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
water (evian).
tattletalebraille
the sermon was long today
the salmon wrung wreaths
the salesman blew meter maids
i blew the north wind
south
and now you're in trouble
with me with and with and with
do
you
care
about
me
more
than
the
mailman a
postcard sent
In Praise of Mother
You looked the interpreter of dreams with your wide green
eyes,
lily pads floating in a sea of freckled whiteness.
Amazing you didn't dry up when the sun surprised you
with its
cold brilliance
calling
you every name in the book.
The
name that meant the most you stashed away
deep in
your womb, your wonderful stony womb,
with its
dark, moldy crevices where even I hid away
on
those days I longed for sainthood.
What happened to those dreams you birthed like slumbering
babies
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 way
the lungs
take wrong
the taste of water and seaweed.
We buried
you in praise of Mother and her milk,
shook limbs
and sweet breath from your bloated body
marrying
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
tattooed
on my skin:
a circus,
two violins, and a smile.
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