it's a man thing

 
--------for hemi's man comp--------
 
it's a man thing
 
i heard the howls  
somewhere down past the hardball
like nothing i've ever known
all the sounds of the absence of life  
braided by the desire for it
woven into a thunderhead  
with all the sulfur,liquid essence of earth and eventual ash
still in the air of unknowing genesis
like the ground opened up and something crawled out
famished
pumice is porous
shale shatters sharply
to the likes of them
granite is god
and it's no matter
but that's the thing
about a thing
it does'nt have much sense
of what it will be
or what it was
if at all only
just being
 
he knows the smell of stale draft
and the labor of blood,cum and vomit cleanup
all to well
the half rolled sweaty non identifiable residuum  
dollar bills in the half cracked pint glass on the bar
barely pay for the cot in the back
he knows nothing of blood diamonds
where or why they come from or for
there are a few men in leather cuts  
that stink of carburator cleaner,urine and murder
harassing him from time to time
but he never breaks eye contact or walks away
until they have had their fun
and they know he never will
but that's the thing
about a thing
it does'nt have much sense
of what it will be
or what it was
if at all only  
just being
 
friday night
screams for four fifty fours
big blocks that might as well run on whiskey
and roll your owns
as much as their operators with more than one facial scar
hell's excuse for women
pre op and post coitus
arrive for the nightly grind
there is a calm unsettling restlessness  
before the lights dim
that door to the room in the back opens for the first time
since the barstools did backflips the night before
tube amplifiers begin to glow
like safety flares duck taped to gallons of gasoline
in the last pew of churches
growls and high pitched whines
 from what would seem to be a large reptilian predator
feeding on a full grown saber toothed jungle cat
emerge from the back
of that shadowy, broken beer bottle deco, temper and broken promise laden makeshift confessional
magnetic fingers machine gun nickel wound arteries
that pump life into the daily dead through twenty year old  
pa towers still chained to the wall
he says what he's always wanted to
finally the right way
screaming out if to only the slugs
that have permanent glute impressions in their favorite chair
and forehead sweat stains on the table in front of them
he saw a window and jumped through it
when all doors slammed behind
he made mere wood and plastic and metal
his home
forty five minutes of triumph and freedom
on this night he pays for nothing and gives it all away
somewhere down past the hardball
he only drinks when he dies
and is brought back to life
but on,gone,good,stitches,sleep,smile,funeral,marriage,hangover,
sundown,roadkill,the state of affairs in the middle east,a girl with a jesus tattoo
a black bird's belly
it's all the same
but that's the thing
about a thing
it does'nt have much sense
of what it will be
or what it was
if at all only
just being