Moans of vacuums in the church...

The Church

Moan, go the vacuums in the church

The Minister is home without a wife

His deacons chew on peanuts that are stale

The rest of town stays up late tonight

He busies through the kitchen with a knife

Attempts to bread an aubergine that’s cooked

Parishioners grab coats from naked hooks

He bows and eats with dogs and reads the Book

The Shawl Group ties its four millionth yarn

Karate America pays the building fund

A gay film plays in the Young Out Group

While the masses yearn to drink and grind

It was his calling--not the flesh—‘til

His yelping dogs mounted in the back

Keys are grabbed with a mugger’s zeal

For a sacred city’s reverend snack

Charles Bukowski, in the end, sorting letters

In The End, Sorting Letters

For Charles Bukowski, 1920-1994

In the end

When Charles Bukowski got

Leukemia, he puffed out his last

With a daughter and wife

Near, puffing out

Just serene, says his ex

About his face, transparent

No smell of clutch

Burning out, just the puffing

Words have a hard time enshrining

Such a thing that’s regal

As dying

As art lived foolish and fun-fucked

Forget about me.  Grab a hand

No weaping

He’d say, sorting letters

Grab a hand, a close hand, breathe

Squeeze it, scarred as you are

Yours in theirs

One reason for valor

At the races or match

Is everything

Fits here, he says

Your full blown ass cupped

By my blistered hands

But that’s the calm

Way of letting go

Of drink, lies, life: Austere life

Descending from the clouds... the Messiah: Googlability

Finally, the Messiah

Finally, the Messiah:

Everything is Googlable

Descending from the clouds

On high:  Googlability

     Googlability: Googlable

Earning everlasting life

As public servant, duty

Rounds, meds, injections

Filling out their forms

     Forms: Googlable

After triage, my students

Wait with puckered lips

For me to unwrap straws

Hands lifeless in their laps

     Lifelessness: Googlable

Unwrapping straws, the

Satisfying push-through

The end of sheath: How

Are they joined at end?

     Straw Wrappers: Googlable

Some recline for blood

Transfusions, but those are

Tomorrow.  Today, breath

Inserting straws, breathing

     Breath: Googlable

Into them, lungs pushing

Out chests, chests falling

Monitoring pulse, color

Stacks of wasted straws

     Waste: Googlable

Straws to be burned

With the needles, pus

Viral bedsheets, hair

Shaved from bodies

     Incineration: Googlable

When we go to heaven

Father, when our shifts end

Can we Google ourselves

Lonely, in your search bar?