Lucy

                           An Interview with Lucy

   Licifer
   counts with his toes
   and he likes
   to lick his fingers
   while staring at pictures
   of the Dalai Lama in drag.
   He often rubs his own shoulders
   while murmuring
   barely audible
   third grade level math problems.

   (In the lastest issue of GQ
   he aptly
   discredits the
   gernerally accepted account of
   the dawning days
   of creation:
   "The chick totally was diggin' on me,
   I didn't even need to offer an apple.")

   Actually it was a fruit similar to
   a quince - they don't grow apples in the mid east.

   ("Yeah, well, that's another
   misconception...the garden
   of Eden
   was actually
   near Iowa...")

   Lucifer
   is mostly an introvert
   who cherishes his time
   alone
   along with his granola meal cupcakes.

   (After all,
   "Even the Lord of Deciption
   needs his daily nutritional fiber.")

   Lucifer
   also needs a bath -
   more so than other infamous sore losers -
   and he grunts when approached
   by autograph hounds,
   but almost always signs.

   ("Sometimes they get disappointed...
   they usually think I'm the ghost
   of Frank Sinatra...I don't see the resemblance.")

   As we leave our fallen subject
   the penance of survival in the new
   millennium seems to be
   taking its toll.
   We let ourselves out
   and abandon the figures of
   haunting, underground
   shadows to their
   respective hobbies.

   Lucifer
   (himself an ironic pastime
   in the pressurized world of Earthly religion)

   sucks his thumb
   and mumbles almost
   incoherently

   ("Three hundred eighty-seven
   plus
   two hundred seventy-nine.")

   and life
   is still the same
   with or without
   having
   understood the mention
   of a demon's name.

   Posted 2/4/02

    I smell the heat
   Through
   Ranch-flavored
   Potato chips
   And seveny-nine cent
   Candy bars

   While the tangy
   Menace
   Of
   A T-shirt soaked
   To the seat with
   Four hundred miles
   Of seven o'clock sweat
   Rejects all rational
   Appeals
   For productive thought

   It's not
   The puckering humidity
   That gets me laughing
   But the nearly
   Ordinary
   Segment of talk radio
   Showcasing
   Jimmy Carter era
   'Hollywood Squares'
   Punch-lines

   It's not
   The musical ear pressure
   (Provided
   By mixtures of
   Mennonite gospel octets -

   on CD ironically -

   And the
   Wind sirens ringing from passing cars)
   That makes me
   Want to fast forward
   Six months
   When I can
   Properly
   Edit this piece
   Without
   The nausea

   It's the
   Broken Acronym of a coolant system
   That cheapens
   Every second
   Of my road-trip mentality

   And

   It's the
   Scabby
   Biting
   Forever
   That
   Haunts
   Almost every aspect
   Of crossing
   The Midwest
   In the summertime

   Posted 2/4/02