Friday, January 06, 2017

Fifteenth Poem (Shaman) (For Mike Rep Hummel)

Whiskey Priest.
We met at Larry’s.
He was fishing with Floyd Collins.
I was scratching out a living not living as I have a tendency to do.
And we both over the years have made the best out of whatever scenario or situation we find ourselves committed to like Soviet spies hell-bent on defection or obfuscation.

Sometimes we fight, other times we piss, vent and vomit, but it all comes out in the wash because I don’t believe either one of us wants to drowned in a Paris bathtub like the Lizard King did junked out like another wasted and bloated great blues whale.
Mike’s ego sometimes gets the best of him just like I sometimes have a bad habit of talking up my prowess as a writer instead of allowing the work to speak for itself.
And when you see ‘Original Master Tape Lovingly Fucked W/ – Mike Rep’ on this or that fabled piece of music you know you’re in for a gasoline alley good time as your ears take flight and your consciousness is laid to waste.

Michael carpet bombs us with his universal third eye and never gives in nor lets up taking the ghosts to task for finding themselves in the machine in the first place.
We sat upstairs, smoking pot and listening to the silences between each other’s well placed and dispossessed words then he took me for a rootbeer float and a Coney dog as we hung out at his favorite cemetery and turned our backs on the passing of time.
If you ever discover yourself down in the basement with this medicine man Hoka trickster consider yourself beyond fortunate even if he gets wasted and forgets where he parked his blue bus.

Evil Love Deeper.
Harrisburg, Ohio a place you may never have heard of is where a land of misfit toys has been holed up for a very long time and they’re only becoming more driven and hysterical as their blood on the tracks leaves a stain in the carpet no amount of cleansing will ever get rid of.
I called him on the phone and when it went to his answering machine and he heard it was me he picked up the receiver and that just about moved me to tears as we talked about everything and nothing under the Soft Parade sun.

Charles Cicirella

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