Poems by Dean Syracopoulos Self Reproach When drinking heavily, Caligula
would fall into self-reproach
Just think what I could a been if
I'd been just some crazy kid
a burner outta Sialpine Gaul born
hungry and high in the ice
hell-bent to make it in the big city
coming up through the clubs
working a double left hook
off the jab, taking my shots
until I was ready, really ready
to step up to the sluggers
Claudius! Claudius!
You were my uncle, Claudius!
You should a watched out for me!
I coulda been a contender,
maybe even champ!
the real thing
like Henry Kissinger
But it all came too easy.
Plus I was a bust as a god. —Dean Syracopoulos Strange Contracts Peoples say Robert Johnson
sell his soul to the devil
for the secrets in the blues guitar.
But that bein' nonsense
the old juju man chuckled
over his whiskey and short beer.
And them hellhounds chasing his
ass down long dark streets?
Was only dogs he known
as a kid.
Short, mouthy little bastard
drank too much and chased
after other men's womens
That's why the dogs after him.
And as for Legba?
He couldn't play the guitar half
Good alive as Robert could dead.
So tell me why
Robert sellin' his soul
to a man couldn't teach
him shit for nothin'
Nope, Robert kept his soul for hisself
then stepped through the door
and ate it all up
in one single bite. —Dean Syracopoulos —TOP OF PAGE— | 
