A COBBLESTONE STREET IN CANNES

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

I know you thought
that last one was weird
and I could see you
sitting there saying:
Geez, I hope he doesn't 
make this a habit
cuz he was obviously
high when he wrote it!

(I just had to laugh)

When all your angels
have retired and given
up the ghost and you're
out there on your own
existential limb
teetering in the wind
you'll simply tell it as it is
with increasing alacrity

all good people deplore
problems at a distance

appalled by what the
unenlightened inflict
upon each other
(but at a distance)

the power disparity
inherent in all relationships
whether they be between
individuals or groups of
individuals sows the
seeds of abuse

and here's the thing
about Armageddon......

there won't be any time to
look back and ask
what went wrong
when your ass is
high-tailing it for the hills

(jump cut)

If I had my druthers
I'd be walking down
a cobblestone street in Cannes
a few paces behind Brigitte Bardot
whose butt is wiggling like
a sack of Yukon Gold potatoes
in her bright white short shorts
and yes I will take that year
whatever it is to inhabit
like a hermit crab
for all time

The person caught in any
moment in time is
frozen in that moment
because that is his moment
then a much older person
who is caught in his moment
and will forever be comes
along and has the audacity
to claim that he is the same
person as that whippersnapper
from long ago...

identity theft on a global scale

and God said to the monk of 57 years:
You know you could have done
whatever the hell you wanted--
I'm not a prude!

but whatever it is
make it good 
'cause time steals away
like a whore 
from your bedside
at 5 a.m.
and the world 
is made of yesterdays