debrkuhn

(For Jamie/1974-2010)

Premature ending
With permanent question marks.
Answers we can't know.











DRK/August 2010

Look how you’ve molded me into perfection, unchanging
Stare into my lifeless blue eyes and admire yourself
Now that I have hardened into the ideal companion you’ve always wanted
Now that I am unable to speak or move without permission.

Dress me for success and force me to smile
Pose me on your arm and breathe in the scent of my submission
Drag me into the numbing darkness of your dreams
You say I must never break free or I will cease to exist.

But death wants me as much as you do.







DRK/July 2010

Happy Father’s Day to you all.


My dad was born on the 30th of October, and he knew he was loved.

His parents named him after the doctor who delivered him (Lloyd Edgar).

He had light red hair, gray eyes, a lot of freckles, and an amiable temper.

As a kid, he loved taking dangerous dares, like swimming in partially frozen rivers in February.

He was very proud of the autographed photo he received from Roy Rogers (posing on Trigger).

He hated having to wear glasses when he was a teenager.

He liked playing basketball and ping pong.

‘Kentucky Wildcat Blue’ was his fave color.

He grew up to be a diehard Republican, just like his parents.

Just like me, he loved to hear our old aunties tell ‘true ghost stories.’ Later on, he liked hearing my made up ghost stories, too.

He cared about the environment, loved being outdoors, and was a wildlife conservationist.

He had a Master’s Degree and began his career as a teacher, but he built houses for fun.

He believed every child had the right to a good education.

Dad never spanked me or my brother when we were kids – he let Mom be the disciplinarian.

He had a habit of saying “Hot dog!” whenever he was excited about something good.

He feared that, at some point in the future, computers might take over the earth.

He drank coffee all day long – maybe this is why he had trouble sleeping (well, that, along
with his nightmares about super-intelligent computers).

His biggest weaknesses were his love for butter pecan ice cream and Colby cheese.

He had a green thumb, but he was allergic to a lot of veggies and plants, especially bluegrass.

He was a country boy through and through, and never lived in a big city.

Large, colorful, fragrant flowers made him happy.

He never wore T-shirts or shorts.

He always wore Old Spice aftershave.

He hated waiting in line for anything, so he would shop at weird hours.

He saved each and every one of the birthday cards my brother and I gave him over the years.

His favorite car was the white Corvair Convertible he owned when he first met my mom.

In his later years, he refused to drive more than five miles over the speed limit.

In his opinion, planning elaborate practical jokes was always worth the time and effort.

Spring and fall were his favorite seasons. (Like me, he worshipped the sunshine, but it didn’t like him back.)

He thought a fishing trip to Manitoba, Wisconsin or Florida was the best vacation ever.

He didn’t like going to the movies, never watched much TV, and would only read the newspapers, non-fiction books, and the Bible.

He listened to classical music a lot, since he realized he couldn’t carry a tune.

He enjoyed hosting summer grill-outs on his houseboat, and always invited everyone he knew.

He always had time to listen to a friend’s problems and lend a helping hand.

Twenty years ago, he and a close friend ran into his neighbor’s burning house and saved the lives of the ailing elderly couple.

He didn’t consider himself a ‘hero’ and he never bragged about his accomplishments.

He was far from perfect, but he tried to do the right thing, even when it was hard.

He believed in God, in having a purpose, in helping others less fortunate.

My whole life, I never heard my father swear, never saw him smoke or drink, or insult another person.

We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I never doubted that he was on my side.

He wanted to take me – and my brother – on an Alaskan cruise, but he ran out of time.

He didn’t fear death – but he was afraid of pain.

The last thing he ate was a spoonful of butter pecan ice cream.

The last thing he saw was his cheerful daisy balloon, bobbing against the ceiling of his hospital room.

The last thing he heard was a trio of birds singing after dark on the window ledge.

My dad died of cancer on the 23rd of June 2007, and he knew he was loved.

I wonder if he knows how much we miss him.

So sad, you’re so sad to be free, but I’m glad, so glad and I'm gonna make you believe
That wicked times are ahead, ahead for you and for me.
It’s time to sin like you mean it, bring this girl to her knees.
Yeah, sin like you mean it, it’s yourself you should please.

I hate to laugh when you’re blue, but you should paint the town red
You’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel alive when you’re in bed.
Why don’t you sin like you mean it – the pain is all in your head.
Sin like you mean it, feed the urge until it’s dead.

Once was a time I held your hand when you cried
But those days are over, baby, now I’m on the other side.
Sin like you mean it, like you’ve got nothing to hide
Sin like you mean it – let me take you for a ride.

So many fish in the sea, you could have your pick of the school
To ignore what we’re offering, well, you’d have to be a fool.
Sin like you mean it, honey, claim your kingdom and rule
Oh, sin like you mean it, being bad is always cool.

Sin like you mean it, like you’ve got nothing to lose
Sin like you mean it, you’ve already paid your dues.
Sin like you mean it – I’ll show you what to do
Sin like you mean it – my only fetish is you.


LYRICS by DRK/2010

We can never be content for long
It messes with your head
When our party becomes too boring
Then it's time to wake the neighbors

It messes with your head
Peace and harmony leave you stir crazy
Then it's time to wake the neighbors
Screaming, sweating, breaking furniture

Peace and harmony leave you stir crazy
Arguing is a succulent entree - making up is like dessert
Screaming, sweating, breaking furniture
Making war, then making love

Arguing is a succulent entree - making up is like dessert
I play along to keep you interested
Making war, then making love
You drag me on and off the roller coaster

I play along to keep you interested
When our party becomes too boring
You drag me on and off the roller coaster
We can never be content for long


DRK/April 2010

Every night I watch the parade alone –
They follow her around the dance floor,
Like lost puppies chasing a bone.
But boys – that meat’s gotta taste a lot like silicone.
I’m not wrong.

