Saturday, April 18, 2015
It has come to my attention
as it does from time to time
that I'm much fonder of plot driven
narrative than characterization that goes
on and on and on and on and on and on
and in the end what are you left with
but the same pathetic slob you met in the beginning
in the same place in his life
only he's had some slight epiphany
like all of the postmodern gunk
I used to wade through
hoping against hope
that SOMETHING would happen
but in the end it just ends
and you're left feeling cheated
the way you feel
at the end of a love affair
cuz in the end that's just how it ends
up in the air
so why do we always want more than
riding off into the sunset
everything neat and tidy
just give me something messy
The Big Bang will do fine
and I'll keep myself busy
picking up the pieces
Anyway here's what I made away with from my most
recent excursion to the public library's used book sale:
THE PARIS REVIEW BOOK OF HEARTBREAK,
MADNESS, SEX, LOVE, BETRAYAL, OUTSIDERS,
INTOXICATION, WAR, WHIMSY, HORRORS,
GOD, DEATH, DINNER, BASEBALL, TRAVELS
THE ART OF WRITING, AND EVERYTHING ELSE
IN THE WORLD SINCE 1953 (and that is the title)
750 pages for a damn buck
and there's Updike
and Stanley Elkin
whom I've always liked
just to name a few
and did you know that John Updike has a poem called
"Two Cunts In Paris"
and I also picked up Leslie Marmon Silko's Almanac Of The Dead
Stephen King's The Long Walk (lotta dead folks in there too)
and Ian McEwan's Saturday (which I finished on a Monday)
and God I swear that plot is so incidental to McEwan
(HE SPENT SEVENTEEN PAGES DESCRIBING A GAME OF SQUASH!)
but I waded through it anyway
I stuck with it cuz that's one of my flaws
giving the benefit of the doubt to
till they prove me stupid
which most eventually do...
And I know I'm relinquishing
all claim to literary snobbishness
by telling you this
but I'll guarantee ya Scheherazade
kept things lively and moving
and just like that Persian king
I'm still here
after all this time
starry-eyed and hanging
on every word
with childlike wonder
waiting to find out what comes next
Friday, April 17, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Free from the distractions of shame, your body moves
like undulating waves on an oscilloscope.
Time stops in mid sentence like seagulls obliterated on the horizon.
Your perfume is like a soft breeze wafting down from the toxic waste dump.
Do you think the bees sit around all day
ruminating on to bees or not to bees?
Your breath is like that of a bulldog in heat trying to
scramble over the neighbor's backyard fence.
It's dank down here in the dungeon, waiting for the dragon
to be draggin' his ass back home.
You slink round the barrio like a Siamese cat,
and you listen to Dylan in your leopard skin pillbox hat
I never drink pale ale with a paleface, for fear of reprisals from the Indians.
You drift among the wildlife with their tattoos and their scabs...
then you come back from the beach full of sand and the crabs.
She had a cleft palate, but it worked just fine for mixing colors.
You roll your eyes like Dionysius taking in the graffiti on the crapper stall wall while stopping at the gas station to ask for directions to Syracuse.
Old Mayan Proverb: To be successful,
you've got to make some sacrifices along the way.
I once saw Napoleon's shriveled penis on display at a museum.
It should be noted that they kept it pretty cold in there.
Come and sit, my pet, and I will adjust your flea collar.
Put two and two together and you may have more than you bargained four.
Chimpanzees are almost human. And so are you.
Sometimes I think I'm just too nice to you.
Oh lookit...there goes a person I will never know. And another.
And another. Disappearing 'round the corner. I wonder if it's too late.
Why do some cats eat plastic...why do some dogs eat shit?
Why do we try to put a square peg in a round hole when it really doesn't fit?
If you lived in Denmark, you'd surely be rotten...
and when I'm senile, you'll be the first to be forgotten.
Some days I really do think I'm too nice to you.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Monday, March 30, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Sittin' out on the verandasoakin' up some sun
just me an' mah cat
on a cot
on a day with barely a breeze
to bristle our whiskers
lettin' the world go by
me lookin' at him
him lookin' at me
both of us thinkin'
we be two
of da coolest cats around
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
This early spring has taken me unawares,
a sudden burst of warmth that's disconcerting
to one who's grown accustomed to the cold--
bringing back a sound, a scent,
a sadness I can't explain.
Memories of halting conversations...
a sense of time slipping through my fingers,
and the feeling that there should have been more.
And I believe that I could go either way--
be a particle or a wave,
as this warm breeze whispers "sway."
This exquisite pain,
dormant for too many seasons,
now blooms fragrant and insistent--
trumpeting its arrival
with dopey daffodil dreams.
This ephemeral ecstasy,
that bleeds into agony,
that leads to animosity,
for which there is no remedy...but time.
And your sudden burst of warmth is disconcerting
to one who's grown accustomed to the cold,
and I believe I could go either way--
be your one night stand or shadow you
through one lifetime and the next.
Just tell me what the HELL you want,
for I've chosen the wrong door too many times--
got eaten by the tiger and shat out the other end...
now I must learn how to bend.
And this accursed early spring
brings the spectre of another day,
when love turned on the moment
in a warm wind that whispered "sway."
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
While in search of
an emergency men's room
in the park
I passed a crow
just standing in the grass
paying no real attention
to me as I came within
a few (crow's) feet of him
and I thought for the first time
that it might not be so bad to
come back as a crow
or maybe a starling
just hangin' out in the park
scavenging for crumbs or popcorn
to supplement my usual
grasshoppers, grubs, and worms
and the occasional roadkill delicacy
my motto would be
Keep Calm And Carrion
I mean what's so great about being human
as a lot of us really aren't anymore
and I wouldn't have to go to school
(that's why I wouldn't want to be a fish)
wouldn't sing no sad songs
'bout some fickle chick
who flew the coop
cuz we would mate for life
wouldn't have a buncha mouths to feed
for 18 years
cuz when they get their wings
they gonna fly
yeah it might not be so bad
hangin round the supermarket
parking lot and givin y'all the evil eye
wouldn't worry 'bout shit
but you would
as I glide indigo through the sky
like a stealth bomber
silent but deadly
to drop its payload
right on toppa yo wittle head
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Come dance with me
and we shall be
connecting the dots
to make a pretty picture
No ordinary gal
a femme fatale
across the west
(get here...we'll do the rest)
you'll be my Charlotte Gainsbourg
I'll be your Lars Von Trier
directing you to new heights
and though you're not Victoria
you'll be my dirty little secret
and sign my binding resolution
with you hands behind your back
I know we can get it started
but can we keep it going
no matter which way
the wind is blowing
imagination is the key
you may have a better one than me
of this we shall see
and come that day
you dance with me
we'll do it vertically
when we connect
end to end
(hey, that's how the game is played)
So tumble for me
and I'll tumble for you
into one another
black and white
into fifty shades of grey