the continuing adventures of barnacle bill

well burn my barn
snorts out barnacle
drops a dollar, a dime
on the bar, nickel too,
then burps
up a
quarter of
a ham sandwich

bill's flush & buying rounds
bark, dough, shells, mole, green
shipped in & belly tight
idly scrapping oysters
off his mukluks

harlot with a can of paint
on her face faces bill but
no time for whaling now
bellows william
i'm landlocked, keel stuck
it's time i faced the traffic

still, when bill commandeers
his battle scarred chevy nova
with the imitation bearskin blanket
bungied over the ailing seat
he's himself again steering
into a traffic circle full
of beamers and mini-vans
and it's like

the parting of the waves

barnacle bill at lunch

barnacle bill nurses his malfeasance
& orders another side
of extra crispy angel wings

a bit gamy
but they're fresh out
of prairie oysters

he's thinking loud out
do these things have livers
or guts or assholes & like
how many would fit
on the tip of a prick

a debutant and an ingénue
sit horrified next table
muttering how could that man
be so tasteless

tasty? yells bill, sure, damn tasty
like chicken, like white meat
though i wish they'd clean
these shoulder blades off 'em

but he's feeling a bit bloated
and ever mindful of ballast
and displacement barnacle
sweeps the plate away

sooner starve then grow fat on that
and he leaves a fart for a tip

bill on prozac ale upon ale he
ails for the sea
in beer foam sees tales
of muse drowning brew

willy b. on prozac?
no, well, neither do we
but what's to do
when grace fails thee

will let the pills
grow wet on the bar
dissolving in the sud

"yea i 'et 'em but
was the use
was like ..."

bill clams trailing off
sips his salt water,
falls silent 'cause
see, in the far away bill

tripped in screwed up
jungles and desert storms
and dropped with the troops
on fire lit nights

but this 'zac shit
is the nervous stomach
and tongue fat in the mouth
all prickly and blubber

"ye new" says barn'
"as win ya jusbout 'tart
to feel da wigging come on"

less drink, more sleep all bill needs
so he travails rem on the uss xanex
and sings his self to sleep.

bill the barnacle

b.b. sits glued to a rock
ear cocked for the surf
radio, t.v., radar, micro, cellular
"all waves" sez bill

true to his name
barnacle lays back
and traps bits and bites
on the hairs of his feet

feeds bill on stories
soap operettas, mystery
and passion plays, sitcoms
fictional and frictional
and the woes of normal
and desperate peoples

the seas have changed
bill proclaims and waits
for the blue parrot of
slap happiness to land
smack in his lap

barnacle's trip

bill tried to book a flight
from passion to peace
nothing direct
& his frequent miles
could not be applied

so a stop-over in purgatory
on the way down
& connect with the shuttle
from pandemonium on the way up

& he had to stay six days
& book a month in advance

he packed his sack
with a pomegranate
a pair of bermudas
a tin of jerked angel meat
plus a roll of duct tape
a tub of baby wipes
and can of old spice

never know what you'll need
in this world or the next

barnacle's return

barnacle bill finds heaven
and defoliates his soul
his beard well kissed
he bumps his flight

here he finds some strange grace again
in the shadows of clouds cast against sea
the arm of the cape waves him in again
and it satisfied the logic of a shell

"great day in the morning!"
cries bill, set free
of windless sheets full of empty
he recalibrates still 20 clicks
out to sea and whispers to self
"again i will be me"

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