Charles Bronson
Charles Bronson
by shawn misener
Blue mushroom smoke echoes
from Charles Bronson’s head
steadily pumping the doobie
he leans over the mezzanine rail
I approach him from behind
beer swinging from my fingers
fuzzy memories of his films
interposed with his exhaling real body
and giant head flickering on the big screen
swallowing us all
once beside him I remain silent
casually watching the movie
where Charles breaks ten bad guy necks
in an effortless zen exertion of dominance
I get a contact buzz as smoke billows
and fills my ears and eyes
Charles is a ganja smokestack
a ganja campfire
a ganja thurible straight from mass
a ganja forest fire out of control
he slowly turns to me and asks:
how did you get in here?
swallowing the roach and winking
I don’t even know where the hell I am
or why I’m on the balcony of some old theater
hanging out with a lit Charles Bronson
see, he says
a new joint magically appearing between his lips
the less control you exert
the more interesting it gets
he jumps over the railing and transforms into a barn owl
just before slamming into a plush red seat
between two enormously fat men
sucking soda through neon orange straws
another fucking dead owl
one of them says
every Bronson movie, no fail
says the other
belching and tossing the owl behind him into the darkness
dream logic at its finest
good call. This was a dream a had. But so are many of my other poems.
Nice job translating it. I’ve had good and bad experiences trying. When something very strange and creative is conveyed with dead certainty it reminds me of how dreams can be.
I forgot to praise this:
the less control you exert
the more interesting it gets
that is so absolutely true. I think its the key to levitation and transporting in the sleep.
good quote. I think its also key to writing good poetry – exert control on the structure, but let meaning wander off on its own dream-logic trails.
Agreed Fogman. I always like your thoughts on structure.