She’s a peroxide blonde,
Hot to trot and on the run -
Out to prove she can have more fun.

She struts and giggles and chats and winks,
Those who listen never stop to think
That what’s she’s sayin’ never amounts to much.
Her brain’s been pickled and it’s out to lunch.
What - you never had a hunch?

She’s a peroxide blonde,
Hot to trot and on the run –
Out to prove she can have more fun.

Sour grapes or envy or jealousy,
The girl gets dissed by chicks like me.
But what wouldn’t we give to have the attention she’s got?
To be followed around by men who’re rich or hot.
You’re noddin’ your head and you’re lyin’ if you’re not.

She’s a peroxide blonde,
Hot to trot and on the run –
Out to prove she can have more fun.

She can keep them pantin’ on a leash,
Just by smilin’ pretty and talkin’ sweet.
You think they care if it’s right or wrong?
They just wanna get it on with a peroxide blonde.
Am I wrong?

She’s a peroxide blonde,
Hot to trot and on the run –
Out to prove she can have more fun.

I could say more, but I gotta end this song.

(Lyrics by DRK-2009)

Red bird hops in snow -
A splash of scarlet on white.
New flakes hide its tracks.


DRK/2010

His tears rain down upon my shallow grave
He keeps me here, in the darkness, away from life
No dignity or peaceful contemplation, only existing
On the poison that spills from his lips and eyes
Lies that bind me to his pain
Love that smothers me when I try to scream
Two hearts bleeding – slashed by guilt, riddled with shame
I let him keep me in a shallow grave.


DRK/2009

I quit the shady part of the Square, where the one so significant to me sits
nursing his cappuccino, looking bored.
I work my way through a congealing mass of slack-eyed tourists,
Ambling forward with beer bellies and fast food thighs,
Alongside apologetic mothers towing cranky children,
Not seeing what they should want to see.

I leave them all behind, gratefully following your lithesome exuberance
over the Bridge of Sighs.

The Italian sun makes my coppery hair shine like a naughty beacon,
Should I hide beneath that blue silk scarf, or do I want you to notice me
and my thirst for spontaneous adventure?
For a breathless moment I think that you have – the way you turn your dark head,
Sultry black eyes sweeping over me like a cool breeze, unconcerned and unsurprised.
A handsome young man used to basking in constant attention.

You lure me down streets that are as charming and crooked as your smile.

Through a maze gorged with crumbling little churches,
Quiet bistros hidden by ivy, and faded brick homes
Decorated with white linens – flapping over our heads like noisy seagulls,
This is just a normal day for you, for the grey-whiskered gondolier
who glides past me in the murky canal,
He looks into my hopeful eyes and knows not to offer me a ride –
He can sense I’m on a mission and my quest is you, pretty boy.
I want to see this special place the way you see it.
I want to believe I belong here too.
That would be a gift I could never forget.

Where shall we venture next?

Lead me while I’m feeling brazen and my eagerness has no bounds.
I could saunter along in your footsteps for a decade, a not-so-secret stalker,
While you deliver candles to nuns and priests, waitresses and widows,
Who thank you so profusely, as if the wax had been dipped in gold
And you were an angel performing a sacred task.

(Pavarotti’s talents are nothing compared to your musical voice and wind-chime
laughter.)

We burrow deeper into the timeless, decaying heart of the city,
Finding a lazy bistro that smells of yeast rolls baking
You have business here, so I choose to have sweet wine and bread.
You choose to steal a soft kiss from our scarlet-lipped hostess
She thinks you taste as sinful as tiramisu with spumoni, I can tell.

Soon we are on the move again and I am distracted by a crying schoolgirl
Perched on the edge of a sagging step, looking as fragile as a china doll,
She giggles at my broken Italian and stares at my glittering Celtic cross
Until a heavy-bosomed woman in a window above us spills out a motherly command
Causing the girl to scurry inside, causing me to hurry away, eyes sad and searching,

Knowing that I’ve lost you, realizing that I’d even lost sight of myself – long before I
crossed the Bridge of Sighs.

DRK/06/30/2001

The last thing you heard were the three birds singing
Perched on your window ledge after dark,
They knew you’d be gone by the break of dawn -
I did, too, and my selfish heart cried out loud.

Don’t leave me yet – stay here, stay warm, stay alive,
Listen to the birds singing like you once did on the porch swing
When I glimpsed a bright future in your laughing eyes,
Eyes that want to close now against the pain, and never see me again.

A cheerful daisy balloon is bobbing furiously against the ceiling,
It wants to break free like your restless soul, and float up to the stars
I hold your hand tighter, as if that will keep you tethered to my world,
But I can hear your breathing grow shallower, and I feel cold.

Anger makes me tremble and denial chokes my grief
This is just a dark Halloween trick, too grotesque to be real,
Like young, beautiful River expiring on a Hollywood sidewalk
Fate likes to play dirty with our minds, our hopes and dreams.

I know that prayer won’t save you, yet I whisper an awkward plea
And as soon as I utter the useless words, you slip away quietly,
Looking so sweetly peaceful, as though you hadn’t just broken my heart
As though you hadn’t made the birds stop singing.


DRK/2007