All The Things That Are Surely Coming

There are moments that come from nowhere
in which I realize I am perhaps more 
lonely than I’d imagined, more sad.
In my sleepless hours I consider what’s
become of me and I’m not sure what 
to make of it. I get up a while and think 
about someone who once loved me 
and is now dead. I wonder why I didn’t 
love them more, and if I should have. 
I think of a few people I did love
and wonder where they’ve gone to, 
wonder if they’d come back if I 
took the time to explain things 
a bit. I don’t imagine so. 
I think of all the things that are surely 
coming that I wouldn’t wish upon 
me or anyone. I wrote this poem 
in my head early this morning when 
I couldn’t sleep. It’s late 
afternoon now, and I’m trying 
to write it down. I think 
there was more to it, I should 
have jotted things down as they came.
I think there’s a pretty good line
that I’m missing somewhere, 
it might have tied it all together somehow.
Now I’m thinking of how nothing 
is really much after all, and how our 
dreams of immortality leave no 
impression upon the void. 
I understand my own sufferings,
such as they are, don’t register much
upon the scale of things, and I’ve made 
a peace with that. We’ve all got problems, 
as my friend is fond of saying (he’s 
not really my friend). But sometimes 
it all comes upon you unexpected, 
you know? In any case, there’s no 
need for drama. It’s 4 p.m. here
in San Francisco. The air is filled 
with ash from distant fires, and there
may be a few beers left in the fridge.

Charles Rammelkamp has a new chapbook out from Clare Songbird Press.

BUY A COPY HERE

insomnia knife twitch 

there’s that moment
isn’t there

when the black of night
dilutes to blue

and you think
phew,
made it through
another one.

you allow yourself 
a half-smile 
as you put the knife 
back in the drawer
and close it. 

as if 
you won’t be needing it again
tonight.

Ben Weasels Mothers Basement

I hear they’ve cancelled Genghis Khan
from history,
presumably because of all the raping
and pillaging
and generally being a massive dick,
so they fudged the books,
deleted him out.

I get it, I really do,
they cancelled that one episode
of that one sitcom
where they took the piss out of black face
and racists
so now you have to watch it on your computer,
illegally,
if you want to see it
and grumble about all those Millennials
with their painless backs
and opinions.

I wonder what’s next,
will they cancel Hitler?
At least they’d be no more heroes to celebrate
and flags to wave
and the sales of red crosses
would plummet.

They could cancel Bill Hicks, I guess,
he was kinda homophobic
and really sexist
but he had some really special things to say too,
be a shame to lose out on all of that.
GG’s pretty much gone from history already
and no-ones interested in Ben Weasel anymore,
particularly since he punched that woman
and made excuses for himself rather than apologise.
Come to think of it,
I bet, of anyone, he’s really enraged about all of this,
which is comforting if nothing else,
I couldn’t think of a better person to be miserable
than that prick.

He probably sits in his ageing mothers basement,
spitting feathers,
and asking,
as I am now, (but probably for very different reasons)
exactly who “they” are
and exactly who “they” will choose next.

The Human Race

Marita touched my ‘Very Merry’
And that led to the poppin’ of a cherry.
Which was good…so good.

Now if God is love and Satan sin,
Whose idea was it that a bottle of gin
Should get me happy first, later sad,
An’ in the mornin’ make my head hurt bad?

You know, Jesus, he’s a friend of mine,
So’s his sidekick, Frankenstein.
We get together, change some water to wine,
Chitchat ’bout women fine.

Life can be good, like that Marita I had,
But sometimes life can drive you mad.
Is there an answer?  Are we garbage in space?
No need to worry, it’s just the human race.

We Live in That 80’s Song We Love

I dreamed you were on Jeopardy!
( our love’s in jeopardy, baby…. )

You got every single question 
except
the one in which the answer was
emotion

Of course on Jeopardy,
the answer IS the question 
and emotion, for You, 
certainly is

I thought
this is the most real moment 

I’ve ever seen on television
Then it caught fire

It wasn’t even plugged in

and I wasn’t even asleep

The Narcissist

How the narcissist cured me
of my addiction to him

When I told him I knew
he was a cheater,
he replied:

‘Now baby, you know
I’m too lazy for that’

All I could think
in that moment
was how much
this creature’s shit
fucking bored me

A rush of anxiety overcame me
cause I just couldn’t wait
to get back home,
light candles

And masturbate to old videos
of Christian Slater
and put away my laundry

Ride

i died last night
swept away in some dirty shack,
dark sea storm
faces and places shipwrecked pasts
crashing into my night waves

i feel good when i go there
tonight
bottle of sweet red wine,
or king louie’s can-can oil

ma earth giving humanity sharp right hook 
fog smacked world, fuck it

dr sargebait dropping medicine bombs
on pretty docile dolls,
sweet swab queencakes

eskimos laying out welcome mats
sea polar bears took a wrong turn

swig my way to the night burgundy shores
well-lit wharf rats,
fudge sundae carnivals
past the sword swallower’s den, 
speed of night,
rebirth of a moment
a quasar 

… ride

A Reprieve

It’s the plague times, California’s on fire
and most everything you can name
has gone to shit.

Each day we wake to learn how easily
200 and some odd years of more
or less democracy can be dismantled 
like a makeshift stage by a television 
con man, his assemblage of toadies
and an indifferent population.

The days are are dreary, nebulous
and each the same.

But Jon comes by in his old car like some
broken saint and he takes us 
to North Beach where the sidewalk cafes 
are just opening again after months 
of being shuttered.

We sit outside Mario’s Bohemian Cigar Store 
across from Washington Square Park
drinking wine and beer and the world 
feels nearly right again.

The air is filled with good talk and laughter
as we look at the girls and shoot shit about the poets
and you can imagine the neighborhood 

how it was back when Kerouac got dead 
drunk in the alley that now bears his name
and Brautigan sat in the park with a jug 
of wine and one of his pretty girlfriends.

It feels like the day after the end of a war
and the giant sky and the lazy sun
and the people alive beneath it all miracles 
you thought you’d never see again

but in truth the war’s just gearing up
and the afternoon just a quick gift of light, 
a tease to give us something to maybe 
remember or fight for, and me and Jon 
we’re like prisoners on a holiday sucking 
it all in as best we can before everything 
goes dark again.