Summer 2005


Summer 2005


the way he said "hey man
can i get 40 cents for
a senior coffee" the

way that shit never gets
old recounted in exactly
the same part of speech
an eternal digger of "i
have dream" black history
spreading a world beat
to good vibrations dealing
with some 1965 watts karma at
the present day rate of
exchange in toledo like kirby he
was this tall white cat
afraid of his own shadow
a ghost born into this world
to become an

and he knew his place in time
when he said "it's like
they keep hitting me over
the head with a beer bottle
every time i wait at the bus
stop" protesting that he
had been there working
on a cure for alzheimer's
for ronald reagan for 3 hours
every day reenacting the british
invasion on lsd singing in
his irish tenor "i wanna hold
your hand" to rochelle at
macdonalds who was born
in 1985 and had never
given head to "penny lane"
his words shining like
an inverted sun on
the hit

he told me that "yeah man
i had a copy of ronald reagan's
book all for myself, got it from the
the main branch library, that thing
was all over the place like
gospel man, i'm tellin' ya
i just need 40 cents, my hands
are freezing history is in some
deep shit, they wanted my words
back to move mountains, but
i wouldn't budge" whispering
something about how he always knew
that leonard cohen was last year's
man that was the kinda shit everyone
seemed to take for granted
that if he were miss america
more people would've understood
and asked the great
spirit for world

and i didn't say anything
about him having the front
and back covers of "the great
gatsby" taped to the bottom
of his shoes to keep out
the snow a sad history
reduced to blurbs cuz
i could just tell that
when he said "happiness
is a bastard best served
cold or not at all"
that the cat practiced
what he preached
and somehow really had given
peace a chance to set in
before his dreams
had been buried with
the ghost of the
loneranger radio doyle
and the wisdom of


i'm not sure if
the words ever touched
your skin ever hit
home like jackie robinson
in denver 1947 allen
and neal speaking in
love steamed letters of
alien sincerity yrs before
stabbing the history books
saying "english is a
dead language for the
ghosts of st.louis"
under your breath soured
waiting for the volcano
gods to laugh in
requiem when you looked
at the stars you
imagined them stealing home
james dean cool eyes
sparkling under blankets of
snow fading as you snapped
your fingers to the
echo of the road
saying "sweet dreams, sleep
well sleep, sleep tight"

make me a dream
your friend mr.


John Dorsey is the author of "The Dusty and Lofty Dreams of Middle Class Fairy Princesses" James River Poetry Review Printings, 2004, "Little Boy Beat: Selected Poems" Paladin M & E, Inc. 2004, "The Price of Sunshine" with Iris Berry, Feel Free Press, 2005, "Goodbye, Felix Pepperdine" Kevin M. Hibshman/Editor, 2005, and "Harvey Keitel,Harvey Keitel,Harvey Keitel" with S.A. Griffin and Scott Wannberg, Butchershop Press, 2005.


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