Where Does the Red Brick Go?

 

Lucite Love

—Poetry and Visuals by Smith (Steven B. Smith), Cleveland, OH

 

Greylight morning
wife asleep in chair
cat asleep on mantel
dog asleep on floor
fire dance
slow rain on roof
caffeine in hand
cannabis in pipe
peaceful
quiet
solitude
rain soothe
forsooth

 

 

 

Autumn Evening

 

Moved into first single-family house
since I left parents 58 years ago

The years between saw
bootcamp barracks, Memphis airbase,
military prep school,
Bancroft Hall in Annapolis,
cannibalized row houses in Baltimore,
rat-and-cockroach enclaves in Baltimore,
soulless apartment complexes in Baltimore,
a Michigan woods shack
with my not-yet self-killed brother,
a low-trash highrise outside Cleveland,
a 4th-floor warehouse overlooking Lake Erie,
a 5-condo long ago pharmacy,
a few park benches and sleeping in bushes,
31 months of backpacks tents
and ancient rooms in foreign lands,
a friend's love shack,
and 12 years top-floor old Victorian house
before moving here
our 141-year-old house
on the lip of an 80-foot bank
overlooking the Cleveland zoo

My first house ever
thanks to wife who got tired
of paying rent
and found her own
me along for ride

Enjoying backyard deer
skunks
(not really, two sprayed dog)
groundhogs, squirrels
feral cats, coyotes
cardinals, blue jays
in our 1-block red-brick dead-end
last house on left
multi-racialled neighbored existence

Appreciate lack of other people
of worrying were my footsteps too loud
my frequent "Fuck!"s unwelcome
my Bohenianism bothersome
my weed too heavy

Here makes 16-yeared-wife happy
with her too-large dog,
her garden, her art, her office,
her happier husband,
her pride

Home's where the rent isn't
and the dog is

 

 

 

It’s Complicated

 

Just to be clear—
when you cheat, it's business
when we cheat, it's a crime

 

 

 

Solar System

 

Working entropy mines
walking empty line
to last station

 

 

 

Fallen Moon

 

What a wonderful, grateful country this is
unless
you were living here before whites arrived
or
you were brought bound black in ship bottoms
or
your yellow skin greased the railroads
or
or
or

 

 

 

Wired

 

Talkin' n laughin' n watchin'
folk flee misery
welcome to the newest
longest fastest slowest endless
binged mini-series
called LIFE
where ya gotta grab yr laughs
as you can
pearls snatched from pus
(for the way is dark)
(the way is painful)
(the way is crass)
to hide from them
and keep for us
yesterday's bone today
for tomorrow's prone to praying
one more chance
to mile groan foot feet
of meat marching
butcher bound
to ground

 

 

 

Ghost Hole

 

It's all perception—
look how the stars sparkle
on the pus tonight

 

 

 

Ouch

 

The yellow brick road
at the murder site in Oz
begins in a red-yellow spiral

We know the yellow goes
to brainless men
heartless cowards
opium poppies
and flying monkey poo

We know yellow brings
lying rulers
flim flammed young maams
and death by hydration
in a goth wet t-shirt competition

All this
for a pair of tacky shoes
worn on ugly feet
in hopes of returning home
to what bored you into leaving
in the first place

I wonder where the red brick goes?

 

 

 

On the Third Day

 

Today’s LittleNip:

I love the dog
and he loves me
I see him gnawing bone
knowing if I died
fell to the floor
a couple days not being fed
that'd be me

—Smith

_________________

Smith is here today, telling us about his Lady and the dog and the cat and the house they have in Cleveland. He tells it in true Smith fashion—little snatches of what he calls LIFE (the good and the bad and the mostly in-between). Thanks for your visit today, Steven—always a pleasure!

•••Tonight (Thursday, 1/20) at 7pm, Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis presents Julie Jose and Gabrielle Myers (author of the new book, Too Many Seeds), via Zoom: ucdavis.zoom.us/my/andyojones/. Open mic after the reader (one chosen text or three minutes). Host: Dr. Andy Jones. Info: www.facebook.com/events/887483028628485/?acontext={"source"%3A"29"%2C"ref_notif_type"%3A"plan_user_invited"%2C"action_history"%3A"null"}&notif_id=1641058547529962&notif_t=plan_user_invited&ref=notif/.

______________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

Bonehead by Lady

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
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work from all over the world, including
that which was previously published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!

 

 LittleSnake with Cat Pal