The Snap

Before I hit the road tomorrow to Rome I thought I'd share another poem from Sal's earlier days. It's one of my favorites.
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The Snap-

Took a break to snap the fingers a few times.
You see, I've been working up a technique, here.
Never been really good at the snap in general.
Giving more chances than I should seems to be my nature.
In this spirit I gave it a few more tries.
A snap, a quick little kick of a couple appendages.
The middle finger and the thumb.
Though this may be disputed, it's what I've shined to.
I'm sure there's some wildly deep meaning for these two fingers,
But who's the time to get into that debate.
The problem I run into when snapping
Is my fingers haven't grown out of their soft macaroni phase.
This lends to my utter inability to grasp any finger-centric
Operations that cross my path.
Just send the task on down the line.
It's going to be the way of this 'snapping gesture' as well.
Damn lousy fingers...

Bismark, 6/13/1970
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The box keeps giving.

A another lost poem by my good friend, Mr. Song. May he rest in peace.
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Insect Love -

The man jumped in order to punctuate his thought.
He jumped up straight with purpose and fluidity.
The jump was nothing special, though.
To be honest I almost missed the thing.
Tragedy struck on the return landing.
The poor man landed and ended a black ants life.
To be clear I love a good bug squashing.
But I had my eye on that ant.
Had my eye while the man was ranting and sputtering.
It held my gaze as my mind began to wander.
What are you ant? How do you think?
For a moment I was in love.
I contemplated my life with the ant.
A six hour ant foot massage.
I became restless and my eyes watered.

Thud

The ant was a wreck.
It's bunda continued to squirm around.
Trying to separate from the crushed head.
I Held my breath as long as I could.
My ears popped with pressure.
How long is too long?

"Sal!"

I coughed out and inhaled.
Looked up and panted.

"You know you killed an ant?" I asked.

"Hmm?" the man didn't understand.

"That ant there." I came back clearly.

"Lets get some food." he muttered with a shrug.

I ate twice my weight in french fries for my lost companion.
Because what is there to do after realizing your love has no boundary.

New Jersey, 12/20/1985
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I think I'm in love.

I think I'm in love with with a Bolivian climate negotiator but I just don't know how to tell her. I feel it would be advantageous to take a trip to her country, say hello and just see what happens. Life.

Incredible

A Present Day Family Hux

Last day of classes before the Christmas break. Next Wednesday I will be on my way to Rome til the 28th. I am really excited to spend the holidays Italian style. This will provide many opportunities for me to make an ass of myself, Tony style.

And for your enjoyment here's another poem from the shoebox of the late Sal Song:
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A Present Day Family Hux

Pockets need a datebook like a bomb needs a fuse.
Keeping them dates like it's the mid-eighties and your Claire Huxtable.
Swinging your hips while your way-too-cool-to-look-cool husband rants about jello near the couch.
Disorganization is the cesspool of the gods and playground of the devils.
Please be sure to remember to jot down names AND numbers.
Because who knows what may come up later?

Idaho, 4/17/78
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Debate Class

I took some major time off to contemplate the death of Sal. You see he's been morphing into something really different since he'd past. For a moment there i didn't even think he was truly dead. I stumbled upon a shoe box with some of his poetry inside. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me putting it up on the nets...

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Debate Class

Eating an ice cream cone from the bottom up - AKA 'stuffed-crust style' -
is equal to the writing of a word made up of consonants but only using vowels.
Turning pages only because there may be a chance of a paper cut
is equal to rolling on the ground. period. because who rolls on the ground?
Petting animals from ass to head just to give them a different feeling
is equal to making movie posters to books you have never read.
Debating the moral worth of soft drinks in terms of their fattening qualities
is equal to believing in the premise of 'Pay It Forward'.

Ontario 7/19/1980
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Damn, I really miss that guy.

Picture = Damien Frost "Me and Jill Stowell reflect on our lives while smoking crack in a cheap motel room somewhere in South Western Australia"