Posts for June 24, 2022 (page 4)

I’m lying here like a lizard on a rock.
I’m gonna burn like a sinner in hell,
for reasons that I know too well.

I shoulda covered up in pants and maybe socks.
But my body is a burnin up,
and the pain is really gonna suck.

Jump back, jump back, jump back into the swimming poo-ool oh.
  Let it coooooool.
From yer head to your toes.

The sinners in hell, you know they aint got no choice. 
They ain’t got no voice.
Cause the words burn up just as soon as they leave their lips.

So Im lying like a lizard on a big ol burning rock.
Lying like a man at the exit,
with a stolen pack of socks.

Turnin and a burnin and a gettin brown in the sun.
Hot as a hand on the barrel, on the barrel of a machine gun.

Smokin like a pool room in 1993.
See the pile of ashes on the chair, that is me.

Screaming hello all the way to the gates of hell.
I don’t wanna know you any better and it’s just as well.

NOT

Sick in the sun
Everything’s still
Sleep in the light
Where are the birds?  

Everything’s still
Basil leaves droop
Where are the birds?
Take a deep breath  

Basil leaves droop
Lawnmowers mutter
Take a deep breath
Watch for the breeze  

Lawnmowers mutter
Sleep in the light
Watch for the breeze
Sick in the sun

Chicory suddenly appears on roadsides.
A sentry, as springtime marches out of reach,
with its pale blue beret, erect stance, it chides  

cool nights, warm breeze, subtle fragrances that preach
of hope and revival and new life after
surviving the bleak despair that winters teach.  

Chicory invades vacant lots with laughter.
Violets, even dandelions are dead.
Sentries standing guard, summer’s faithful grafter.

What tune do the shadows hum
when sun’s rays coquette and tickle
the floor below a corner-table tryst?

Do they conspire with art-filled
walls to boast of rainbowed love,
or impishly intone lonely adagios

of unrequited passion and storms
approaching? That shadows sing
I do not doubt. Unless, of course,

they’ve bamboozled me, too.

* inspired by Jacqueline Osborn’s Table in the Corner (https://arthur.io/art/jacqueline-osborn/table-in-the-corner)

Against my cheek he placed a kiss–
a lingering moment of bliss–
just there, full and gentle, his chin 
with morning beard brushing my skin–
all stubble and flannel in this

still-dark goodbye. Breakfast I’d miss 
with him, leaving coffee for his
crossword, taking a kiss the wind  
against my cheek

couldn’t shift. The ghost of his lips’
remain years later after this
last morning, press again when
the barber angles scissors to trim
my temple, just there where his hand rests
against my cheek.

I’m not a celebrity fan, just ask my friends,
Who? What? Who cares who married who?
Hair style, clothes, latest movie, latest song?
Not my forte, I’d rather watch the sun rise.
  
But, when fiction reflects reality, courageous.
When I watched your transformation, thrilled,
held in awe as Vaya entered the barber shop
and became Viktor, my quick breath, eyes teared
to know, that in this generation, this happens.

I’ve arrived at the Emerald City
It’s a light filled pocket bedroom with Cathedral ceilings
The sheets are satin and silver
The bureau a dark wood
Clear but thick, undulating, patterned glass
Reflects a nearly neon green, painted behind it. The effect is like trees reflecting in a clear pool
The wizard is hunting for a guest book
He is gracious, he is accomadating
He is hiding something
Toto is a short, brown-haired man.
He knows everything and built everything,
But doesn’t really see the point in admiring it. Ever practical, he just does the next logical thing, always chipper, never really that excited.
He is a protector
I am a Dorothy
A girl, I guess
And I’ve found the church I was looking for,
The place to worship my own power.
On the TV Biden is apologizing for the overturn of Roe vs Wade.
All women in this country now cast aside
As supremely unimportant,
Like the party who once ventured to Oz