Feature Poet: Jimmy Broccoli
Hello! Today’s feature is another returning one, Jimmy Broccoli! Jimmy’s featured twice before, and was one of the first people to appear on the site. He’s had four incredible books released, a best of collection as well as putting together numerous anthologies where all the proceeds go to charity. He’s an all around great guy and amazing poet! Check out three of his poems below!
And the Cow Goes Moo
She asks me – politely – to stop pissing in the kitchen sink
and I ask if she’d like to rail some of the powder I got in my bag -
She then smiles and looks at me directly
The whites of her eyes are red – but I ain’t judgin’ –
Cause so are mine
I think her name is Cherry, or Cherie’, or Charity, or Cheryl
I return my member to my trousers
and turn on the faucet to let it run
____
It’s a Tuesday evening – and none of us have to work in the morning
Fuck all that nonsense – fucking pro-capitalist, hard-working bullshit –
It’s then Tommy – he’s my best mate – from the living room –
he laughs like a fucking donkey, like he is high as fuck –
and I know he is because I sold him the drugs
He speaks loudly when he says, “Freddie Kreuger could kick Jason Voorhee’s fucking ass, man – ya know (?) – but that motherfucker jus’ don’t die”, and I look over to see Patrick nod his head, while Bobby is passed the fuck out
He’s been up for 4 days
And I make a mental note to put a blanket over him later
____
I learn her name is Barbara (not Cherry) – and she’s wearing day-glow fuck-me-pink lipstick -
It is then we begin to partake of the elegant and perfect rails (with me as the Train Conductor) that are beautifully presented before us –
A stunning straight-lined New Year’s Day parade of glass –
“I usually shoot it, but I can’t find my spoon”, she complains –
as she stands in a room with a drawer filled with spoons -
But I suspect she’s just casually conversating, rather than actually complaining
I shake my head and realize I’m not wearing a shirt, though I don’t remember taking it off
Tommy is skinny – like, fucking, hooker or Calvin Klein model skinny – and he joins Barbara and I in the kitchen
“It smells like fucking piss” he says – and I observe the faucet is still running
Barbara then mumbles something I can’t understand while shaking her head and rolling her eyes –
Her pupils are dilated as fuck and she looks a bit space alien – but, I ain’t judgin’
Cause so are mine
____
“Yo, Jimmy”, Tommy whispers to me as if it’s a secret
“I think Bobby’s fucking dead – he ain’t breathin’ and he ain’t movin’”
“It’s sleep apnea or some shit”, I reply – without knowing what I’m talking about -
so we let Bobby be
I make a mental note to put a blanket over him later
____
Morning begins to delicately embrace the tips of the mountains in the near-distance –
With fiery determination, the flecks of sun threaten the shrinking darkness above it -
The dim streetlights naturally extinguish themselves as the blackness retreats until it, once again, will claim victory over the brightness of the day
Night turns into daylight and daylight turns into night
As night turns into daylight and daylight turns into night
____
“Yo, Jimmy” Tommy says kind of loudly
“I think Bobby is dead. He still ain’t breathin’”
Barbara lifts her pinkie up to her nostril to do another bump
as I apply powder to my gums and to my teeth -
As Patrick stares at the images in the porn mag he’s been lookin’ at for the past hour
“Yo, Jimmy …”, Tommy repeats, his breathing a bit more labored than usual
I then look at Bobby and make a mental note to put a blanket over him later
and tell Barbara I have found her spoon
Breathing Dead Boy
A goddamn medical procedure
I see the nurses are wearing powder blue scrubs and yellow facial coverings – gloves – they are wearing really long gloves
The lights above me are fluorescent and blinding
The surgeon is standing a few feet away -
He is staring at the ground – and he does not look up
I count backwards from ten, as instructed
And do not make it to three
Electricity – burning electricity
An internal cattle prod
Exploring and destroying the skin – the skin where the fluorescents don’t shine
And I am bleeding … I am bleeding … I am bleeding –
The homosexual is going to die
The homosexual is going to die
In my tiny apartment, my dog sits on the floor –
He looks confused …
As I lay face-down on my second-hand living room couch
I, awake, dream Demerol dreams –
I am floating, floating, floating …
My sister is in the kitchen cooking something – but I am too exhausted to eat it
We will watch my favorite movie in silence until the credits roll
Then, I will go to bed to bleed-out
I witnessed my final sunrise this morning –
It was brilliant – so bright - it was awesome!
