A
Perfect 30
Poetry
by
David Donald Schein II
figmentofimagination Productions
Forward
Well, I guess there should be some explanation as to what the hell is going on here. What you see before you is a scattered collection of poems that continues the story of Otis and his more recent adventures. All of the enclosed poems have been written since my introduction into the wonderful world of Slam poetry. Slam is competitive performance-poetry. The competitors are given three minutes (plus a ten-second “Grace Period”) in which to perform a piece of original work that can include no props, costumes, or animals. The performance is judged by five volunteers from the audience with a range of 0.0 to 10.0 per judge. The highest and lowest scores are thrown out, leaving the highest possible score at 30. There is no lower threshold, though, because there is a one-half-point “Time Penalty” for every 10-seconds the competitor exceeds the grace period. If you would like more information on Slam poetry, please visit www.poetryslam.com .
On that note, I would like to begin thanking people. “Thank you” to Linda and Michelle for taking me to my first Slam and supporting me every instant thereafter; Delrica, just for being you; Scott, Denise, Tonya, Twain, and David (the 2000 DC National Slam Team) for giving me a reason to be in Providence, and for being mentors and comrades; EVERYONE in Providence for the 2000 National Poetry Slam; Gail, for the wonderful talks we’ve had, and for the support you have given me; Wussyboy Big Poppa E; all of the regulars and ‘Virgins’ at the “DC MYTH” poetry slam; all of the regulars and ‘virgins’ at “MOBTOWN SLAMICIDE” poetry slam; Mark Spurrier; My sister, Anna; Jay at “ARTOMATIC” for fulfilling one of my dreams, even if you did bullshit and say you read my last book; last- but most certainly not least- Stazja, for being simply a wonderful poet and a wonderful friend.
I need to send a very special “thank-you” to Denise Johnson, Twain Dooley, and Nicki Miller for refusing to allow me to sleep in my car at Providence, and for putting up with my shenanigans with “Reilly”. Thank you for understanding, and for being so supportive.
I can never stop thanking people. Basically I need to thank everyone who has heard me read, and has chosen not to throw objects at me. Thank you to every one who loves poetry. Thank you to everyone who has supported fP and put up with my horrific ranting at the Stimson Dining Hall, and elsewhere. Thank you to Goucher College for the use of their Thormann International Center. Thank you to Printergy for the equipment to place these words on paper. Thank you Mom, Ken, and Dad for not attempting to stop my search for happiness in the written and spoken word.
Thank you to all of the Lovers.
Thank you to all of the Dreamers.
Thank you to all of the Poets.
Let not the blood of our pens fall upon deaf ears.
-David Donald Schein II
7:00 am, 18 October, 2000
Baltimore, Maryland, USA
This book is dedicated to Nicki Miller for her endless love and support.
Nicki, you have shown nothing but support ever since I walked into Julio’s that first time. You showed me how to walk into a room and be respected for my art. You have been a mentor, a mother, a sister, and a brother for me in everything from demanding that I room with you at Providence to teaching me how to run a Slam. And, yes, I am still working on that last one. You have helped me come so far, and I have no idea how to thank you.
I love you.
Otis and Reilly, pt. 14.............................................................................................................. 5
Also, Poem Road Song 5
Otis and Reilly, pt. 15.............................................................................................................. 9
Also, Words on Fire 9
Otis and Reilly, pt. 16............................................................................................................. 10
Also, Battle Scars 10
Otis and Reilly, pt. 17.............................................................................................................. 11
Also, Enjoy the Silence 11
Otis and Reilly, pt. 18.............................................................................................................. 11
Also, Settle Down 11
Otis and Reilly, pt.
19a........................................................................................................... 12
Also, Why? 12
Otis and Reilly, pt.
