Solid Quarter

Blood Jet Poetry Series in New Orleans, weekly poetry and music as well as open mic performances

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Visit New Orleans Poetry Fest for the annual 3 day poetry festival directed by Bill Lavender and Megan Burns.

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Monday, April 15, 2013

Day 15: 30 Days of Weezy for National Poetry Month

dr. carter to the rescue
(collaboration b/w Megan Burns & Geoff Munsterman) 
no kids & no dinner to make — i take my lack of life
seriously patient dying but the truth is doctors
warp round the last religious ablations, satiate
the pain of failure with god complex & dexadrine
percentages toyed more than what sick get
because people die whether you is helping or is not
so winged trespass a wrought level to escape
just get paid & keep low the malpractice suits
blazed sorrows in cases shaped a seizing
keep grinning through burnt chest procedures
& just so you know i’m worried all the time
you will take your life before i do
that Sexton/Biggie mashup playing Ready & Waiting
under stubbornness rewound low brow humor
where we elbowed interrupted by moments
of connection it’s imperfect at best, just a figment
at worst, & conditional on my grateful yeses always
every mouthpiece locked gravel pitch bit the curb
where it would’ve been appropriate to hold you when
there is no other, my cock washed is a fraternal
refraining a gold dusting that splatters dashed
 wishful thinking b) habit or c) fucking pointless
because i’m a cab driver, doorman, doormat fat boy
a coffee-brewing, dogshit collecting, poem-revising
solicitor of no futurists chasing covenants so any
punching bag craves a body bag: he counts driving
all the bridges from where i keep my books to where
she before disappearing the obscure wrestles herself
in gym clothes nosing the door the be let back inside
having read them never matters. it doesn’t now. riddled
in a knotted pull over i force interest these days
because it pays to discover there is nothing left to
hunger dark nouns in a creasing dirt & river, the sex
was good but you learn to turn that brain wave off
unconditional     a lie     of course it is but what comes
from saying it aloud & be not dead tonight be better
than okay even if dying parallel to the crated cement
i found & taken i’d know it’s out there but where there
are four bridges from bedroom to the bar & cops
park sullenly at the feet of three of them. when
you are roped:  coal-colored city of domestic ache
i’m the doctor & you’re the patient don’t expect
to get better—no other, i make no bed in no, i tell
what is dark to the light, a blaming ends doubled
you my throat music. i reply knife. Time kinder,
rewind the tape & let the music move closer.

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