15. COMPLAINT

COMPLAINT

This swan dive, gentlemen, will be the last.

Between us, these sorts of theatrics are over.

-

'You have never given us a chance, never

listened to our words nor even let us

speak. You enter the forum as if you're

in charge. The crowd cheers, yes,

but they would cheer for anyone.'

-

...It's always like this : at the 12th St. Bookstore,

the 2nd Ave. Deli, McSorley's or even at

The White Horse. Everywhere, 

people are lined up for a sighting.

-

I often chuckle to myself.

Your hammer is held high,

above your head; like something

to be feared, something about to strike.

14. MEMORY

MEMORY

A father's bathmat,

a set of beliefs

once forced to be

stood upon, now

grown slippery,

slippery with

doubt and regret.

The disbelief of any

flowers in bloom.

The wide-gape of

womanhood

blooming,

replaced in new light

by the endless array of choices

as represented by

shoe after shoe after shoe :

engathered like dust

in your own

personal

ensaving

bag.

13. PORNOGRAPHIC GOD

PORNOGRAPHIC GOD

I

am the

God of

your

belly

spilling

milk white

seed allover

your skin -

one slick

elongated

pull-out

at the

very

last

moment

in

time.

12. POETRY NOTEBOOK

POETRY NOTEBOOK

I've got my poetry notebook

in my hand, holding it open towards

the sky as I sit in bright sunlight

at Madison Square. The statue of

Admiral Farragut is over my shoulder.

-

He knows nothing, of course, of any of this  -  

like some timeless dead man anywhere, now

he is just a statue. No whistles, no bells.

A few birds whiz by; their swoop

defines my day-dreamed arc.

-

The only words I come up with are vacuous:

'I'm leaving the city at 9:45, got the hots for

you baby, it keeps me alive.'

11. DR. SIMULACRUM

DR. SIMULACRUM

Hate me like the weather,

for I am changeable skies

and would just as soon 

depart as just as soon arrive.

Pull me like a daisy,

breaking what you will,

tearing scabs and flowers

from my skin.

This awful book is

open to you;

read it at your own 

frightful risk.

I have my scalpels

and my knives,

my stirrups and my

clasps. Everything

you'd want

is open for

you, and

waiting.

10. LA CALAVERA

LA CALAVERA

Sepia brown was a tint.

Photographs and drawings,

the thinly-etched lines of crazed

yet very deliberate artists, yes, 

everything made in this fashion

is now long gone.

-

Tarot Cards are worth nothing without

their backings. Colored like flame, they

overdue in earnestness what they also

present in theory. Various artists have

made various famed versions.

-

Bosch cards are highly valued.

Some seemingly maddening, magical

quality, an intensity of illustration,

a richness of outlook, give them value.

-

Beware of boys who once collected

baseball cards  -  trading then in, now,

for fortune-tellers and fame; all the

future on a glossy card's worth.

9. THE CANDID MAN FEELS A SICKNESS COMING ON

THE CANDID MAN FEELS 

A SICKNESS COMING ON

The pitchfork was left, I swear, under the shed;

horsehair, a coil of rope, the old bucket, leaking.

-

I had already told that guy from the church I didn't want

to hear anything from him; no advice, no strictures,

no recipes for his disgusting food.

-

One person at a time has always been more

than enough for me; thoughtless to think differently.

Believe me, I could never change my mind. 

We wake up to a Science all our own, and it's

everyday the same  -  no 'Sunday' will make

any difference at all. And no surprise there.

-

If it would ever rain, I'd get to test this roof;

we fixed it last month, and it hasn't rained since.

Not that anyone would notice, but it looks pretty

good from the road. Tar-paper patching, a layer of

metal, and a few new shingles  -  everything good

as it is. What need have I of anything new?

-

What need have I of anything at all?