a little background on the d/e/a/d/b/e/a/t poet

my name is JCK HNRY (the Federal Government owns the vowels in my name as part of a tax debt payoff) .

poet/writer/layabout; i spend most of my days working of debt in SE California in a small town no one has heard of nor would want to. during the first 42 years of life i spent it as most typical Americans might. nearly flunked out of high school. spent seven years getting my Associate of Arts degree. Another four getting my Bachelors Degree. Two more for an MFA. All spread out of 27 years.

had numerous shitty jobs until i discovered i could sell just about anything to just about anyone. then discovered i could manage people better than selling things. then discovered i hated working in corporate America. after a brief 18 year marriage i moved out to the town of Toad Suck, on the Southern Shore of the Salton Sea. population 27, more or less. if you count the temporary visitors, primarily to Lupita’s House of Flesh and Bingo Parlor, we can get close to two or three hundred. that depends on the time of year and the number of teeth the strippers have.

in the mid-fifties Toad Suck had a thriving population of nearly 800, but when the US Gov’t closed down a secret underground laboratory and nuclear fallout shelter in 1997, things fell apart. today the town gains income from Lupita’s, a couple of speed traps run by TSPD and a significant settlement from a cromium producer that polluted local groundwater.  during the day i hold the title of Mayor, but work as a private investigator slash bartender; most weekend nights i work the door at Lupita’s.

during an electrical storm in Las Vegas, in 2006, which closed the airport for six hours after a lightning strike took down half the cities power, including the airport’s, i rediscovered poetry. at first a flirtation, then a whore than competed for all my free time; poetry consumed me, changed me, punished me and kept the change. by 2009 i had several chapbooks, a handful of anthologies, and two collections with my name stamped on the cover. a few brave editors published some of my work in a variety of journals, print and/or electronic.

in autumn 2009 with the patience of monuments will be released by NEOPOIESIS PRESS to all the usual places.  information can be had here.

in 2010 i will have two more books out, a perfect bound feature “crunked” (epic rites press) and a chapbook “a garden of flies” (scintillating press). and after that? no idea.

HEROIN LOVE SONGS is coming back.  details to follow...

and in the beginning

a poem always starts in my head
sometimes it’s all up there
other times

  awisp of smokecurlingtoward anambivalentsun
  
sometimes a poem offers
more questions
than answers
an indifferent lover,
paid whether i get hard or not 

sometimes a poem
kicks my soul with steel-toed boots
a diamond drill bit tearing my skull
as breath draws baker’s dust
to the marrow of my spine 

and when a friend finally asks – why do it?

i don't understand the question  

poetry’s my main addiction however,
the other one,
the one we don’t discuss,
the one that occurs behind locked doors,
purchased from streetcorners 

that’s the one that finally gets it done

channeling Sekou

back beat
blue beat
same street
different week

if you ask me
it’s still the same bullshit
after
            all
these
            years

i watch you    walk down
those same stairs
with that         yellow eyed smile you find in a stained cracked mirror
each morning
as light begins to flow
and
you know
you

            know

how’s that dream      coming along?
That new reality        coming along?
How’s that, I’ll make it by
That, life’s alright

those tender feet
            keep dancing
            on hot flat steps
your groove ain’t groovin’
your move ain’t moving’

you’re running at the same pace
            same time
motherfucker                        lost your mind
but at least you’re                             standing
at least you’re                                    breathing
at least you’re
  not a new member
  of the
  horizontal
                        stop                                    and drop

you know...last Saturday night
sitting on that front step
watching that heat rise
            from a go-easy street

hoodlums
            and cartoon characters
take turns
            passing me by

one stops to ask the time -

Hey man, you got the time?
As in, hey fucker
it’s time to roll
it's time           to get rolled
and, you know,
            roll on, young prince
take that first shot
            probably all you got
maybe all you need
            but when my turn comes
            and when it comes
            your play is through
you know?
as in, fucked up
            and finalized
as in, I no longer give a good fuck
about your opinion
or your status
dead             or living

i forgot
why             i started
just like always
you know?
just like yesterday?
or tomorrow
meaning is fleeting
just like reality
just like a satisfactory blowjob
in the back             of a convenience store

maybe i should sleep
maybe just keep doing dope
maybe just throw another dagger
            in search of a bull’s eye

maybe, i should
maybe, just, you know?
            but right...

it’s not like
i fucking
care             you know?