poem #47

for James Catto






breed and blend in-house talent
with the purity of instincts
avoid dilution, stop confusion,
stir the malt

the highland creams and afterthoughts
of an artisan becoming wizard
and man turning a refined beast
for good

a scotch in my hand
some money in my pocket
lust printed in black ink
across my carved forehead

confections and inventions
swim inside a green bottle
i presume, you keep blending
and it all boils up

distilling pain works this way
taking longer rides and easier girls
selling your craft to millions
happiness not included in your golden elixir

a nasty accident, lazy heirs
and vicious company lead a man
to fatal crossroads
and the sound of a bagpipe mourns the expected

we're all so proud and silly

drinking to your memory and trying hard to forget it may just not be today


victor chapman (Chicago, IL, 1982)

»»  read more

poem #34

fast talk, cigars, a scotch,
three laundry lists, a broken egg,
a pint of red beer
loud

next east-bound train is my train
rolling thrill, swollen anger
over rails, the steel,
brothels

come over, sit and rain,
pray again, sit,
come on over, hang on,
should i begin?

scarce is scared and it could be all over
templates, forms and backorders
white pain over pure thought
the pus

we heard the knocking
and there was no accident waiting
no frills, no perks and maybe your mistakes
are all accounted to me now, but how?

it could really be over when you heard those words,
when you saw their backs
and had the spirits, drank some more while getting ready,
fast, steady, the curves curving downwards
making it all a spiral

don't be afraid and let them in

the monkeys have arrived


victor chapman (Chicago, IL, 1982)

»»  read more