Pulled my last trick.
It was late
And I had to make up
A standby shuffle.
A cool blue menthol haze
And I was gone.
Dogs were barking.
I asked the bartender to
Shut the hell up.
What can be the matter?
And what is the point of it all?
It was over.
Beads of sweat reflected off the mug.
My forehead was a mile high –
Lips were dragging down to the ground.
The sky was swallowed in the sight.
A big orange bit of nothing
Came forward like a lump in my throat.
Soon the place was not to be
What I remembered.
The flat, ordinary people I knew,
Knew me no more –
but I didn’t care.
The cigarette, limp and smoking,
Dangled there.
I tried to stop
The ringing in my eardrums.
While I couldn’t be there
I at once imagined a collision.
Crazy scenes danced before me.
My mind kaleidoscoped into a deep funk.
Tomorrow, doors and corners of his room
Laughed out rhythms
And he sighed.
“What use,
this place, oh Lord. If you only knew.
The saints and gilligan mews can help.”
World far from me –
Speak and my little life
Will spring
Like twigs, insatiable,
Craving frost.
Branches.
Salad things.
I keep my quiet vigil in the night,
A southern breeze does not stir.
My soul waits.
Buzzers in the moonlight,
Obtained at the trick shop,
Really made a hit.
Can the feel of this
Momentary tragedy
Fill up space while
Nothing I do makes sense?
No, thought I.
For the world to be
Against the wind
(five preachers
might wail under the moon)
But I will not try tonight.
Next in the liner
Was a man named Izzy.
Hell became
A divan
In a sunken living room.
How long pieces of flesh
Got here,
Unseen,
Creeping and then forgotten
Bothered him.
No matter.
One man tried once.
He failed.
He was not sad.
He tried on big coats.
People boarded.
A whistle blew and blew.
Someday
A young press correspondent will
Know you.
The print was
His kind of font.
All the day long
Ministrations were applied
But we lost him.
Does maniacal fun
Bring back memories?
Yes, yes.
Don’t make me think right now.
The filler pump back break
Simply makes me nervous.
On went the flotsam monogram –
Mindful of junk I never wanted
But needed to hear.
I was gone.
Slip and bra
Might have turned our family senses,
Yet inward went the mug.
He wowed them.
His magnificent thrasher
That took ordinary potatoes
Down the way
“Stop,
yengling banchees,” I screamed, “drop it now!”
Lemon drops stared out the bowl.
He took one in deep man-mouth.
Such antics are a no-no.
Scold me if you must.
My jar was filled with worms.
You know,
They were snug there.
Fishbones replaced our
Lost hopes
And ashes left me
Winsome
And blue.
Pencils outlined
Over the stained-glass.
Until and unless
Things start making right-angle
Sense
I won’t be partaking.
Deep beyond her wildest forays
Was a place we could go.
I stopped for a second –
Fan me a while, will you?
Consider this:
Two sartorial bigamists
Cannot sleep
While outrunning
Wallpapered and tinseled
Gremlins.
Hark, fiends!
Smacks of deceit.
Are you him?
Our audience sinks in
Fluid dreams.
Beyond ourselves,
Images take light.
Market’s closed.
Pom-pom boxes stacked.
This day’s garage sale was
Postponed.
Yesterday
Came on like a dream.
I was tired anyway.
February 28, 1988
Baltimore,
MD
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