Christopher J. Grasso

Rookie (4-14-76 / Voorhees, NJ)

Dauphin Street - Poem by Christopher J. Grasso


Such heated breath of a Southern gothic night
burning a hole like dragon’s fire into the city
cigarette smoke and staled bars, sections on a walk
where ancient trees cry for the bleeding sketches of Dawn
hating their shimmering dance with street lamps
and midnight, shaking hands with patrons in droves
blues music waving us down competing with every tavern
through muffled bellows of a heavy rainstorm
enter into the doorway, into the mystery of strangers who stare

the salutary sweat of beer on glass to lips
the first swallow of frigid gold
what can be defined as heaven to a dry throat or drunk
French founders named forever in concrete
I can call this street ‘Black & White’ - a photograph by someone long dead

I, the last hello muted by the sky of good-byes
traveling with the sidekick of distance, isolation so dispersed
so far away, am I an alien in universal progress? through time and space
A new car in a junkyard, a gold brick buried in landfill mounds

ii
Deep South Salutations

Power stone in the heart of the ecclesiastical wilderness
midday flaming like a comet on a U-turn arch
glistening crushed glass cathedrals
competing like corner convince stores selling eternity

Drunken, Joe-Bob,6AM, still flinging em’ back, purposely unemployed
dented pickups with men wearing ball caps glancing with primal grit
by their standards I am a faggot for writing poetry
worship the Michelob boredom, the foregone history, recessing

A table w/ Saturn and rocket ships drawn in orange
on a dirty bar stool, eyes staring toward the left
ugly flower dress shit kickers yelling ‘sex’ too loud
the march of Marty Gras stolen, shipped away
Here, people sense that I am a stranger
I want to get drunk, unanimously
And find my hometown on the projection screen T.V.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, February 8, 2010



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