That Turned Ugly Fast

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That Turned Ugly Fast Page 4

by Mark Berriman

Sometimes I wish

  we could go

  back to the summer

  we spent

  together

  at Helltown

  A nice place

  to visit

  they said

  But it was

  a better place

  to leave

  We smoked

  cigarettes aboard

  the abandoned bus

  Our legs up

  on the seats

  The emergency

  exit door

  slightly ajar

  Cool fresh air

  creeping in

  The end

  of the world

  just beyond

  the barricade

  at the end of the dead

  county highway

  Crosses etched

  into tree bark

  The burnout kids

  would head

  out back

  and listen

  to their

  Scandinavian metal

  We put down

  shots and knew it

  would end badly

  Faces covered

  in ten days

  of mystery

  We called ourselves

  Whiskey Rebellion

  and searched

  high and low

  for reasons

  to kick and scream

  Recovery Project

  Horny

  Angry

  With a taste

  for chemicals

  Filled with yuck

  Filled with ick

  Filled

  with yuck and ick

  I am

  a recovery project

  I don’t want to watch

  my back anymore

  -15 Degrees

  The night is unbroken

  A clear palette

  of perfect

  The wind whips

  the sleeve of my coat

  And I can feel

  devil’s breath

  upon my cheek

  Jealous ’n’ Stuff

  I do caution restraint

  I’ve tried to see

  things through

  your eyes

  But I’m afraid

  But I feel

  I peer through

  eyes of the blind

  Sun beats down

  upon the good people

  and I am met

  with chilly receptions

  My name in

  the papers

  “Again” the headline

  Choking on it

  at the end

  of each day

  Choking on it

  with each rising sun

  Bridget Bishop Bathrobe

  Salem, Massachusetts

  Why are we drawn

  to your faulty judgment?

  Your primitive ways?

  20 innocents

  burned

  Live re-enactments

  put on daily

  Killer publicity stunt

  paying off

  Bridget June 10, 1692

  1 of 20

  I have a black

  Bridget Bishop bathrobe

  A gift from some gift shop

  or other

  Buy death

  at the mall

  Build your own

  website

  Let the spirit move you

  Bridget Bishop

  your bathrobe

  moves me

  I spin in it

  I cinch it tight

  I admire it in mirror

  I feel your warmth

  Sometimes I wear it

  as a cape

  and imagine

  I am your savior

  Rescuing you

  from Gallows Hill

  high above

  Salem, Massachusetts

  We’ve Filled Wisconsin with Bad

  We scraped away

  spoiled soil

  Truckloads of it

  sent across

  Wisconsin border

  Ton upon

  ton upon

  ton

  Expelling poison

  and soot

  Serpentine sands

  We scraped away

  spoiled soil

  Truckloads of it

  sent across

  Wisconsin borders

  Trying to Roll with It

  There is a stranger inside

  of me bounding about

  I can feel

  it when I walk

  It makes

  strange noises

  that erupt

  out of me

  It fills my head

  with song

  and then sorrow

  and then song

  There is a stranger inside

  of me

  eating my food

  stealing my nourishment

  leaving me with naught

  to go on

  to move with

  to keep

  More Than I Ever Could Have Wished For

  Broke and heartbroken

  Disturbed and beaten

  Broken

  d

  o

  w

  n

  Busted

  p

  u

  Abandoned

  in the dark

  on the questionable side

  of town

  Buses don’t

  stop

  Cops won’t

  cop

  No money

  to be made here

  Duck, Duck, Gray Duck and the Minnesota Middle Finger

  I have gone

  entire winters

  without

  heat in my car

  because I could

  barely afford

  to pay

  for gas

  Overpass walls hit

  up with graffiti

  Minnesota

  is coming

  Flyover

  Cultural slumming

  They’ll build monuments

  to celebrate our normal

  4 from 12

  8 months indoors

  That will build

  a crazy person

  That will build

  a hard person

  That will build

  a hearty person

  Year upon

  cold year

  Need a push?

  Oh, for cute

  It could be worse

  Up north

  Holy buckets

  I seen it

  You shouldn’t of

  I remember the great

  Halloween blizzard of ’91

  It was indeed great

  That’s . . . different

  Meat raffle at the VFW tonight

  Borrow me

  Duck, Duck, Gray Duck

  The zipper merge

  They will

  fuck you

  in the zipper merge

  I Am Erosion

  Withered and weathered

  Wrinkles as badges

  of honor

  Ghost towns approach

  where the knowing

  ones know


  I’ve left every place

  Erosion, erosion

  I am erosion

  I’ll take

  little bits

  with me

  The Confession

  A heavy black

  screen surrounds

  the polished oak

  bar of The Confession

  Dan the Collar

  with a look of granite

  replenishes

  the garnishes

  Olives

  Onions

  Coarse salts

  Stalks of celery

  Lime wedges

  Slices of lemon

  Maraschino cherries

  No paper parasols

  Testify

  They must testify

  Looking ahead

  to eight hours

  behind

  The Confession’s bar

  Where some will

  pray to be

  33 forever

  just like Jesus

  Where they will

  testify

  Venial sins

  Mortal sins

  Testify

  They must testify

  Dan the Collar

  in flowing robes

  to fit the part

  of our Father

  He will whisper

  beneath his breath

  Penance is repentance

  Penance is repentance

  Sin will weaken

  the sinner himself

  Strength shall be reclaimed

  through single malt

  Testify

  They must testify

  Meanwhile Chop Shop Bob

  moonlights in back

  Diligently working to perfect

  his Body of Christ

  The host

  The lamb

  Sacramental bread

  Altar bread

  Do this

  in memory of me

  My body

  My blood

  Testify

  They must testify

  He will refill

  glistening holy water bowls

  with wafers black

  as moonless nights

  Patrons belly up

  to the bar

  at The Confession

  Spilling

  drinks while spilling

  their secrets

  as the heavy black screen separates

  them from the Collar

  Testify

  They must testify

  They seek redemption

  They seek salvation

  They seek forgiveness

  They want a patient listener

  Contrition

  Confession

  Satisfaction

  Absolution

  Resurrection never felt

  so good

  as fire fills bellies

  and vacant souls

  Testify

  They must testify

  Forward

 

 

 


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