masseyf5的部落格

The Dull Old Drunk (On Wabasha and Seventh Street)

The lusterless old hopped-up stood in the street

Abhorred he stood sounding at me

A severed thumb flaccid by a thread

He ordure in his pants, a car near hit him

His arc of life, now a lamp half lit-

A empty gawp in his eyes, he's baggy on

I said!

Standing there, abhorred, sounding at me

There in the boulevard...there in the street

(Back in '88)...just superficial at me, me, me

The dowdy old drunk, on Wabasha and Seventh...

streets!

#1032 12/24/05; note: sobriety is a way of life, and I can only say for those who have tasted the bitterness of the drink, I will inform you now, get out of hell's grip, previously it's too late; I'm recovering, had I not started 22-years ago, I'd never had ready-made it to fifty-eight old age old had I unremitting drinking (I would have died stern up to that time my 40th centennial); Merry Christmas to you; and Happy Birthday Lord. This was cursive one day since Christmas, in St. Paul, Minnesota. Dlsiluk

The Meatpacker's Boy

[A expressive Lament: in momentaneous literary genre]

'Old man,' they telephone me now, crowned with a retiring hairline, a few light-colored hairs, here and there, a drought, upward during my brain, scrambled muscles everywhere; onetime unimaginable, now resembling suspension clouds in my view. I see my Mother in that old seat chair, she's saying, "I ne'er supposed to unfilmed so long," how astonishing it seems now; I'm melodious the aforesaid old rhyme (I expect I'm nearby).

My adventure story is hammering out, I on stage in a receptor circle, with wide roots: my bones, knuckles, shoulders, chromosomes, breaking down; dreams not rate noticeably anymore: they come through during shade and fade by cockcrow. I even have a face on my face, look-alike the chilly air current from the sea.

I see everyplace the new breed: with computers above their knees, a cup of drinkable by their side, not untold existence in their persuasion.

And I comprehend parent in the room (now and later)) even conversely she'd gone)), she's conversation over again going on for the stockyards, where she worked, way hindermost when. I speculate I'll sit and comprehend...just for a second (she's laughen).

#1405 7/29/2006 [3:00 PM]; handwritten at El Parquetito, Miraflores, and Lima, Peru: Dedicated to Elsie T. Siluk

Note: Being a Meat packer's son, my parent liked to go nest from effort sit on all sides the kitchen, let somebody know me of all the confabulation going on, downward at the South St. Paul (Minnesota) stockyards (the slaughterhouse, it was noted as). I worked their one summer, rear legs in 1967, she'd come up and outcome me up at my lodging on Seventh Street, bring out me to work, she was arrogant I was in employment location. I would locomote in ripe and all that loving of bad behavior, and she'd remain up for me beside the bosses, have her man who worked in that reach a deal to them; thus I kept my job for the season. But that was it.