From: Jail Poems

30

I have never seen a wild poetic loaf of bread,
But if I did, I would eat it, crust and all.

-Bob Kaufman

Locusts and Wild Honey

 

Fat priest sweating,

stock-still in his vestments, gold.

christening of small child, chubby, and parents

fat.

Bone-thin Jesus head-hung vinegar-soaked sickly

photo-bombing.

-JV

From: Song Of Myself

7 

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?

I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I 

 know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd

 babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal 

 and fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and 

 female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be 

 slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the 

 mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be 

 shaken away.

-Walt Whitman 

Untitled Haiku

The little worm
 lowers itself from the roof
By a self shat thread

- Jack Kerouac 
        1959

Remember?

[Author's Note: This poem should smell of leather, cigarettes, and Puerto Rican style rice and beans.]

Don't you?

Those

icicles hanging precarious winter on the
17^th floor terrace, and you must remember
The Bronx.

Right?

how
you were so proud you were the only borough with
the The. 

You used to winter
whatever would fall
like toy car springs would
kill things
like

mosquito larva

wriggling tiny waves

in        stagnant        summer.

You threw things over constantly
like dinosaurs you gave names,
pogs,
you threw
those
bloody-nose tissues out of
the window, you
had to! Or
Mommy'd see
you
were
fighting. Or



Wait!
wait...

Yellow dimpled hard-rubber batting-cage balls... Right?

.

.

.

Yo,

Remember we buried that dead bird and cried?

Oh, and

They could never convince you to go on rides, remember?

They'd be trying for weeks before you went, waving
hands at chu and gettin' mad pumped, to pump
you up
            but,

nothing. 

.                  
.     
.
Not
even

the log flume.

.



Hey



Remember

Waiting            for             a                tan                            Nissan?

   And
Papi's
shirt

down
to
your knees
 
 
       how it smelt like boardwalk floorboards

Oh.

Hot-asphalt recess smell! 

.

Definitely,
you remember
your first set of house keys,
                                                              cell phone,
Oh,

and always!
you would always end up adding "-ahh" to 

the end of every phrase when you were
whining-ahhh.
                          Right? and 

                                            Oh Yeah and

                                                    and the hallway,
                                                                        
On the 5th floor, where your aunt lived, just
                                                           constantly

constantly

smelled
just like your aunt.

JV

For Marc and Joey M.

West Philadelphia in the Snow

 

Outside, the Monsters wore people-masks that covered their faces,

they paid top-dollar for a quick December,

and brooded over their pensions.

When they weren't feeding,

The Monsters busied themselves with trifles 

and fantasy football.

One night,
A congregation of young philosophers assembled through the snow
smuggling snark and thrift - 

They descended the stairs

in pairs, and slunk to the door of the basement wearing
people-masks too, like you do.

A throng of aesthetes, dissidents, exuberants.

Inside, Fransisco kept cogless time on his jeans with spoons - 

There were Christmas lights that'd been hung in June, and 

all around

beards were endlessly unbearding beards.

"Hootin' Annie,"

as she was known in trendy people-places, writhed, her eyes

twisted to the ceiling, chin

to the ground, saying,

they'll try to sequester you away in taxicabs of comfort!

and a rowdy bottle launched itself over the crowd

becoming perfect as it shattered

on the basement wall.

-

Meanwhile the throng twitched like a rabid dream

waking Bach upstairs in his powdered curls, who

promptly joined the revelry with

his tropical drink and

his lisp.

In the corner

the son of a politician brandished glistening

teeth of crime, wore horrible pants, and rumor has it,

the whole bleeding shindig was a recruitment scheme

for the vicious charge he led against his own 401(k).

JV

Canon

Everyone who heard the discharge, turned

deferentially to marvel at the technique of
the canon-gunner who fired once a generation.

“I wish to make a humble contribution,” one woman said to him
with a bold forefinger tap on the shoulder.

He turned

and his white beard wafted magniloquently catching the
languid sun in wisps. 

She lit the fuse artfully,

rounded the shaft and,

with the utmost conviction, sunk

her head nose-ward to the blast.

-JV