey
for when I needed to work up the nerve
to call my rat faced wife
from some 24 hour diner lot
say some really nasty shit
and take her parting shot
well she could stick it
where the sun dont ever go
and dont worry about me baby
Im on my way to Mexico
they woke us at 4 in the morning
we all stumbled off the bus to take a piss
I bought a subway sandwich
and stole some lighters they wouldnt miss
I wanted carne asada
and a cerveza to go
but I still had some time
before I was in Mexico
after the bus got rolling
I fondled some sleeping breasts
and the fact she never knew about it
was probably for the best
then I drank the whiskey
and it put my mind to rest
knowing in a couple days from now
I could score some blow
from some shady greaser
down in Mexico
when I woke up in the morning
I wiped away the drool
and knew that I was in Texas
because nothing there is cool
I needed to get off this bus
before I went loco
find me some pleasures
down in mexico
we pulled into the station
and the border was in my sights
I took a piss on America
and said goodbye to human rights
I wanted carne asada
and a cerveza to go
and in just a few minutes
Id have them down in Mexico
a mustache in dark glass and a cap
waved me through without delay
I found the nearest cantina
and hookers whose gums were grey
she said it was only 10 dollar
but that was too much to pay
I told her sister I would take her
to see the donkey show
I was sure to get the clap
down in Mexico
I found a room above a tire repair shop
in the worst part of town
the roaches came to hang out
after I pulled the curtain down
and the man on my left beat his women
while I made my plans to go
down a little further
into Mexico
In the morning of my second week
I packed up all my shit
Id whored around this city
anyway that Id seen fit
but I wanted to be near the seaside
and I still had a ways to go
if I wanted to sit on a beach
down in Mexico
The bus south has some problems
with things trying to work
the curtains were all blasted
and they all though I was a jerk
for asking about the chicken
that was pecking at my toe
things werent always gravy
down in Mexico
after we crossed the mountains
the gulf was easy to spot
we stopped off at a cervezeria
and I scored a bag of pot
I smoked some in the toilet
with the paranoia to go
because they dont like marijuanos
down in Mexico
well I met a girl on the famous beach
with sunlight in her hair
she said she had a million dollars
and I said I didnt care
we lounged around and ate enchiladas
and fornicated really slow
life was pretty chilled out
down in Mexico
one day in late September
I received a telegram from my wife
she said she was tired of vegetable dinners
and living the lonely life
so wouldnt I quit fooling around
and catch a flight to go
back to the US of A
and leave Mexico
I was a bit tired of eating
all the same type of slop
and recently I had an altercation
with the brother of a infamous cop
so I kissed my sleeping beauty
and took a couple bundles of her cash
stepped out onto the porch
and smoked a pipeload of her hash
it wasnt going to be easy
reaping what I had to sow
but at least I had some fun for awhile
down in Mexico
Posted by Drexler at 11:53 AM
August 07, 2005
Stumblin' Strut
in the New Orleans
draining the tail off a Miller
raindrops speckle the asphalt
as overhead patios of silent shops
protect me from the wet
I open the door
to the burrito bin
and dodge my way to the counter
its busy on this Saturday of nights
and I've placed one to go I tell the nurse
just toss me a Pabst while your
leaning
over there on the edge;
margaritas and silver agave caps
we exchange paper for flesh
and back into the rain I strut
I hear the burrito whispering to me
over the stereo surround
of slashing radials
on this one way
dead end street
I find a doorway to kneel within
rip away the foil and sink my
canines
into the pure joy of the flying burrito
I take drags from the beer
in between demolitions
and realize
this life on the skids
ain't so shabby
as long as you got
a few bucks
for the
essentials
Posted by Drexler at 02:12 PM
August 02, 2005
Sharon #2
wily whiskers
shootin the eight ball
when he's still got
a stripe to go
he claims
thats the only way
I could beat him
obviously the liquor
has infected his eyes
orangutan head
with her(?) pointed ears
child from the family compilation copulation
sneaking licks at the whisky
while mammy gums on her Pabst
and her pappy
looks like an old railroad man
with his striped cap of baby blue
and chia pet ears
Ive got dandruff
at the bottom of
every glass of miller
its like reading tea leaves
without the fortune
and the hee-haw girls
are dilapidating my
eardrums
with the country honk
spitting out lyrics
that sound like bad math
even the speakers
are trying to fail
in their own defense
the poker junkies
dropping their shit
into the mainline
and I never heard the cry
of a winner
the wrong Leonard Cohen
is playing
again
and I attempt to
weather the odds
all to no avail
everyone is drinking
the wrong beer
while roaches skate
inside the coffee pot
a dropped faced woman
is broadcasting an argument
with the toiletries
in the ladies
while Mr. Beret
tries
to coax the jukebox
into a sing along
in the key of out
barstools do the polka
around the discombobulated steps
of listless feet
as I tap on the torn armrest
to the rhythym
that sticks to my tattoos
M&M rubbers
in the toilet
from St. Louis, Missouri
and all the girls know
its better to have it
melt in your mouth
than in your hand
the phone never rings
and the television shows only
dust
at The Sharon
Posted by Drexler at 12:08 PM