i etched tally marks
on yr tombstone
you strung miniature
skulls on jute twine
across my crib
an early lesson
a tiny abacus where
i leaned italian math
by subtraction
you taught me
i was only as good
as my last scribble
my last etching
as i take my next
transfusion
with archival
ink
i cover
the holes
in the wall
with
dreams
of the
dead
jill may
followed the wrong dream
traded family albums for cardboard
and crack pipes
alcatraz fog
slips in steals shadows
surrounds her
turning tricks
on jones street
scoring the next fix
of crack
or smack
You know I’m gonna clean up soon
she grinned
huddled
barefoot
in doorways
wrapped in mist–ragged blankets
she slides the needle
in her neck
the best place to relieve
the cold shiver
the crack hunger
the throwing up
of dumpster food
dealers see her
talking to cops
debts unpaid
trying to clean up
yesterday
they found her
doused with gas
dead
clutching
a burnt cross
casting a shadow
on a black wall
–2007
https://www.sfgate.com/crime/article/Woman-who-burned-victim-alive-convicted-of-murder-4937262.php
Ray got outta prison in 82
pulled up on the job site in a caddy
trunk full of sansabelts,
banlons and a dozen leather jackets
big bob said
fuck ray, we don’t wear that shit
got any flannel shirts & jeans
i had a dream last night
that johnny cash and me
were kids together
before the black clothes
folsom prison blues
i walk the line
& martin guitars
we wore low top converse
and caught crawdads
out of the creek with paper clips
string and bacon
we smoked viceroys by the tracks
ya hear that train a comin
he whispered
i hung my head
and cried cause
the good dreams
never last long
enough
trump is president
bukowski’s bluebirds hang them
selves with rubber ropes
all children are a gift from god
all children can learn given a chance
even the so called bad parents
want the best for their child & some teachers think they are god
because they walked across a stage
but college degrees have nothing to do with
supreme beings
all children in kindergarten
have a natural curiosity to learn
& little by little we make
them color inside the lines
paint the sky blue,
the grass green
when maybe on their block
it isn’t
eventually we mold them
i learned that the k12 system can suck
that innocent curiosity
the willingness to please
right out of their bones
right out of their soul
until not much is left but
walk on this line to the
caferteria
i learned along the way
that caring is absolutely
the most essential
the most important characteristic
a teacher can possess
and that trait will be remembered
long after the facts
long after the formulas
have been forgotten
that teachers concerned
with how much they make
will never know the child
who cuts to relieve the pain
will never understand the who
what when where or why
of the abused
and if they abandon the lecture
and listen
they just might
make a difference
they just might
be the difference
brautigan never
wrote a haiku love sonnet
and nailed it to a
street lamp in downtown
san francisco so you would
walk by and see it
on a moon beam night
just like this one—a poem
a bay breeze moving
it just enough so
you will notice before turn
ing on market but
on this night it will be rain
ing in love just like he
said
