Trickster Union



 I was in the market for a Sportster after my friend Garret told me that he had one many years ago.  So I read the classifieds everyday in search of one in my price index.  Many were 3 or 4 thousand dollars something I could not afford.  I wanted the throaty cry of a v-twin with the acceleration of a Pratt-Whitney (an airplane motor). The fury and thrill of a good street bike was in my veins and I could no longer stifle the urges.  I was looking for model XLCH.

 “Grandma, will you be the co-signer on a loan for a motorcycle?”  I asked.

 “What do you want with that?”  Was her response.

 I went on in great detail the listing the general assets of commuting via motorbike.

 “It’s better on gas, and the insurance isn’t a lot.”  I told her sounding full of wisdom on the subject.

 “It’s dangerous.”  Doris White, (my Grandmother) told me.

 “And loud.” I conjoined

 I left the matter stand until I found the bike.  Weeks went by and still I saw nothing worthwhile.  Then on a Saturday I found the one I was looking for.

 “1974 Sportster, XLCH, Low Miles $2550 313-555-7555.” The ad read.

 I called and made an appointment to see the bike. . ..


 Just for the Moment

Lime sanctions, interest accrues make it one more night, caffeine tears dribbling the glass onto my pants.  Ray sun, looking through plate glass as pulp is fed to the masses. Savory errands crumbs stuck in the lens of a horoscope. Slamming as West Bloomfield’s finest cannot stand to hear the reverberation of a trampled of 4/4.  You suck, morning paper!  Can’t seem to get by without someone causing a tremble.  Sorry to sully your morning with a little tap, you fat jerk.  Head so big I want to forget you.
    Groove the jam a tortured scribe testifies to a nipple quake you quack.  Shuffle yourself out the door if you can’t handle the noise of timber.  Shiny boot causing trouble again.  Just for the moment.  Do we dare to dream? Just for a minute out of our confirmed luxury?  Decent expose a smelly aftershave why am I here?  Break away get something out in the open.  Balding ding bat and grumpy old men over coffee never set us free broken glass shedding formulation distant brick.  You can’t get up and out. Later suck punch drunk hip ply narrow is done. Bone serum pitch germ sugar break bleak moan gum saddened rest dream study contempt for fellow shop hoods.  Let your staring do the talking. Isolation.  Wooden marketing more cunning than Columbus.  Merciful nectar foil a tribe with beads and disease.  Cats dance shade when weight gyrates a mute dense.  Baking free dude, away with . . ..  
“Quiver and shiver blustery arch.  Wavering approval echoes across a lake canoe.  Keep playing you dick!  Maybe if you got laid once in awhile the stick would come out of your ass.  Think you own the world you false prophet.  Island roasted meat and pineapple sage banjo got a last kind word.  Shed of tools, lined up showered and ready for a tawdry day you suckers!  Have you gone to search in vain for something you cannot stand?  Depart go through the field Hie thee Ho!  Flounder and scream dimpled reflection of a suffering bastard. Make it hard on the other side jeopardy rebel.”

Hype were the west yet read for the future an assumption provoked gut rot quest. Mine rolled cherry topped tolerance. Shake it. Red fellow can’t baby pink your way out of this one.  Mortified holy greek-fire a violent end the harsh labor of oppression as much work conducted in the infancy of out-day bid gone a went flower street carriage of don’t and yes break verb before a crash hold out a little longer next time to drive the betting up. Scant fleece. I have to go now my love a blister has formed on my mind as I reap a lot of don’t fit in.
    If we endure more saturation no one will be able to ring us out, candy land my apprentice.  Grey horseshoe cock bring down, quit staring at me wrinkle bag.  I want to leave but don’t want to give up my seat. Bile Mongers!!!
    Suck it hard, fast, dirty and cheap shit infantry!!  You put in your 60 and a heart attack will claim you; no matter what type of Lexus you drive.  Fuck your zip code.  Personally, I like my cancer the old fashion way, I smoke it.  Light house storm shaven clean fatter and fatter. Calves check it out.  Roller coaster vibe. Go home now shallow hollow.  365 dip shit.  Dimpled conversation run amuck.  Dappled over bargain of astute mid eastern men. Getting walled in.

3/4 of the Way There.

    It was a cold, Michigan January.  I was sent to live at a three quarter house in Pontiac, Michigan.  I had just been released again from St. Joseph Mercy Hospital after taking too much medication.  I had altered my dosage a month before.  Why I did was unclear to me.  The three quarter house I was  staying at was owned by Mark D.  Mark D was a mid-forties black man who was very kind.  He made me feel welcome even before I got to the house.  He came to visit me in the hospital.
    John M was the house manager.  The house was an eight bedroom, two bathroom home set off Huron street in Pontiac.  It was my first experience in a three quarter house and there were lots of rules.  First there was a seven day restriction period where I could only leave the house with a ‘buddy.’  Then there was a curfew, 12 pm on weeknights and 2 am on Friday and Saturday.  Each day we all had to perform a detail.  Details consisted of cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms, vacuuming the halls, living room and dining room.  Rooms were to be kept clean and unobstructed.  Beds had to be made by nine o’clock.  Also, if you didn’t have a year clean you had to make ninety meetings in ninety days, either Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous.  All this was explained to me by John who had a stroke five years before and had trouble finding the right words to express himself sometimes.  I signed many papers that stated I had been given the instructions and agreed to follow them.
    I had about four thousand dollars in the bank and they agreed to take me back at Maskill’s where I had worked before I went into the hospital.  The first night I was at the house John took me to a meeting with another person staying at the house.  We rode in John’s 1988 Cavalier and listened to classic rock on the radio.  It had been awhile since I had heard rock and roll so it felt good listening to the music and driving around