Rock Accountant
Category: Creative Writing
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Image | Featured
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Unlike Themselves
I am unnerved. Shortly after publishing a stinging rebuke of kale on FaceBook, a giant off-stage hook removed the picture I had nailed to it. Someone clearly wishes to be paid handsomely for its usage. (See below)”Certain people fume when I malign kale. Some attack me, not cleverly identifying themselves to me as simpletons. These same people vote in general elections. They raise children not much unlike themselves.”
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No meat Rock and Roll
I have worked with and loved vegetarians. They are not better people and are easily frustrated by irregularities like leather belts and shoes. On rock tours, they grow weak during the midwest portions in America because they can’t find anything to eat but mutton, gizzards, and rhubarb. They can not play Germany.” ( 1976 ) Regis Boff
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Drugs and Polkas
I grew up with Polkas playing on my dad’s radio. Unlike rock, Polkas, never benefited by having its own signature drug. Having traveled through old Czechoslovakia, I tied one or more on with “Slivovice,” that transparent brain reducing eastern European alcohol. But it is neither heroin or LSD, let’s face it.
Remember, I spent twenty-five years going from one concert to another where bands played the same set. Drugs, for me, were a way of taking that music out of my head, not enhancing it.
January 4, 2021
Neptune does not echo
We are forever
guessing
if we are a song.
Nothing is soundless.
We suspect but are never sure
that our noises carry.
My whistling
may reach Neptune.
But Neptune, like God,
does not echo.
Birds don’t care so much
for their own songs.
They care about eggs
and nests
and the size of baby new wings.
Cicadas lullaby summer evenings.
But the night doesn’t pick up
their theme
and begin to dance.
Flies whizz
their little ditties
by our ears.
And we brush them away,
like eavesdropped insults.
The flowers
exhale their perfumes
into the winds
blinding the dazzled slave bees.
Nothing disturbs the evenhanded blizzard
that is being alive or the drama
of surprising death,
and the odd collisions with love.
She sits among her
snowflake suitors.
All sincere,
Each different,
Each the same
all waiting.
Until she finds
the one
that echoes her song.
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Waiting for you
Do memories
cast loose
by your life’s end,
wait bewildered
for you
to come back home,
Like pets at windows?
