PRIMER GRAY
©1998 Thom Kellar
Smoke ring in a windstorm old man with blindfold and cigarette at the university he had "shown promise" was called a "diamond in the rough" but the years have gotten away from him he pissed away his time now he waits for the phone to ring for Gabriel to call and ask if he has one last request from the beginning desire had been a map without names never sure where he was or where he was going change made for the sake of change point A to point B in a car painted primer gray he drank too much—slept too much read too much—chased "easy" too much never finished the book he had been writing for the last 24 years now the Rambler sits on blocks the manuscript lost somewhere in the attic he calls himself "invisible man on blue planet" the events of his life written in disappearing ink nothing to offer as evidence of having circled the Sun staring at the autumn sky, chain smoking, sipping tea, he waits for the angels to raise their rifles and take him home
PLAN B
©1998 Thom Kellar
...it’s all we can do not to remember outside back porch I sip cheap red strum a cracked and buzzing harmony six string tell the stars to go fuck themselves upstairs on your back in bed Cosmo opened across your chest you whisper something to someone on the phone downstairs in the kitchen under the ironing board the 3 year old sits blissfully occupying himself with a green, rubber, T-Rex toy welcome to plan B much time ago I was to be a writer of words and music you were going to travel the world a single woman scoring brown-skinned boys taking in the sights but like dirt-track figure 8ers we "discovered" each other an accident throbbing to happen made ourselves easy targets lowest form of idiot of course the "little-man" has no such regrets no fear for what's future he's like a sponge soaking up the moment laughing to himself as he and imaginary friends all knowing the password slip past the angel standing guard at Eden's gate
DEAD MEN
©1998 Thom Kellar
dead men don’t care what the surgeon general thinks dead men drive around with no place to go dead men figure the come-on at the end of the bar, more trouble than she’s worth dead men hold alcohol in a medicinal light dead men will sleep in their work clothes dead men never need to RSVP dead men buy cars, and smokes, based solely on price dead men avoid eye contact at all cost dead men doodle on the obituary page dead men drive on bald tires with cracked windshields. dead men accept with resignation, the next day’s hangover dead men listen to Coltrane, and Davis, start to finish, no interruptions dead men don’t floss dead men will drink their Sake cold dead men don’t sweat expiration dates dead men never wear bandages dead men are past blaming anyone dead men see horse-shit and diamonds the same dead men don’t care where the candle-wax falls dead men forget what day of the week it is dead men can’t get to sleep at night, can’t wake up in the morning dead men have nothing in their hands dead men never ask another chance dead men have no need to make sense of anything dead men play dumb when they know they’re being lied to dead men have made the connection between sorrow and desire after losing the thing he loves a dead man will spend the rest of his days anesthetizing the past pouring gasoline on the future dead men have no fear of dying the second time[click to view introduction]