poetry

To my friend, the guttering candle

To my friend the guttering candle
 equal parts light and shadow flickering
 no festering behind closed doors with
 the mothers plotting to kill their children
 with long overdue library books
 their fathers counting every dime every
 indiscretion if they are even there at all
 their fathers still dreaming of topless bars
 and strawberry flavored cocaine rubbed gently
 on their genitals in bathroom stalls

To my friend the guttering candle
 illuminating a chorus of drunks singing
 the lonely song of the whale who is
 rarely seen because he swims at such great
 depths and holds his breath until closing until
 everyone else has gone home alone
 like he does like I do
 forgetting that sometimes we scream
 because we’ve got something to say but
 more often just to be heard

To my friend the guttering candle
 remember you are not alone
 this is a city of misshapen candles
 pouring out our wax

© 2018 Gibson Grand

Nude beach

The sun although worshiped
is a mercurial thing
both tonic and oppressor.
She thinks this singular thought
as they lie naked and hungover
their bodies covered in sand
drifting between expectant thighs
just like those Egyptian ruins
staring across the millennia
joined by a shared gaze
joined by outstretched fingertips

WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE
encumbered by heat
too sweltering for kisses
too sweltering for entwined limbs
SHE BREATHES IN
salt and coconut sunscreen
SHE BREATHES OUT
a wave crashing against the shore
SHE BREATHES IN
the bloom of  exposed genitals
SHE BREATHES OUT
the faint sounds of Latin radio

He stands and stretches
leathered skin sunburnt and gritty
like a golem sculpted from her desire
He runs down to the water and dives in
there was no hesitation
no dipping of toes
just another body disappearing
beneath a folding crest of water
He rolls over onto his back
his skin glistening
a half-erection presented to a navy sky

He looks delicious
and she worries a seagull
will mistake his cock
for a midday snack
So she dashes into the water
the waves slapping against her breasts
stinging her thighs
the feeling is not unpleasant
She lets the current pull her out to sea
her body rolling
in water a billion years old

SHE OPENS HER MOUTH
to taste the passage of time
SHE SPREADS HER LEGS
to share in the wisdom
of mollusks and jellyfish
who understand that the ocean
while powerful is indifferent
and not without its charms

When she comes up for air
he is  beside her
She kisses him
enjoying the salt on his lips
enjoying the heat that seems to rush
through every part of him
They float on their backs
and take turns naming the clouds
joined by a shared gaze
joined by outstretched fingertips

© 2018 gibson grand

The day Thunder Billy exploded

The day Thunder Billy exploded
his blood painted the sidewalk
remnants of flesh and bone
splattered on windshields
and the baby carriage
someone left on the corner
that made us all feel so sad

The day Thunder Billy exploded
his last words wrapped in a pall
of sulfur and black smoke
BOW BEFORE THE KING
THE KING OF LOISAIDA
A royal decree made day after day
That sweet exile who bought us all shots
when his VA check came in

The day Thunder Billy exploded
all the winos sprouted wings
grieving angels soaring
up Avenue C
dropping trashcans like bombs
onto the parked cars below
a minor insurrection
that made us feel free for a moment

© 2017 Gibson Grand

Return of the Trash and Vaudeville Podcast

I've decided to revive the Trash and Vaudeville Podcast on iTunes.  For those who haven't heard it, it's readings of my stories and poems, available for download.  In the past, it was pretty popular and I foolishly let it slip as I got busy with work and life.  But I'm finding now, as I'm working on my novel, that I want to also have smaller project to share with my readers.  You can check it out here.

To give you an idea of what it's like.  Here's an educational video called The International Bar.