Ricky is just one in
an assortment of nuts
that make up my bizarre
carnival of friends.
Hillbillies
Heads
Bards
Bikers
Theologians and Transgenders
Priest and Prostitutes
Rabbis and Rogues
Monks and Maniacs.

He is bright and bitter,
with an affinity for numbness.

Conversation comes easy
amid the clutter within his
mobile home "War Museum"

Weapons and instruments
of death,that most cannot
imagine the minds of men
creating, displayed upon
every section of wall, in every
corner, nook and cranny.

So many dark and disturbing items
lead to many morbid dialogues.

There is a strange sense of peace
that comes over him as he sits
surrounded by gruesome souvenirs
of man's cruelty and depravity.

We pass the bota bag back and forth
The wine always loosens his tongue.

He was...
at one time...
a young boy who laid upon his bed
dreaming of heroic acts alongside
his comic book heroes.

Sgt. Rock and Easy Company
Sgt. Fury and the Howling Commandos
Captain America and Bucky Barnes.

The young boy and the dreams of heroism
died in the jungles of Vietnam.

He is...
at this time...
a shell of a man wrapped
in a shroud of nightmares.
Daymares.

Somehow...
the demons that dance in his mind
are exorcised by the artifacts of atrocities
that decorate his home.
Seeing them constantly, to the point
that they have become easily ignored,
has helped him deal with the horrors
that were non-stop seen in his head.

Right or wrong
Good or bad
He has learned how to cope.

I drink deep from the wine
and pass the bota back to him,
as he puts on the executioners
demon faced mask that came from
somewhere in Indonesia.

He stares through the carved out eyes
and says,
"Can you imagine the things that have
been seen through these eye holes?"

I cannot imagine
even after he removes the mask
and I look at his naked eyes
haunting and haunted
I cannot imagine.

Sun light is fading and I reach
over and inside the lampshade
of skin, with the tattoo still visible,
to add another forty watts of eeriness
to the mementos of the macabre.

Sometimes...
as I sit here with Ricky...
I also feel a strange sense
of calm come over me.

He passes the wine bag back to me.
Another souvenir from Vietnam.
Made from a womans breast.

He walks over to his stereo
and delicately places the vinyl
disc onto the turntable.

Three Dog Night

LIAR

He sings along

Screaming !

LIAR LIAR

Howling !

The wine is good.
The buzz is wonderful.

***