I saw the mannered and those without manners – on dark
sidewalks, in stylish clothings and way younger bodies –
and the flash of salt that had dried on their skin glinted
under street lights.
I was one of them, ethereally hip at the stump grinding corn
maidens like a shaman – I was never gonna die cuz I carried
heaven and a clowns laughter in a vial of snowflakes which
I let drift over a cliff top like a Columbian.
Beat beat and bop bop – my shoes were Italian and my smile
was handsome – I was a killer, and would have slain the
disasters if I had had any idea of a right or proper way to
straighten from a stagger.
But now who gives a fuck, who but me cares a frig, twenty
five years later an old man tapping letters, writing sonnets,
chasing starlets and wishing that loves skin had never wasted
itself battling cancer.
I changed the tempo, and rearranged my meter and I hollered
about a collar and took off my clothes and burned Diana’s
garters and then I told my dream girl I was an insult too, but
still a seeker of her pleasure.
There are secrets in my drawers, and something inanimate in
my closet – and ten boxes of letters to someone named
anonymous stored on my garage floor and more latex urges
then Goodyear or a good year might ever stretch to fill.
I’ll get the guns out, and shoot at the back wall of my bedroom
and then place a 3:00am call to my neighbor Jim or wake his wife
Sue, and I don’t care if I offend them with my pranks – for I
have too, and must rouse all the arousals.
I will spank and crank and turn up the music and dance and fall
and recapture the blood spilled these many past years and refill
your cup, and then and only then will I sear my pain steak
A popularity contest – what a joke…get you to like me, warm
to me, embrace me – you won’t and I don’t know which of your
arms will be strong enough to hold me on my journey to where
if any where…I am going.
Tempt me like a tempest, and uncork a ship from a bottle and
take a walk down its pirate plank and plunge into the sea of my
lunges – be my druid girl, my forever oracle serenely undressing
our better futures.
I am a schizoid bald baby crying and bantering – telling the truth
over and over by pricking a tattoo of the story of the nipples I
discovered as a young child playing doctor in a side yard between
Where has the time gone – what I almost remember – Lily’s halo,
she was the brown Mexican girl I loved as a boy in Norwalk
California on a street overlooked by thoughtless kings…or any
of their spectacular angels.