Drawing Down Lightning

I like it
yet
it causes

the chaos

I hate it
yet
I miss

the tornado

she wants me
to
drink
with her

she hates it
when
I get drunk

the kids say
I’m an asshole
when I don’t drink

yet
hate monster
arguments
or inter-dimensional
reasoning
from bottle bottom

my doc says
don’t worry
he likes his wine, too

then mad sciences
my blood
and says cessation
may be wise

but my six-pack
of readers
will tell you

this
is a sober poem
lacking
the larger
brushstrokes

of unglued ecstasy

I can hear
a bluebird outside
my window

tweet-fuckin’-tweet

what
is his secret
message?

I don’t know why
the sober bird
sings

maybe
he saw a worm
Watusi
or the naked dance
of secret squirrel

the wild cats
will kill them all
if given
half a song

don’t worry
this isn’t depression
I care too much

about
comics & toys
and their destruction
upon my destruction

saturday mornings
with the blonde

my daughter’s vinyl
collection
still needs help,
I guess

UFO meetings
with older offspring

hell, my youngest
hasn’t seen
Attack of the Mushroom People
yet

there’s always shit to do

it’s almost summer
and vodka & crushed ice
tastes like

west coast jazz

my wife’s pissed
that I’m not building
a patio set

told her not to buy
one of those thousand
piece

Apokolips fire-pit
jobs

but good-lookin’ broads
rarely listen

could be anxiety
the thinking too much
seemingly caring
too much

the fucking puzzle piece
of it all

coming together
right now

poof
let it explode
like dandelion pedals
gone to seed

then reaching out
trying to
put it all
back

in concert
with
nothing more
than
Italian roasted java

I like it
yet
it makes my heart
beat

like
Gene Krupa
surfin’
tribal drums

I hear
the thunder moaning
in early June

growling
like a lion
trapped in a zoo

raging
because we are here
drawing down
lightning

maybe
the earth is flat
or round
or oval

who gives a fuck?

the gods are angry

we create
artists & idiots
magicians
and warriors

madmen
and crazy women
dancing
singing
praying

soothsayers
farmers
teachers
and children
driving tricycles

but
who talks to the clouds?

probably
more people; more often
than we know

we have jazz
we hold that one thing
and lumberjacks
to make the pulp
paper
to cut into

creating
the telepathy
to tell
you

this.

Bradley Mason Hamlin is an American writer, veteran of the United States Navy, and alumni of the University of California, where poet Gary Snyder dubbed Hamlin “The Road Warrior of Poetry!” Hamlin was born in Los Angeles and currently lives in Sacramento, California with his wife, kids, and wild cats. He is the creator of Secret Society Comics and publisher at Mystery Island Publications. His latest book of poems, Zen in the Art of Drinking, is available from Holy&Intoxicated Publications. Much more on Bradley Mason Hamlin can be found via Mystery Island by clicking here…