... addiction ..., ... anger ..., ... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... bukowski ..., ... country ..., ... death ..., ... experimental ..., ... ghosts ..., ... girl ..., ... God ..., ... humor ..., ... kiss ..., ... life ..., ... pain ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... religion ..., ... sex ..., ... sins ..., ... the South ..., ... time ..., ... weed ...


I have very few
Solid childhood

Somethin’ like from age
Four to ten
Seems completely

I know it happened;
The license says so.

Somedays I
Smoke up
(because it’s green &
Grows from the belly
Of the Earth & because
Nixon said we couldn’t
Because it fueled the
Youth of his day – the
Ones not being blown
Up in the jungle – so
Fuck Nixon – I’ll
Do what I want on
My family’s land. Land
We had long before me
And long before that
Sumbitch Nixon!)

So somedays I
Smoke up and
Strain my brain,
Searching for
Nuggets of those
Lost years.

A nugget can grow
Into what? A lifetime.

I have gone far enough
Back and seen
My tiny fingers
Playing with the
Beaded rods of
The crib in my
Nanny’s house while
Shows like Let’s Make
A Deal and Three’s Company
Blared from the
Other room. Goddamn
If Linda Carter as Wonder
Woman didn’t prove that
I was a man, at age two.

When I was four or five
I was fascinated by fire.
I watched every time
My daddy
Struck a match at the grill.
He kept the book of
Matches in end
Of the hollow,
Horizontal bar of the backyard,
Swing set. I loved the power
Of the match, the smell
Of the burning sulphur or
Whatever it was, and of course
I loved the
The fire.

One afternoon
There I was, alone and swinging
In the back yard, when I
Remembered the matches.

I climbed up the pole and
Grabbed them and stuffed
Them in my pants. The
Thrill it gave me
Brought me what
Must’ve been my very
first erection.

I remember the sick butterflies
Hatching from a hidden caccoon
Deep in my tummy. I ripped the
Box open, like I’d rip skirts
Open decades later, same
Butterflies. Same boners.

I held the match in my little
Fingers and struck it just
Like daddy did.

The flame sprung
To life
And fear devoured me.

I frantically tossed
The burning match against
A tree and it fell to the ground,
Instantly igniting the dried
Pine needles. My hard on grew
As fast as the flames as I
Stared in holy fear and
Wonderful wonder.

Much like Moses stood at his
Burning bush. Did he have an
Erection? Doubtful.

God said, “Go get water Michael!”
Which is not what He said
To Moses.

But God spoke to me clearly
Then. When I was young,
And devilishly pure.

I ran to the house,
Hand clutching my crotch and
Didn’t let go until I grabbed a green
Glass from the laundry room,
Which I filled at the sink.

Trembling, I ran back outside,
Water splashing all over
My hands and clothes.

I remember telling myself
To slow down. But didn’t.

A pattern I’d repeat for decades
To come.

The trunk of the tree was
Hungry for fire, and the flames

I tossed the empty glass at the
Tree just as my dad sprang from
The house. He pushed me aside
And put out the fire
With the hose.

I just stood there,
Admiring a hero, terrified of
My impending whippin’,
And limp as a wet noodle.

Orgasm-less. Another
Pattern I’d sadly repeat.

When I’m finally dead
And gone, every experience
I’ve ever lived will
Supernova in death
And shrink, like spent dick
Into the tiniest
Of nuggets.

And my biggest
Pipe dream is to
Think that some
Stoned fool in
The bath tub
Will remember
Any of it.

Just like no
One really
Remembers Nixon,
Or matchbooks from
Or Moses,
Or Three’s Company,
Or sweet, fat nannies,
Or God help me
Linda Carter’s ass
In that leotard.


8 thoughts on “Supernova

  1. Intensely honest and personal.
    The style is…different than usual but expected, you’ve thrived under your experimental tag…
    Love this. Its generous of you.

  2. I’m catching up on your recent posts. This one really swings along. I love the sharp details, the wry observations on growing up male, the signposts to old age, above all the humour. Good stuff.

  3. … im still hangin onto the butterfly skirt, fires, hard and not so hard… you know out there in the open fields and night sky looking up and out can open a whole other world… magically time piece of your life…. glad you put it to paper…

  4. Sonny says:


    a man grows hard
    at the flicker of a flame
    the flutter of a skirt

    limp at the first sign he’s lost control of the situation

    an amusing… rendering

    and I wouldn’t find it surprising at all to know Moses had an erection at the burning bush or the parting of the sea or that fantastic moment where he beat a rock in anger and lost his ticket to the land of milk and honey… after all, like most men, it was Moses’ manhood that was constantly getting in the way of his sainthood.

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