songanddancegirl

ode to 68

some parts of 68 feel like the shit abyss

other parts  ecstatic confessions  paralytic knee

levitational psyche  old sage  parsley sage rosemary  +time

would i trade for my 28 yr old splendiferousness?

i thought no pre-April 20th  International Weed Day

Hitler’s b.day  too

now i do think  i do not have a soul  (Al Purdy)  poor

Al  donned a homemade mask to leave these parts when

cancerbidden  his last breath quite strangled

no  i still wouldn’t trade these (un)endless numbered days

poor Al  believed his soul had fled  and maybe his did  i

mean he had a child with his wife’s bestfriend  guilty +desecrate

then married her again   poor Eurithe Purdy

no  my fragrant soul  smells like teenspirit  +old mezcal casks   dig it?

we are entwined in deeeeeep participation mystique  dancing with

freshly dead  Max Romeo   poet in Babylon     soon

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Spring 2025  ..yeah we wept when we remembered Zion..

the preparatio

certain doors of perception open  +close  at every stage of life

36  double chai   2nd HALF OF LIFE   still robust  immortal

mostly    but waning   +interruptus

knowing glowing showing telling  ad nauseam  Gods of idealism

joie de vivre  limpskimp  regret   a bell tolls  +BANG💥   the  FINAL 3rd’s  

arrived   the mystical doors swing wide   enter little human +buckthefuckup

suffering intensely the losses  the illnesses  the death marches  the deepest

dive into the mysteries  the  PREPARATIO  has begun   birthed to Frances

to Lee  Easter Sunday  1957   i always thought i would die in the 2040’s

in 2047   90  no fuckingway!   hey  i miss my parents desperately  they

the glue  the holybedrock  the homefire  the birds 🐦🐦  make your own

way now   crone of bones  ash  stardust  ether

it is NOT my own death that troubles me  i expect to die  +the Reap will not

cheat me of that experience  it is the deaths of my peeps  this is unbearable

(being human can suck)

maybe i just want to die first  does this make me a coward?  i don’t think so

it’s the living through the gestation periods of their deaths  father planning parties

he who HATED parties  we talked about the deathfeast endlessly   for weeks

old mother  the last woman standing  almost missed the bus to visit her lost sisters

I just want to go home   football bro regaling invisible minions   in hospice hell

but oh that final breath   ars moriendi   a whiff of God’s dog   +GONE

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..flesh is a mess of blood  pieces of bone  a woven tangle of nerves

veins  arteries  human lives are yesterday a blob of semen  tomorrow 

embalming fluid  ash..   Marcus Aurelius  6.13 2.2 4.48

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Spring 2025  ..L’ CHAIM..we get it Marcus..we get it!

MR. MARTY IS IN THE HOUSE

the axe in the chest was pulled out around the end of year 2

the gash now  dried blood  salt  impish memories of impish grin

he does the bugaloo in my bedroom daily  his fave dance circa 1968

BAPTISMS OF FIRE

did u know that the rusty blackbird has already

lost about 90 % of its numbers  +there are a billion

fewer blackpoll warblers than there were in the seventies??

there has also been a sharp decline in the brother population

a world without songbirds is a world without brothers  and i

know too that all of u are growing weary of this poet’s madness

grief the stuff of tragedy  all greek to me  a baptism of silence if

i ever heard one  hey does anyone out there have a voicemail of

his voice?  please send it to me asap  the silence is deafening

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Fall 2018  ..5 weeks today..a protracted grief they say..

SAW YOU STRETCHED OUT

in this room marty atkins bravely battled

the behemoth   cancerinterruptus   people

came and went  but he stayed  couldn’t walk

or talk  or pray   so i did for you  and now regularly

howl my grief at the moon

some say:  just don’t focus on these memories

yet certain ones remain etched into the grey matter

brain now reeling with footage of those days  but in the

moments before fully awake  we laugh  and plan my trip

to buttfuck

your little one horse town in Mexico  where you found peace

and bought a donkey   i’ll come in february on an ice floe  +

follow the path of the monarchs over Lake Ontario

so wait for me  and make me the salmon risotto bro

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..energy can neither be created nor destroyed ..

it can only change forms..

(2nd law of Thermodynamics)

some people say he’s with you  just in a different form

but i don’t care much for this pleasantry  i don’t want a

monarch for a brother  i want a football player

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Fall 2018  ..RIP BIG BRO..

reprieve repo reap leap

he/we   granted a reprieve   the black hood  lifted off   the target🎯

with bits   of resected chordoma inside   now incinerated +unfussy

for a moment the firing squad puts down their  AK-45s

we run  ragged  jugulars pulsing  old bro + i  sit in MRI holding tank

the man on the cover of  TIME  circa 1968  with his head being blownoff

is here too   moaning +grisly   in a wheelchair   he is bound+gagged

later we hear his screams as the MRI machine  eats him  cho mmmm p

these giant magnets  see into our soulholes  our cellular debris  offal

+beauty    misery    detenté with  the Reap

Kissinger begs for my husband’s life   HENRY!  HENRY!   there is still

no peace in the Mid-East  that Kushner kid  shit the bed   now it’s all

hostage  rubble  +limbs     soon a casino

what will poet do with said reprieve?  she will hunker down on moist

haunches  +take off eh!   a sprungcoil   all sinew  tendons +jagged   she leaps

like a Bosch dybbuk   stay away from me     i am yet     free

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Spring 2025   ..hey repo man   let my people go..

well she really worked me over good

you sprinkle the session  with buddha tidbits  as if

you are Siddhartha  with barren mythologies  as if

you pulled them fresh from the world psyche  (and not your ass)

why you’re Persephonied!  you pronounce  Queen of Hades!

but therapist  that isn’t good  Hades was a rapist  a tyrant

OH NO   you’ve been initiated into the mysteries

yes  the mysteries of counter-transference resistance   (i wrote a paper on it!)

where grieving and gutted by your own suffering   you approach

me   with a scythe   all for a fee    poor poor pitiful me

  ..listen up thera-bitch..

an empty hospital bed sits in the consulting room  giving   the couch 

a whole new meaning  the dangerous method indeed   you unholy fool

the rape of Persephone was not pretty  hey healer  heal thyself   for chrissakes

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Spring 2025  ..Persephone Rises..