Perry ThompsonMurder All The TimeGive me some words I can dance to. . . -- Jimmy Buffett See the face on the cold moon, the pulsing stars pointed as spikes, and all the space between them black as ink! Van Gogh stared until the blackness came alive and crawled and the spikes themselves went still. But now Van Gogh snores in his grave and night time doesn't pause to help at all. Here in Amsterdam it's murder all the time, loss of an ear to a mugger on the boulevard or death by a beautiful face. You can't see your reflection in the pools at night nor moonlight in the waterways. Ghosts of the expatriated walk on canals. Your ghost is here. And mine. They linger in the back room at Billy's where they smoke hash 'til their eyes are sore and cough in his face when he shouts Get out! It's never closing time with Bill. Your ghost, stoned and unafraid, dances through the Van Gogh museum arms waving madly and shouting Turds are diamonds! Aardvark! Aardvark! Lick the sperm tree under the frost! Christ, but you're obnoxious, even as a ghost. Perry Thompson was born in Georgia in 1950. He graduated from high school in 1966. Two years running he was awarded first place in Columbia University's Gold Circle Award For Poetry for which he received a nice letter. He holds no college degrees. Mr. Thompson has been previously published in Columbia Review, Dekalb Literary Arts Journal, Lonesome Virgin and Chattahoochee Review. A civil rights and anti-war activist during the '60s, Mr. Thompson has been handcuffed, spit on, hosed down, beaten up and generally abused by his fellow Americans. He currently resides in Key West with his wife, Marsha, and their cats, Bramble and Midnight. Mr. Thompson is the proprietor of Rainy Day Records. Home | Editor's Desk | Poetry | Prose | Guidelines | Email | Links |