… I force the sunrise to be my final memory
As my eyes close; as my sister begins to cry …
… It’s 7 am – and I open my eyes -
I am lying in dried and in drying blood -
The sheets are soaked in blood -
… It is my blood
I am awake
Somehow I am awake, and I am breathing
I am a breathing Dead Boy
----
‘I want no more of this life”, I say aloud
As the methamphetamine disappears up my nostrils one final time
“Yeah, right – you fucking junkie” he tells me as he injects the crystalline carnival into his veins
“My heart is not beating correctly”, I say
“My right arm is warm”, I say
“I think my heart is slowing down”, I say
“I think I am going to die”, I say …
I talk to the walls around me
As the methamphetamine violently escapes my pores
As the leaving benzodiazepines scream and scream and scream …
I’ve seen the Devil – he visited me
The Devil, HIMSELF
The Devil sat down – he grabbed a pillow and got comfortable …
The Devil HIMSELF
It is wanting to die for 456 hours
For 27,360 minutes –
For 1,641,600 seconds -
I stare at the ceiling as I count and feel every one of them
… the hallucinations …
The black ants march upon my skin
I, helplessly, watch them march
I feel every one of their legs upon my skin – they are marching –
I feel them bite me – they are biting me – they are biting me -
I am the king feast for the invisible meth ant army –
I am becoming a hatter – I make hats – as I slowly grow mad –
And bad, and sad, and better than I’ve ever had or grad or glad
And I make cats, and bats, and drats, and fats
… I am becoming a hatter - I am the maker of hats
[19 Days Later] I get out of bed
And the hat falls off of my head
I am nearly dead, but I am not dead [I think] –
The Devil is no longer here
And - I am breathing –
I am a breathing Dead Boy
----
He is taking me to a place – a place I do not want to go
He is …
I won’t talk about it
He is fire – and I am not water
He is a bear trap – and I am the bear
He is the scream – and I am unable to quiet him
He is the instrument that shatters glass – and I am thrown, crashing, against concrete
I won’t talk about it
I walk out of this place – and I am barely breathing …
I am a breathing Dead Boy
----
“Oh Robert – my dearest, Robert –
Why won’t you let me die by my own hand?
Must you sit up at night to keep watch –
to make sure I am still breathing?”
I pass out on the front porch as my friend watches reruns inside -
Unconscious, I paint the porch a beautiful crimson –
The blood-thinners are beginning to work their magic
As my perfect paint brush of skin spills upon the cement canvas
“It’s enough to kill a fucking elephant”, the boy without a name tells me
as he hands me the bag of pills
One, two, three goodnights – four, five, six goodnights
They are all dressed in elegant white –
They are dressed for the elegant ball!
“I want no more of this life”, I say aloud
[It’s enough to kill a fucking elephant]
I have failed, I have failed, I have failed!
Disappointed and miserable,
I am alive -
As Robert keeps watch – making sure I am still breathing …
I am, reluctantly, a breathing Dead Boy
----
I stand in this small graveyard where I am surrounded by stones –
The graves are still fresh – the dirt covers the bodies of my dead friends
How is it that I am the survivor?
How the fuck did that happen?
That was not supposed to happen …
The graves I mention do not really exist –
They exist in my mind -
Junkies don’t usually get funerals or markers
They disappear; they become invisible
They are no different from the trash that blows down the street in heavy wind
Mentally, I place a yellow rose next to the etchings of each of their carved names
They lived, they were flawed – and they were my friends
The graves do not exist
I leave this place; my tears escaping extremely
I am hyperventilating as I grieve, as I grieve extremely
But – I am breathing …
I am a breathing Dead Boy
----
Nowadays, I walk down the street and smile at dogs
Early morning strolls in the neighborhood –
I am greeted by wagging tails and doggy smiles –
I say hello to squirrels I see scampering
And I thank the birds for their generous birdsong
The beauty and the goodness surround me
I breathe in the late Autumn air
It is crisp – so crisp and delicious –
If I could taste it, it would be apples
I breathe in the invigorating late Autumn air
I breathe it in – I just breathe it in …
I am a breathing Dead Boy
A Good Beginning
The party hats and horns are covered in blood
The streamers, the wall decorations –
The DIY paper invitations and the confetti are soaked in blood
I do not wear the hat on my head
I do not throw the confetti into the air in celebration
And the decorations are not dripping blood upon my conscience –
But – I am at the party
Make no mistake – I am at the party
----
Blankets are wonderful to hide beneath
They are warm, comforting, and easy
I no longer cover myself with a blanket
----
We go to work
[my boss is yelling at me again]
We get paid the absolute minimum
While multimillionaires continue to stuff their already enormous wallets
We live paycheck to paycheck
And we say “Thank You”
“Thank You for letting me work for you”
We say “Thank you”
----
A national manhunt for the killer –
Hundreds of police officers, special government agents and agencies and volunteers for miles
That’s some rich-people bullshit
When my friend Patrick was gunned down in his backyard in 2022, there was no “national manhunt”
His name and case were put in a grey folder –
Put into a cabinet and forgotten –
Patrick was poor
I am also poor – so the police didn’t listen
National manhunts are for the rich
While the poor are silenced
The poor are always silenced
----
United they stand together in healthcare
It’s our money and our lives -
Shareholders, investors, CEOs, and other multimillionaires
They keep us sick – and we pay them
They deny coverage – and we pay them
They buy a third home in the Hamptons
As we sit in cold houses because we can’t afford electricity –
As we are forced to pay the medical bill denied on appeal so we won’t have our wages garnished
And we pay them
And we pay them
And we pay them
----
This is a good beginning
It’s not comfortable and it’s not nice
And no revolution was ever won by wearing daisies in our hair
This is how change happens
An unfortunate truth
An inconvenient truth
An uncomfortable truth
This is how things change for the better
The slave-masters should be scared –
We outnumber them –
Perhaps we should begin to act like it
This is how things change
This is the only way things change
Jimmy Broccoli is a bodybuilding Straight Edge vegan anarchist librarian and poet who enjoys playing with puppies (of all ages).
