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Tuesday, December 25, 2012

SHOUTING DISTANCE


The rain came before sunrise
in steady sheets
like the one I was trying
to pull over my head

I was just out of a dream

where I was whispering into the ear
of a woman who seemed to be
 my counselor
or confidante
a dream where I had speculated about
the sex of a pencil

It was long
a real woody
and it could prick you
when it's sharp
no wait...erase that

It was worn 
past the last hurrah
like a space ship
in the shape of a cigar

(And when hers was worn down to the nubbin
Sylvia Plath stuck her head in the oven)

It made so much sense to say
that I am my brother's keeper
but of course the other side had just claimed
that we'll get you to the promised land
in just a little different way

Let us fly and make our own mistakes

don't need a hand or a handout
of course that's the way where
crash and burn
 is followed in sequence by
oh shit
oh well

The rain had no intention
of letting up
as dawn's curtain lifted slowly
the new year now within shouting distance

And in the dream I was giddy
as I breathed into her ear

that I didn't know whether to laugh
or to cry

The culmination of a lifetime
of fledgling flight

Don't be concerned
if I crash and burn









Sunday, December 16, 2012

THE SEASON



It only means something if you have a warm place to lay your head
It only means something if you are no longer numb
It only means something if there is someone
It only means something if that someone means something
It only means something if you're not holding a grudge
It only means something if you can swallow your pride
It only means something if you see you're not the only one who's been hurt
It only means something if you can stop pointing fingers
It only means something if you can finish a sentence without "Yeah... BUT"
It only means something if you don't have to be right
It only means something if you grasp that  we won't get this moment back
It only means something if you meet each other half way
It only means something if you do this before it all passes you by again

It only means something if you open that door

Sunday, December 9, 2012

OH DARLING, WILL YOU BE MAYAN?


We stand in the antechamber
of the apocalypse
surrounded by the changing
faces of love.

Jennifer gets a boob job
then wonders why men
don't appreciate her mind
.
Amy is stressed because the guy
she met through a personal ad
is getting too personal.

David has fallen head over heels for a 350 pound drag queen
who is posing as a petite nineteen year old blonde online.

Men are women
and women are men--
one's from Mars
and one's from Venus
but it's getting harder to tell
who's got the penis.

Spice Girls on the BBC
were playful
even impish
tucked inside their gowns so skimpish
but for America they wore their attitude
posturing for the average dude
who stands on the corner crying
I AM THE MISSING LINK
DON'T GIVE A CRAP ABOUT WHAT YOU THINK
ME AND MY KIN WE LIVE IN THE TREES
PICK MY NITS AND I'LL PLUCK YOUR FLEAS!

Old gent greets the Avon lady
in the doorway with his joystick in hand
inside the house his wife chirps:
pay him no mind, dear...he's only keeping it up
for appearances sake!

And love was simple when it was
like a jackhammer penetrating your indifference
like a lumberjack chipping away at your resistance
like a finger on your trigger
like a ditch digging its digger

And in retrospect my life has been
a blue blur of contradiction
a rolling juggernaut of misjudgment
charging headlong through the rain
and pissing into the wind
a constellation of calamity
chasing dust devil dreams
down a star-speckled highway
in a last ditch attempt
to catch the champagne night flight
to Nirvana.

Still, I've never wanted to be anyone else--
just in a different game
cavorting with the Duchess of York
getting a grip on those love handles
and holding on for dear life before
she starts her next diet

And I kiss the ASS of  the sixties
for allowing me to stand here before you today--
spitting on your false piety,
your nightmare dream of polite society--
brains lobotomized
and our butts in a Singapore sling.

I kiss the ass of Ginsberg, Burroughs, and Ferlinghetti
I kiss the ass of  Lenny Bruce
and everyone who spoke the truth

We stand in the antechamber of the apocalypse
.or so they say...
But remember Y2K?
it was just another day

So don't run for the hills
no, that would be WACK
cuz you'll be back
TO GRAB SANTA'S SAC!!!  

Sunday, December 2, 2012

SIGN OF THE TIMES







There once was a time
when people were of a mind
to speak their minds,
and "a penny for your thoughts"
was thought to be a fair exchange.

But we're all playing it mighty close
to the vest these days,
and dealing with the truth
is no penny-ante proposition.

Now most of us aren't deaf
and most of us aren't dumb
but nonetheless half of us can't speak
and the other half can't hear...
so we've come to rely upon
what is known as the sign language of love.

Some of the signs are round
and some of them are square
but the most important ones to remember are:
STOP
PROCEED WITH CAUTION
DETOUR
and
SLIPPERY WHEN WET.

The trouble is that it's hard to tell
from a safe distance
which sign a person is displaying
at any particular time,
and even those who are well versed
in the other romance languages
can become dazed, confused, 
tongue-tied, and disoriented when faced
with the daunting task of
translating the sign language of love.

The trick, of course, is not to think
about what's being said,
but what's behind what's being said.
If she says "See ya later"
does that mean later tonight,
later next week,
or later in another lifetime?
And if she says
"We should probably get together...sometime"
as she glides past you heading for the door,
should you hearken back to the Uncertainty Principle
which states that one cannot simultaneously
know the position and the path
of a moving object,
because you have a bead on her position
for the moment,
but can never be certain
of the path she will lead you down?

Do her eyes reveal the secrets of her soul,
or are they two black holes
sucking you into a time warp
where you will repeat the same mistakes you made yesterday?

Only your friendly neighborhood physicist would know.

So I bought this book on body language
that told me if a woman crosses her arms--
that's a negative sign...
but if she spreads her legs
THAT'S A POSITIVE ONE!

So I wrote that down.

Armed with this critical information
I felt confident enough to try my luck
in the world's most romantic city...


So I flew to Paris,
and found myself sitting at a sidewalk cafe
where I noticed a Frenchwoman 
giving me the goo-goo eyes
from a nearby table...

She smiled at me
and I smiled back at her
and she smiled back at me
and I said now here's somebody
who is speaking my language!

Then she got up and walked
right over to my table...

and right past my table...

and sat down with the woman
who was directly behind me
and just a tad to the left.

So I think I'm just as dense
as I ever was
about the sign language of love,
but I do know that you can't dance
forever
and somewhere along the way
somebody has got to commit to something
before you're both committed...
so knock three times on the ceiling if you want me--
twice upside my head with your purse if you don't want to know.

I'll get the picture.