Friday, April 22, 2016

Tree Frog

Brother Tom should
   have warned

of this particular illness
   . . . and, in fact, he did . . .

It is so horrible
   to see your

own confusion
   and understand it

Georgia O’Keefe is
   Just Alright With Me

but a true shame ‘twould be
   to miss Anders Zorn
at the Legion . . .
   . . . and not be continued . . .

The Redemption

Grant Park Chi Town
“Every one is on duty”

The siege is not forgotten
& may never be redeemed

Chicago’s front yard
      & a great place to

smoke ganja or
      tobacco from Iwan Ries

escape from the loop to which
      you can only hope to return

& welcome Amerika back to the site
      of its broadcast accent

Your amazing racism
Your great good & bad movies
Your bars where people still talk to each other
Your Art Institute with its Picassos and Braques
Your Old Town that wasn’t really & isn’t there now
      although they still sing the blues nearby

Sandburg, Pynchon, Mailer
      all wrote about you
      & mentioned that
      the river flowed uphill
      in places here and there
      & alluded to the sewage it entailed

The Way

So this is the end my only
arachnophobic friend.

How do you plead?
Arachnophobia will not do

nor will the invasion
of the body mashers.

“You’ll never take me alive . . . cropper.”

“Heaven awaits, albeit reluctantly.”

“Linnets to you, ya’ big galoot!”

Bang Bang!             Simper Fidelia!

Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels and fly!


Cowboys trying to change their ways
make the sign of the double humpbacked whale.

Great players on songs like this,
      sz the Right Rev. Billy C. Wirtz,

great players like this
      all they want to do is rock.

Rev. Billy has his problems too
      although they cannot be or ever have been

as serious as the Ayatollah’s or
      some guy with a cat by that name

in a movie full of hoodlums
      wave action, and uncountable packs of Gitanes.

Every moped postal delivery fella in
      an even not so Gay Paree

would like to sleep with Cynthia
with the Eiffel tower for reference preference
& ghost riders in the sky.
      Yippee ki-yay futher mucker!

Lyrical Lament
            (in a Southern Accent)

Strange doctor of love
how can you stand to
give your love like Candy?

birds & their songs
demand we sentient beings
turn one and all

to worship the rich
human universe
and our fossilized legacy

& their dinosaur ancestors
who fuel fools such as we
and then every now

and then we find more
such as we &
even more such as I.

The 13-14 drought

Greetings old friend, from the interstices
where no matter how we cut it the program
puts spaces between our lines, whether we
want them or not, let alone
the horses they rode in on.  It is a good road
to ride, of course.  A fine course, rated or otherwise.
Slope and a professional to assist
us with our problems, personal or otherwise.
Even so, here we are in San Francisco waiting
for divine intervention fully aware at 65 that
there will be none.  Profound meditation cannot
even intervene or make a difference.  Abused,
we await deliverance, a drop or two slowly or
even right now.  Short that, how about dinner, huh?

            for Gina

When the rains came I saw myself as you
knew me.  I dreamed I saw Tuli Kupferberg
alive as you or me.  There was Tuli and me
and rain on the roof.  Someone a lot like
you impressed although not very by all
those poems coming like junk mail.  And (not so
much) with many happy belated birthday returns. 
The dream was a pleasure . . . for a roller coaster ride.

Like cats, racing, in a state of grace
and then lying on their sides, asleep.
What else there be, pray tell, to do?
Pray?  Not likely here, not to any deity you
or me or Tuli or rain on the roof might
find comprehensible.  There she is though!

            (February 2014)

No comments:

Post a Comment