Timothy Gager – A Poetic Series
what kind of flowers for the wake?
I was thinking something like Tiger Lilies
but let’s face it she’s is a bit “tigery”.
so let’s go with that. Amen
What did the autopsy say?
Engine damage that can’t be repaired.
And she’s not replacing an engine:
since she hates car problems
Wine will help at least for the moment,
so that’s no longer a problem.
“reply to someone who said there’s a lot of not-happy going around”
I’m licking the sweet syrup
from a snow cone
serving bacon with a side of bacon
’86’ the omelet, hold the potatoes
I’m sticking my tongue directly on
the sizzle of a steak
lying on my back while hot caramel
is poured directly into my open mouth
I’m stretching the melted cheese
that is connected to my nacho chip
rolling in a sandbox of mapled
pork and Boston baked beans
I’m sitting at the end of the buffet
while a snow plow fills my plate
waiting to be fed by what the world owes me
while demanding to be called a pig in shit.
“This IS Bitchin’”
I liken it to licking
dried out chicken
never got acanthosis nigricans
“Wait-You Can’t Hide It.”
stand and fall
over, for someone
that’ll say, you’d better hear
the warning: you can’t be doing this
tripping over a root bulging from the ground
like an arm lying there dead, the body right
in your backyard cause sometimes you fall hard
it’s like you’ve buried the pieces of yourself
When I raised my hand
told a gray room the reasons I started drinking,
I wanted to start again immediately. Told people, whose faces
looked like The End of the World, the truth.
Then I told them I would pour that girl I had lusted for down
like whiskey, her lovely legs spread until they snapped,
so I could feel like I used
her, an orgasm I gulped, that rained
down my neck like streams of veins.
Oh, I said I never used dope,
when I asked her for it
nicely, she said, but no,
she never would give it up,
just got up, waltzed out of my life.
So I begged: Please, God, stay with me
tonight, here in this basement. Please,
I can’t picture heaven.