The Past

The past is a recessive gene
a hunk of algae in your head
that keeps dirtying up the pool of your life

The past is left-handed

The past has an eating disorder.
It eats disorder.
Several orders of disorder
at one sitting.

The past is the suit you got
without a fitting.

The past is a freight train at night
roaring through your temples.
The church bells of your past are ringing
for you and your various gals
and sundry mornings of reverence for
loveliness and confusion.

The past is a cataract
in the eye of the truth,
an emotional chip
on your front tooth.

The past is a limited toy
the fire engine of accomplishment
that's two inches high and breaks
it's plastic

The past is an iridescent dye
or the way your eye
looks to other people


If the present is names you can't remember
and faces you can't forget
the past is the opposite of that.

The past is a clean sweep
an onion eater
a world beater
a mad platter
on the lazy susan of your soul

The past exists to
give nostalgia
something to think about
to give art the life
of the artist's death
so the present can catch up
to the dubious future

the past is a cat in the hat
of Abraham Lincoln
Hitler's moustache
bleeding into Groucho's

the past masquerades as a series
of clichés
under the costume gleams the dagger!
you laugh, but the blade is sharp.
fortunately, the present
is an anesthetic.

The past is an aphrodisiac
you take the morning after.

1989