Big Beer

"When you have no imagination, dying is small beer…" --Celine

     Written in 

a men's bathroom in Cherokee

Park, in permanent marker--

"sometimes the moon/ means nothing". 

Initials and title below it. 

T.R.C., "Poem For Hardship". 

Venture capitalist in a wet dream,

pulling bodies from Doomed Man Heaven. 

"only beauty/ can name/ its cages", 

   D.M.H.

"it takes/ the tiniest fingers/ to milk a 

   spider", D.M.H.

These new austerity measures

cutting back on the 

number of people in our diamonds.

Credit default swap, Doomed Man Heaven, 

for some folks

disappointment is an 

aphrodisiac, Doomed Man Heaven. 

   Sherlene Peng,

Ross Skarga--these people. 

   Vijay Nair,

Gabriel Nieto, 

Lloyd Strickland--these. Each 

in their fully appointed

bodies thrown upside-down

for dollars, Doomed Man Heaven. Where 

they land, houses. Homes 

where they have each other. Where

having has each other. As 

Mindy lifts Artem's hand

from bed to place across her 

face, to smooch a breath. 

"Lending out of past/ is future 

   taking" 
quotes the stall of bathroom in any park

where walking comes to bring people. It's

free to be there, not

to get there. For the

gatekeepers, the dietary thinkers

of D.M.H., a marker made 

permanent--to leave

some news about a knowledge of walls. 

Can't climb them? Write on them. 

Zach was here. Then he wasn't.  
And for that aren't you


partially responsible, 
when you wonder?