Thom Kellar: Primer Gray
PRIMER GRAY
©1998 Thom Kellar
Smoke ring in a windstorm
old man with blindfold and cigarette
at the university he had "shown promise"
was called a "diamond in the rough"
but the years have gotten away from him
he pissed away his time
now he waits for the phone to ring
for Gabriel to call and ask if he has one last request
from the beginning desire had been a map without names
never sure where he was or where he was going
change made for the sake of change
point A to point B in a car painted primer gray
he drank too much—slept too much
read too much—chased "easy" too much
never finished the book he had been writing
for the last 24 years
now the Rambler sits on blocks
the manuscript lost somewhere in the attic
he calls himself "invisible man on blue planet"
the events of his life written in disappearing ink
nothing to offer as evidence of having circled the Sun
staring at the autumn sky, chain smoking, sipping tea,
he waits for the angels to raise their rifles
and take him home
PLAN B
©1998 Thom Kellar
...it’s all we can do
not to remember
outside
back porch
I sip cheap red
strum a cracked and buzzing
harmony six string
tell the stars
to go fuck themselves
upstairs
on your back
in bed
Cosmo opened
across your chest
you whisper
something to someone
on the phone
downstairs
in the kitchen
under the ironing board
the 3 year old sits
blissfully occupying himself
with a green, rubber,
T-Rex toy
welcome to plan B
much time ago
I was to be a writer
of words and music
you were going to travel the world
a single woman
scoring brown-skinned boys
taking in the sights
but like dirt-track figure 8ers
we "discovered" each other
an accident throbbing to happen
made ourselves easy targets
lowest form of idiot
of course the "little-man"
has no such regrets
no fear for what's future
he's like a sponge
soaking up the moment
laughing to himself
as he and imaginary friends
all knowing the password
slip past the angel
standing guard at Eden's gate
DEAD MEN
©1998 Thom Kellar
dead men
don’t care what the surgeon general thinks
dead men
drive around with no place to go
dead men
figure the come-on at the end of the bar, more trouble than she’s worth
dead men
hold alcohol in a medicinal light
dead men
will sleep in their work clothes
dead men
never need to RSVP
dead men
buy cars, and smokes, based solely on price
dead men
avoid eye contact at all cost
dead men
doodle on the obituary page
dead men
drive on bald tires with cracked windshields.
dead men
accept with resignation, the next day’s hangover
dead men
listen to Coltrane, and Davis, start to finish, no interruptions
dead men
don’t floss
dead men
will drink their Sake cold
dead men
don’t sweat expiration dates
dead men
never wear bandages
dead men
are past blaming anyone
dead men
see horse-shit and diamonds the same
dead men
don’t care where the candle-wax falls
dead men
forget what day of the week it is
dead men
can’t get to sleep at night, can’t wake up in the morning
dead men
have nothing in their hands
dead men
never ask another chance
dead men
have no need to make sense of anything
dead men
play dumb when they know they’re being lied to
dead men
have made the connection between sorrow and desire
after losing the thing he loves
a dead man will spend the rest of his days
anesthetizing the past
pouring gasoline on the future
dead men
have no fear of dying the second time