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Archive for the ‘Michael Thompson’ Category

SANTA CRUZ POET

The dust of Bakersfield
Fades from view
And soon it will reside
In the distance
Just like mile markers

The poet won’t miss that town
Where humidity and dying dreams
Make more than a cameo appearance
When the seasons turn to summer
And those flatlands
Will always smell like failure

Eagerly anticipating writing poems
While overlooking the ocean,
He marvels at the prospect
Of 70 degrees in March

When he drinks,
The poet remembers
The loves he’s lost
And the father he hated
Because he had to work too hard
Not to become the same man

He feels like a character
In a David Lynch movie
And the subject
Of a Bukowski novel,
Both of whom
He’s big fans of

He looks at his lover
In the passenger seat,
They share a smile
As they pull in
To their new hometown
_____________________

NOIR

Belushi overdosed
In bungalow #3
At the Chateau Marmont
And Farley was left to die
By a cheap hooker
In his Chicago apartment

Shannon Hoon
Went on a cocaine binge
In New Orleans
And didn’t wake up again
On the tour bus

Janis was found
In Room 105
With a cigarette
Still between her fingers
And in the same year,
Jimi washed down
Too many sleeping pills
With London wine

River Phoenix
Snorted Persian Brown
At the Viper Room
On Hallow’s Eve
Before arriving DOA
Accompanied by his brother

After robbing a video store
For rent money,
Dana Plato said goodbye
At an Oklahoma trailer park

The “ice cream blonde”
Was found inside
Of an idling automobile
Clad with diamonds,
Silk and a mink coat
Though the smudged fingerprint
On the door wasn’t hers,
Nor was the blood
On her mouth

Superman was discovered
With a nine-millimeter
Between his feet,
But powder burns
And gunshot residue
Were absent
From the scene
Of the crime

After the fame
And notoriety,
All that’s left
Is dirt in the ground

____________________

ANNE SEXTON

The decanter still tastes like vodka
And Salem menthol lingers
On pages found in a metal box

Those manic poems written
Under lithium’s influence
Bore themes of madness,
Death and adultery

Perhaps if a heart
Wasn’t like Pandora’s Box,
A phantom of love gone awry
Wouldn’t have had to rear
Its ugly head
Every time it was opened up

Memories became vignettes
Transferred to ink
Once scar tissue
Became tender as toilet tissue
And scabs from breathing
Wrapped like a burlap sack

A diet of promiscuity
And kill-me pills
Accompanied coffee cups
Until earthworms were joined
In a field of fire

A coffer of dust
Is all that remains
Of the prettiest one
Once the ignition
Got turned on

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