18.
Another Sad Bio
Missy Lou was too much the perennial orphan
to ever feel completely loved. Her one obsession
was a college student named Daniel or Tom.
Anyway he was a recognized scholar and intellect.
Despite the fact that he liked to put on panty hose
and silk blouses, he had the plumbing of a stud.
She craved him. She wanted to suck his Being
up between her legs. She wrote endless haiku
to that effect. He kept a detailed journal
in which he referred constantly to Nietzche,
Norman O. Brown, himself and the Beatles.
She drank tea to koto. He had beer and Yoko.
Missy’s white skin seemed to invite bruises.
Her cats were the ruin of her house and clothes.
The cigarette in her hand always trembled so
that the smoke made gray zigzags in the air.
Dan or Thomas was a health nut, worked out.
His shaved legs looked marvelous in mesh.
19.
In the end no two men could fill the emptiness
Missy’s folks had built inside her. She collapsed.
D. or T. only despised her. And how she died?
Seems it was something simple and easy as
carbon monoxide. She wasn’t working anyway.
(Last word D/T had a position with a politician.)
Late By The Lake
Slow as a lamb,
gentle as a snail,
sand fills the hand
that spills the pail.
Running From The Moon
Everyone in the room
was running from the moon.
They were dancing demons
dancing to their own tunes.
Each had headphones
and a set of spoons.
The only way to stop them
is to tie them by their thumbs.
They were short on balloons,
They live in adult cartoons.
Each had a hard on.
The only way to control them
is to chain them in the dungeon.
20.
Ability
I’ve lost the ability to see your photograph.
I hold it up in front of my face and it becomes an abstract pattern of color – foreground and background merge.
There are no boundaries between your
image and the wall, the sky in the window and the grass on the lawn. My mind goes in and out of focus. What was hunger becomes dull dumb numbness.
Day
Sunrise over the cheese,
the light comes like fresh cut lumber.
A Fly Crosses The God’s Eye, A Spider Gets Lost In The Dream Catcher, The Doilies Leave Their Impression On Your Rosy Cheek, I Forget Your Name
silver flakes swim over the black lake
galaxies drift flocculus across vast wastes
like mousche volent a million souls
move through the omnipotence’s vitriol
becalmed I cry tears of tumultuous relief
joyous joyous joyous in the void
21.
The Reach
He says.
The President says.
Bush says that he is
"reaching out".
See him reach.
Reach, Bush, reach.
He reaches out to me.
Don’t I recognize that velvet glove?
Don’t I feel compelled?
I count my own fingers
to make sure none are missing.
Nothing as opposable as a thumb.
But wait!
While the President reaches,
I have the uncomfortable premonition
that hired hands are working
behind my back.
Is that the sound of sharp steel?
I shiver at the thought of a cold blade.
And what’s that in the other hand?
Is there a king’s X
hiding in his trouser pocket?
I hear the sound of change muffled
in the cloth of a very expensive suit.
President Bush is reaching out.
He wants to be a combiner
not a departer.
Charm and conquer – is the motto.
Be polite at all costs.
Rudeness is for losers
and Bush doesn’t want anyone
to remember that he lost.