John the first
You call me on birthdays and bad days
To rehash the past and talk of our present
Together in heart but so far away
Your voice has the aroma
Of spring days on bicycles
sand and sea and first times
dusty carpet and weed
You call me on birthdays and bad days
To rehash the past and talk of our present
Together in heart but so far away
Your voice has the aroma
Of spring days on bicycles
sand and sea and first times
dusty carpet and weed
I’ve started dancing
while I cook and imagine
I am freer than I actually am
though just for a moment it sticks
the entirety brushed away
I emerge, in my mind, anew
as if I’ve finally awoken
no one else is here and I’m grateful
not so much due to embarrassment
but because it’s my own mini celebration
my place and my time
a difference
Papercut in the finger joint,
as the word, empathy, is introduced
all that stale breath leaves lungs
it flows through the back of the fan
that has just been cleared of dust
as the word, empathy, is introduced
we see one another as seawater,
pushed substance; iodized rock salt
begone through our backs into air
as the word, empathy, is introduced
a violet vapor takes his thumbs
from my ears, and your mouth!
so less full of black crystals
I lived that summer on my Chris Craft, The Ingratitude; at the Covington waterfront
Yolanda ran our law practice from a bar stool on the Mike Fink
A bright shaft of sunlight would melt into the polished mahogany, slip its way along the bulkhead and pour out onto the deck all in time to the gentle rocking of the Ohio
I didn’t care much for the headlong pursuit of career or success. I wanted a twisted reality
On the gally table I would spread a lunch; olives cold cuts and salt rye
A glass of wine and four lines on the mirror.
Looking like it might wind up another afternoon stoned in the office
I was content in the knowledge I’d banked ten Gees
I’d squeeze the Raven 22 with my arm pit for the security it gave
I’d lock the cabin and sally down the dock to the Mike Fink
There they’d be, the same cronies on the same bar stools, lawyers and lap sitters
All but Yolanda, my partner in crime but sitting on no one’s lap
She’d have the little crowd around her yucking it up no better than the whittlers and spitters I knew back in Knott County
The public defender guy was saying to her: “I see you came with your pants off again Yolanda.” Yuk, yuk all around
“It’s: ‘without my pants’ Pinkas, did you even go to school? Sure I wore blue jeans yesterday but today it’s sunny out and I’m back in harness; skirt suit and heels.”
She saw me come aboard. “My man!”
She spoke to me that way. We were the only women in a man’s world and in public she tried to speak like a man.
I climbed up and ordered us a round; a shot of Beam with a Common Cream back.
She raised her shot glass to mine and said: “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta brew so let’s have two.” Clink
I told her: “I’ve come to uderstand, Yo, that human beings are a world unto themselves.”
“You’ve got that right.” She chimed: “All the laws and secrets of the world are found in each one of them.”
“No need to study the world, Yo, just take one human being – – –
She interupted: “and a good hard look will show you all the good and evil; the mundane – –
” and the sublime. Just take Pinkas here.” I turned and Pinkas had gone over to the pool table to slap the prosecuter on the back
“Well,” I said, “we’ll have to take a hard look at you instead. Come on down to
The Insolipsism, we’ll sit out on the deck in the sun.”
We sat back of the wheel house and she asked me for a Schweppes. “Boy this Schweppes is schweppers.”
We fired up The Ineptitude and cruised down stream aways
The Markland Dam was coming up and I throttled down the twin Chevy 283s
I flicked un the running lights, dark was coming on
Wasn’t going to run the locks so we loafed in the pool awhile
Yo entuned: “Oh how I’d like to be the kind of gal I used to be. Wait, no I wouldn’t. That’s just a fascinating rhythm.”
“Gershwin, yea.” I pointed the Insipid back up.
The crows cawed even in the night
Out there on the water
We came up river
Past the Cave In the Wall
The Indispicable glided to her berth
And held there
Shut down the twin beasts
And we all had to breathe the fumes
What happens when you omit half
the emotions from your repertoire
Deny anger, jealousy, sorrow, grief
Focus only on joy, happiness, ease, peace
It’s like trying to speak using only half
the letters in the alphabet
Try it
Try speaking today using only words
that begin with A through L
Banish
words that start with M through Z
Don’t focus on them
Don’t focus
Deny their existence
Keep them from your thoughts
Be half the person you could be
If only you used all the letters
Robins singing in the Rose of Sharon,
its leaves and branches thick
enough to keep them out of sight
until you get close and silence them,
like the bones of an abandoned life
towering over thickets of thistle
and tall, tightly crowded trees,
not there until you almost walk in,
the front door open just a bit
to let the ghostly voices welcome you.
“It’s not my stripper name,” he says.
“It’s my nom de plume.”
She sips her wine and smiles.
Tell me again the difference?
