christopher "beef burgundy" robbins
Christopher "Beef Burgundy" Robbins is 30, lives
in atlantic city, new jersey, where he works in a casino. He
has no MFA. Sometimes he drinks beer, sometimes wine, oftentimes
the sermon was long today
the salmon wrung wreaths
the salesman blew meter maids
i blew the north wind
and now you're in trouble
with me with and with and with
In Praise of Mother
You looked the interpreter of dreams with your wide green
lily pads floating in a sea of freckled whiteness.
Amazing you didn't dry up when the sun surprised you
you every name in the book.
name that meant the most you stashed away
your womb, your wonderful stony womb,
dark, moldy crevices where even I hid away
those days I longed for sainthood.
What happened to those dreams you birthed like slumbering
scooped from the belly like the insides of a pumpkin
--all pulp and seeds? Did you hold them to your tit,
let them latch on and learn to love the baked earth and mud
or did you take it the wrong way?
the taste of water and seaweed.
you in praise of Mother and her milk,
and sweet breath from your bloated body
you to dirt, to coffeegrounds, to eggshells.
Don't you wish sometimes you could share your breath
with the wilderness and your lover? Not the first time
you needed me--I still have the remainder of those visits
on my skin:
two violins, and a smile.