Five Poems by Wayne F. Burke

 

Rommel Swallows Cyanide

 

no one comes to visit

me: wonder how long

I would lie, dead

inside this a.p.t.?

The landlord would miss

his rent in a month;

mail would slowly build

in the box;

people at work might

call the cops:

Richard Brautigan, who was getting

50-grand

a book

while he was hot,

lay for a headless month

on the 2nd floor

of his house

while flies and

maggots visited.

 

 

October 21st

 

the day of Kerouac's death;

he went and

planted himself in the

railroad earth: should

have stuck to AA, Jack

and become grand old

man of letters; of course

had you "stuck" you

would have had to become

some other

maybe a Norman Podhoretz

type, or

Robert Giroux (remember how they 

shit on you? Of course you do.)

I guess you were fated to

leave this mortal-ed coil

at age 47: to croak in

unchangeableness and

become legend.

 

 

Vein

 

cannot drink any more coffee

because I am

coffee-ed out, like

Balzac

in his shack

good-to-the-last-drop

java

in my veins

even the one they took

out of my leg and

sewed onto my

heart, that

flaccid bag

occupying space in the

chambers of my

conception,

and me

still conceiving,

and almost as

well as I ever have.

 

 

The Scary War

 

hand-to-hand combat

with bayonets

in the trenches;

mini-balls to tear

your arms off;

and if gut-shot, you

died--

a rifle heavy as

a pick ax, a suit of

wool

baked in the

Southern sun;

must have been fun

though, riding on the

train roof, camping

beneath stars; taking

whatever you needed

when you needed it--

ripping the guts out

the Secesch.

 

 

Secrets

 

of mumbled childhood

hidden in locked drawers and

pocketbooks with clasps--

in scrapbooks with iron

covers; in wash rooms of

cellars and underground with

skeletons in boxes, and

behind altars where

god lived in shadows, like

on a dark country road

without houses, just

trees that said

"schussh!"

whenever the wind

blew.

 

Wayne F. Burke's poetry has been widely published in print and online (including in Lothlorien Poetry Journal). He is author of 8 published poetry collections, a short story collection, and a nonfiction title HENRY MILLER Spirit & Flesh (Cyberwit.net.,2022),

He was nominated for a Pushcart in 2022 and Best of the Net 2021, 2020. He lives in Vermont (USA).