The Unpronounceable God

We look out
over the calm expanse
of Lake Superior
by the old light house
bleeding red

imagining
what the Native Americans
must have imagined
about
some crazy water god
with 10 syllables in his name
breaking the tide
with 300-year-old breath

our daughter
in your belly
using your bladder
as a beanbag

and the silence is fine

and you are beautiful

with your one gray hair
we both know you have
but don’t mention
and you hate
and I love

and we wait
for that unpronounceable god
to break the tide

and when he does
you turn to me
look into my eyes
smile and say

“I bet bear farts smell awful.”

“Absolutely,” I say

and we hold hands and
walk home

past the old houses

and the big breed dogs

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

Poem Written After Smoking a Strong Italian Cigar Too Fast

i took a rocket to the moon
and ended up in gary, indiana

while the homicides homicided

and the poets poeted

bill kurtis read bedtime stories to the president

while jesus snuck out the backdoor

hauled ass to canada
to get his ulcer checked out

i took a rocket to the moon
and ended up tossing ice into a denny’s urinal
at 2:03 a.m.
thankful for work

i took a rocket to the moon

and ended up on the moon

and it was nice

there were no poets

or homicides

just jesus

hiding behind a rock

“that guy scares the shit out of me” he said

“plus it’s a little cold”

i agreed

then the earth blew up
in the name of god

and i poeted this poem about it

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

When I Die I'll Have to File for Unemployment

Not much to do at work
so I wikipediad Pablo Picasso and Babe Ruth
while the pickpockets and Gary, Indiana moms
with Marlboro Menthol faces and diabetic ugly kids
waddled through the human heart exhibit and Toy Maker factory

the more they believe in God
the uglier they get

Babe Ruth was skinny
and Pablo Picasso was a Communist

Grand Canyon Adventure lets out
the families make their way towards the astronauts

Christ be with you I think

and turn off the computer

I wish I was a trust fund kid

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

An American Retail Hymn

I said unto God
“deliver me from retail”

and God said back
“here’s a price-gun dipshit.
Get to work.”

and he smote me
w/ seasonal Bailey’s Irish creams and cargo pants
shots of wheatgrass and Harry Chapin Christmas giveaway CDs

and I sayeth
“why God why”

and he sayeth back unto me

“Follow the 15 stupid customers
in Indiana University sweat pants
and they will show you the way”

so
for 40 days
and 40 nights
we wandered the aisles of Jewel/Osco
in search of Yellow Tail Shiraz
and Jays Dip‘ems potato chips

until finally
weak from hunger and fatigue
we all reached the promised land

a pensionless death
in Albany

and let U.S. say
amen

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

Jasmine

Your name is so beautiful

People who didn’t know you

might think you were a delicate flower
or an intoxicating scent

they would never guess
you’re a 115-pound girl
covered in tattoos
who likes Pabst Blue Ribbon
random violence
and Wrestlemania

and that’s why I love you

because girls with tattoos
never love me back

I guess it’s because
there’s nothing particularly bad-ass
about a skinny bearded Jewish man
in an Eddie Bauer jacket
and khaki pants

with a pocketful of undersexed writing
and nasal decongestant

but somehow
God found a way
for us to come together

maybe it’s because
opposites attract

or maybe it’s because
I’ve always wanted to have sex
with a girl who could kick my ass

Ahhh Jasmine

my angry flower
who has roller derby practice on Sundays

with your intoxicating scent
of B.O. Cool Ranch Doritos and pot smoke

No one knows your name

and that’s why I love you

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

How to Write a Poem

When the homeless become dull

and spirituality becomes an asshole that owes you money

When “The Antiques Roadshow” becomes the highlight of your day

and you’ve forgotten the touch of a woman

When you realize every poet and writer that came before you was a moron that failed

and “Everybody Loves Raymond” just isn’t that funny

When the bar becomes a bar

and the weight of the world is no longer your concern

When your gut’s getting bigger

and the president is still an idiot

When you have no money in your bank account

and the Spanish girls don’t notice you crying in the grocery aisle

When you’re more concerned about the gnomish 44-year-old virgin
drinking Riesling alone in his mother’s kitchen
than starving children in Africa

and 5-man pitching rotations are more important than God
because “God” is just something made up by poets to get laid
and “poets” is just something made up by God to fill hell

When you think you will never find love

and when love finds you it gets knocked up by a Lutheran from Kansas City

write it down

and make it sound pretty

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

A Short Political Poem

Our enemies
are pigeons
mosquitos
spinach
and Mexicans

We will build a fence
700 miles long

and line it w/ nukes
and spinach detectors

so when the Mexicans come

w/ their flamethrowers and guns

shooting mosquitos at us
and sending pigeons into the air

they’ll know that we stand strong

as one nation

under a God

who rings my bell
and leaves pamphlets
under my door
at 9:30 in the morning

that tell me

this country’s going to hell

because God

is one very clever Mexican

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

Kelly

In the morning
when we pop acetaminophen
and kiss
over the glass
of stolen cars
like crystal hail

and cockroaches
hump in the park

Puerto Rican gangbangers
light off fireworks
on the corner

and dream of a gentle God

and I stare
at your polka-dot underwear

and pale thighs

and am happy w/ Irish girls

because
they’ll steal three more cars
on Blackhawk Ave.

tomorrow night

and the cockroaches
will always find each other
through the concrete cracks

and we’ll grow tired of each other

and become dust
under condominiums

where couples will kiss

‘til the factories of Chicago
end up in the sea

Kelly
it’s just good
to split a bottle
of really crappy Canadian whiskey
w/ you

Saturday night

after the Buzzcocks show

in the scriptures
of some gentle God

on Greenview
and Blackhawk Ave.

© 2008 Lee Kitzis