FULL FRONTAL LONELY

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

1.

You think that you've written down
the thoughts
that were lonelier
than all the thoughts
that were written down before you
or after you
but you are wrong



2.

I'm reading some poems by Jewel
(don't smirk--she's "intriguing")

I am told
I'm adored by millions
but no one calls

and one can only think
then...
what chance have I?



3.

Poets never say what they mean
they just expect you to figure it out



4.

Maybe
that's why you're alone
(even in a crowd)
as they've all given up 
on trying to figure you out



5.

Opaque
isn't that intriguing
to those who are searching
for the light



6.

 James Wright always told you
what his poem was about
right up front in the title...
he shared that trait with Degas
who would do a painting of
a dancer in front of a window
and name it "Dancer In Front Of A Window"


7.

While I sit lonely
by a fountain
where naked cherubs
are pissing away my dreams
knowing that collaborationists
stalk their own shadows
while pigeons goose-step
through the square--
but none can tell you whether ghosts
sit up and listen to the footsteps
that echo through an empty museum 



8.

And maybe if you search and search
you can find another poet
who has described the human condition as
full frontal lonely
but I'd like to think that one
is all my own


9.

And I am alone
as you are alone
as we are alone
imprisoned within these shells
straining to touch palms
through the glass



10.

...I have my books
and my poetry to protect me...

what I did
what I didn't
truly of no import now

after falter
before correction 
the man who seeks to make connection
finds the days of infinite possibility have flown
but only because a world turned deaf
and blind has deemed it so

the ego
in its fatal attraction to the body 
must always lose
. 

11.

There now
no more whimpering
face it like The Man
monolithic in his solitude
as all mill about like ants
resigned to his fate
to go out in a blaze of glory
lighting up the desert sky
on a Saturday night
on a spinning blue pelota
somewhere
lost in space

SAILOR

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads














Chasing tail lights
your dream in the rear-view mirror
still disbelieving she isn't real
when you know you were there
the same as you are here

low buildings ramble
under the scimitar moon
as you murmur
sail on sailor

recalling how you used to feel so awkward
inside your own skin
until the revelation
that you were the observer
and the observed

and you try to hold onto that now
as you navigate the desperate grey streets
wading into a maze of strange gazes
knowing they don't have a clue
like when you
pored over some verse from a poet
you knew little about
other than you'd both been married
to the same woman
trying to gain some inkling
as to what the attraction might have been

laughter spills from open doorways
where music numbs
a thousand coexisting ills
 just as alone in a crowd
as you've ever been

reflecting on this life
a fairy dust landscape
of mirage and illusion
you feel so invisible
you could lean against a wall
and disappear
like a moon getting sucked
into a black hole
never again
having to face the sun

JUST LOOK UP !

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

Somewhere there's a girl for me

MAYBE hanging out in a TREE

one day I'll just look up

and THERE she'll be...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may be dedicated to world peace--

and she doesn't care for fancy cars,

or closing down the bars,

and she will have no scars,

though there may be a small tattoo

that isn't readily visible...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may have a bikini wax--

and she will be outrageous,

but not contagious,

and she will dig Steely Dan

and love me for who I am...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may have some type of marginal talent--

like tying a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue,

or spitting her gum farther than anyone.

And she will be hip and sassy

but not too classy

and her eyes will be a trap door you fall into

coming face to face with the Mad Hatter.

And she will say things like: "Did you ever find a penny

that came out of your dog's butt?"

(Hold onto that--it's a lucky one!)

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may be at her best being under dressed--

and she will be all natural up front

for even a little sag is better than the drag

of learning "first hand" that her statistics are inflated.

And she will eat finger food with a fork,

and fork food with her fingers,

how the scent of her lingers...

And she will not whack off

all of her hair on a whim,

thinking that she will look like Halle Berry--

when in truth, like most,

she would more closely resemble Mister Spock--

what a shock!

Oh, the girl for me is somewhere

maybe lost at sea...

how will she ever find me?

She's looking for a poet,

but doesn't know it--

a man with a kind heart,

kind of an old fart,

looking for a new start...

And she will not be Miss America,

but she will pray and she will weep for America--

now I lay me down to sleep in America,

where beauty's only skin deep in America,

and magazine smiles can't conceal

the bewilderment that we feel

at having tossed off one King George

only to be saddled with another--

then lo and behold...we got ourselves a BROTHER!

And the girl for me will see through all the lies, and alibis

for she will be wise, but won't show it,

and she will be beautiful, but won't know it,

and she's out there somewhere looking for a poet

who thinks he may have already blown it--for good.

Oh, the girl for me is somewhere....

maybe hanging out in a tree--

one day I'll just look up

and there she'll be...

Yeah, I think THAT will be the girl for me.