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Poems by Doug Draime

 

Stagger Lee


that ancient wooden chute is still
above the drawbridge,
within inches of a meeting
of the minds.
well, minds, for lack of a better term,
if the eyes were indeed openings
to a previous mind set
and the cut off valve not withstanding
up as the heat is exhaled through
the chute,
above the very oiled wheels of the drawbridge.
no sound could be heard by human ear
though it is said dogs and wolves and coyotes
woke yelping from their naps.


I Saw It On TV


Colin Powell opening the door for King Bush

Like this Oreo never heard of lynching’ In Texas

Never heard of the poor soul dragged behind

A car for miles and miles not far from Crawford

Dragged to his death because he was black

I could tell from the look in Colin Powell’s eyes

That he has read comparatively little Black History

He thinks Malcolm X was just some crazy-ass nigger

All the networks with their tapes and cameras rolling

Colin Powell opening the door for King Bush

The world was watching this Oreo opening the door

On The Set Of “The Wizard Of Oz”
About An Hour After All The Dwarf
And Midget Extras, Who Played The
Munchkins, Had Gone Home


There sat L. Frank Baum
in the shithouse

at the end of the
Yellow Brick Road

on the outskirts of
the Emerald City

where the Wizard
used to do his business

yelling through the
crescent moon
cut in the door:

“Hey, any of you
little people still out there?
The Wizard took
the Sears & Roebuck
catalog from in here. Now, how
in the hell am I
gonna wipe
my ass. Hey, any
Munchkins out there?”


Smoking Babbs’ Weed


To cruise non-intersected
through the breath
of thought, where
each one is
set perfectly clear
by the cruise itself. It
is nirvana. It is salvation.
It is awareness,
liberation, that I’ve
always been,
that I am.


Copyright © 2007 All rights revert to author