Day Twenty-Eight: ‘Ripley Hugo And The John Pike Organ’

April 29, 2018

Rotund father near the water
Chucking round pebbles,
Pray for us.

Night owl video lurking, blessed tubes
Rhythms find me the holy fat man
Whose turns of phrase rival psalms
But denser, packed like rifles.

Took a wife in Montana, same name who hunted
Aliens in desolate space. Stooped on porches,
Drank rivers and fished bourbon,
Stood down cancer and lost
But it’s about the fight anyway.

Empty drumkit at back of set,
Housing cocktail napkin melodies,
Please hear our prayer.

Some parallels: the ghost under rocks
Calling from below, or beyond rather,
Pals in the woods, the metered geniuses
Could’ve used a beer together
Some dim haunt, Missoula.

Cracked-spine poetry books
Unplugged organs collecting dust
Both house lit candles, despite the risk.
It’s what we can do for prayer.

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