There is no tiptoeing
around this elephantine
madness; as to which came first
no one quite knows,
but there are stories
that one can never forget.
Birthed, here
locked away from the sun
festering, as it were
bosoms that beckon
coddled by inviting hands
and satisfy
grace, grazed
with their touch
bony, death-like
appendages, pinpricks
shudder
climbing ladders of your vertebrae,
pent up
aching for release.
Are the planets
in their correct houses
to begin this?
Something
definitely amiss
these phases
the way you behave is
nothing short
of bi-polar, maybe baby
in a stroller
pre-pregnancy
hesitancy.
Giving in to these base urges,
as we write our dirges
slowly sinking
obviously
not thinking.
Beating my breast
that reeling
feeling
in my chest
Neanderthal
sloped forehead in
consternation, frustration
monomyth
and a fire in the belly.
Jelly?
Astrological australopithecines
can’t walk the street
without causing
wanderings, amid that fertile
crescent of a moon
a little too soon
shooting for the stars
and my prized consolation
is these constellations
as we play connect-the-dots
amid forget-me-nots
you smell of roses
and those hips
the kind that could sink ships
Helen of Troy
Mother of Pearl
giving codependency
another whirl.
Girl. Mmmm.
Enthusiasm precedes you
and your empathy is like a force field
not to be contained, fizzing forward
by celebratory champagne
flutes of the sauce
bubbling over as they’re tossed
back
schnookered on the written word.
Drawing me in with your
easy speaking
debutante haunts
bouncing balls down the halls
fans with their chants
onlookers, inside trades
dropping hints
betting against the house
knowledge of the
game, thrown
from the truss, under the bus
forty feet to the street.
Bounce with the flounce
rolling to a stop
as the meeting begins
and the grafitti,
backboards, and hoops without nets
shoot your street game
and net you in.
I meet you at the top of the drive as you pull in.
Three hours past due, Labor Day leftovers lukewarm.
Your music blaring
glaring
but for the exception
that it’s Yanni
and I can’t help but wonder
how that would be mildly offensive
in the least.
We talk briefly of your weekend at the casino.
You saw him in concert,
entering through the back
where the spectators come in
playing instruments he’d had
since he was in high school.
Sixty-one now, just a few years younger
than you, you can’t imagine
how he can go on like that
three songs straight
standing on a chair.
You watched
mere feet away from him,
you gave him a thumbs-up
and he winked in return,
continuing to play.
We talk of your girlfriend
(how long you’ve been together
I can’t fathom.)
She’s in the Meadows again.
It was all your fault.
You had a bad day at work.
Doing 83 in the company truck,
the police didn’t catch you,
but the higher-ups at the company did:
you’ve been written up.
Again.
Dinner was ready when you got home
she’s good like that.
You couldn’t help but bring your work home,
and be angry at her for no reason.
You yelled.
You can’t remember what you said,
but it wasn’t nice.
Tuesday, she said she was ready to go in.
Wednesday, she called the cops, and even though
she asked to go, they wouldn’t take her.
Thursday, they never came.
Friday, two staties and a local boy
picked her up. She went along willingly.
No fight left in her.
You saw her today:
she could barely keep her eyes open,
her head down the entire time,
not remembering what she had for lunch
or if she had even had it,
hands
like ice in cold, cold water
trying to revive someone,
or cold enough to take out a kidney,
or a heart, which you already had.
Am feeling a little
Han Solo
this morning.
It’s a bad feeling.
Already, there’s
trouble in the cantina,
and a firefight
has broken out.
Would love
to get you a passage to Alderaan,
but the hyperdrive
is down,
again,
and my shift doesn’t end until two.
This came up in today’s reminders on the FaceSpace. Looks like a day for blog posting.
This is a song directly after a break-up (two months or so) to the point where I was moving on, I think. There’re some themes that have traveled to other songs and poems, but I like this. I don’t recall writing it.
As an added bonus, there’re some Dark Tower references here.
Enjoy!
glad to be a part of something bigger
when all I can think of is myself
I would like to stop thinking of her
but I’m accustomed to this hell
flames lapping up about my feet
as she pours on gasoline
how I tied myself so tight to this tree
no wonder I cannot be free
oh how the fire it keeps on burning
oh unto a crispy black
all these things I should be learning
if I could only have her back
all the while I’ve been plotting
how I can triumph from this test
all these hecklers are a’watching
as I dance the dance of death
throw upon those useless branches
as smoky ‘membrances rise higher
there go my bridges with my chances
as my vision’s growing tired.
oh how the fire it keeps on burning
oh unto a crispy black
all these things I should be learning
if I could only have her back
calling out across the courtyard
calling out across the square
as my breath escapes me so hard
calling up into the air
someday soon I shall be born again
like a phoenix from the ash
I plead for all the help that you can send
so I can let go of my past
Shuffling, shambling
down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.
The glitz and the glamour
and the people passing by
as quickly as my days
upon this earth.
I’ve been down these streets, before
beckoning, begging me
to come back.
A taste, a try…
a titillation?
And somehow
I get lost along the way,
the world
has tugged at my heartstrings
stringing me along
making me think
that I want more.
Stars in the sidewalk
losing their shine
as the sun sets,
hides behind the clouds
from me
the things He wants me to see.
Pitted and cracked–
watch your step!
–you’re skating on thin ice.
Deeper and deeper
into the maze of the city
walls mugging up around me,
beating me up,
closing me in.
I run
even if not sure
why it is that I do so,
nothing of the sort
that the big black empty
can hold.
Driving down dark alleyways
losing my way
time, direction…
stumbling, falling,
crying, puling
in a corner.
God knows
where I’m meant to be.
This is one nostalgic jaunt
I can no longer
make connection to–
the roads have changed
and there are
more pressing matters
upon which to attend.
THEN
At four and three, respectively,
keeping our eyes peeled
the Tipton/Grazierville exit
Bland’s Park (how much fun could it be?)
the amusement park rides by
now given in to
corporate branding,
much like my past.
Stories related in circles
as if on an endless track
gander past geese,
biting the hand that feeds them.
Cafeteria and library
are side hustles of your grandmama,
as is getting your peeper caught
in the zipper of your footie pajamas
and the Incredible Hulk
standing in for Jesus on the cross.
Heroic, indeed.
LATER
Following these low roads
keeping tabs running, open
to the nagging voices:
past the TYRONE of a booming black man,
the Armaghhhh…of Joseph’s dying words,
long, lonely drive with jaws wired shut,
the shhhhhh of the lisp and roads beneath you,
riding partners of Mitties and Pearl.
I never was a cat person.
LATER STILL.
THE NOW.
Even if his ears bother him,
the inclination, the pressing need
listening, little man
smitten by what I’ve written
of ancient shipping systems
a train in the distance
carting new dreams to these way stations
smile curved up like a horseshoe
at the crossroads. Still
making deals with the devil
nailed above the door.
Good luck with that.
INTERIM.
OVER, UNDER, AND THROUGH.
Yet, it always spins back to you.
I pine for what we
once had, if only
because I know it was
nothing.
I long to understand
what these songs meant to you,
us, the tracks missing
love letter liner notes
teased in disappearing ink.
Sun-dappled memories,
a magnetic menagerie
of Ouijiac proportions
ghosting in the gaslit paths
never getting close enough to touch
intestines, spools
pooled about my feet,
lay bare by the pencil eraser.
Spirits from beyond
these lyrics that won’t die.
Dear you,
remember me forever.
walk on the water
fisher of men
capsized, baptized
in a puddle by
the side of the road
is enough
for shallow me