19b............................................................................................................ 13
Also, Stocking Up 13
Otis and Reilly, pt. 20............................................................................................................ 15
Also, Coffee in Boston 15
Exodus................................................................................................................................... 19
Quann................................................................................................................................ 21
For Erin 21
I am not Afraid.................................................................................................................... 23
For K 23
Otis and Elise, pt. 1a.............................................................................................................. 25
Also, Tonight, I am
Listening to the Cure 25
Otis and Elise, pt. 1b.............................................................................................................. 26
Also, Tonight I am
Listening to the Cure – Alternate Ending 26
Ode to the Dance Floor........................................................................................................... 27
Also, "Fuck
'hoochie ass-grind, top-40-bullshit that sells dancing as public fornication to
ugly music and pretty boys and singers that can't legally appear in a
porno-mag' Clubs" 27
One Phone Call.................................................................................................................... 28
For B. 28
Woman at the Club.............................................................................................................. 30
Otis and Elise, pt. 2................................................................................................................ 31
Also, Walk Away 31
Otis and Katherine............................................................................................................... 32
Summer of Sam.................................................................................................................... 33
Upon Seeing the Movie 33
Otis and Cassidy, pt.
1a.......................................................................................................... 34
Also, My Deep Breath 34
Otis and Cassidy, pt.
1b........................................................................................................... 34
Also, Goodnight, not
Goodbye 34
Otis and Cassidy, pt. 2............................................................................................................ 35
Also, The Answer to
Question Number One 35
Otis and Himself, pt. 2........................................................................................................... 36
Otis and Cassidy, pt. 3............................................................................................................ 37
Otis and Cassidy, pt.
4a.......................................................................................................... 37
Also, Happy Birthday,
Cass 37
Otis and Cassidy, pt.
4b.......................................................................................................... 37
Also, Otis and Antonio,
pt. 1 37
Also, 42 37
One True Thing..................................................................................................................... 38
Portrait of a
Coffee/Bar........................................................................................................ 40
Hell-Yeah........................................................................................................................... 40
Otis and Cassidy, pt. 5............................................................................................................ 41
Also, Lullaby 41
Otis and Cassidy, pt. 6........................................................................................................... 42
Also, Screaming in my
Sleep 42
Otis and Cassidy, pt. 7............................................................................................................ 43
Otis and Cassidy, Pt. 8........................................................................................................... 43
Also, Insomniac’s
Dreams 43
Otis and Cassidy, Pt. 9........................................................................................................... 44
Also, Goodnight and
Goodbye 44
Otis and Natalie, Pt. 1........................................................................................................... 45
Also, Atlas, At Last 45
Otis and Himself, Pt. 3........................................................................................................... 47
Also, These Hands 47
Otis and Reilly, Pt. 21........................................................................................................... 49
Otis and Reilly, Pt. 22.......................................................................................................... 49
Otis and Antonio, Pt. 2.......................................................................................................... 51
Also, The Kid Dancing
at Midnight 51
Otis and Natalie, Pt. 2......................................................................................................... 52
Otis and Cassidy, Pt.
10.......................................................................................................... 52
Also, Present Memories
of Past Events 52
Otis and Reilly, Pt. 23........................................................................................................... 54
Otis and Reilly, Pt. 24.......................................................................................................... 54
Otis and Reilly, Pt. 25........................................................................................................... 55
The Fine Print...................................................................................................................... 57
I have the money
I am on my way
to you
for you
for me
for
us
My pain and longing
are the black marks
I will leave behind
on the pavement
as I speed from the harbour
and away from their
bloody carcasses on the ground
They are forgotten
in the rearview
lost behind me
as I run to you
Enduring time
and distance
though our hearts are inseparable
-----
As my speed
matches the
number of the interstate
I drive faster than the darkness
though dusk has already made her entrance
Again, Apollo has left me
on the doorstep
of a random rowhouse
I saw him today
for the first time
in what seems like years
I looked into my father's eyes
as his bastard son
and said I to him,
"Father, MAKE UP YOUR MIND!
Decide whether to shower me
rays of love
or to walk away from me
as you do far too often"
But tonight, I woke
after he had slammed the door
seeing that he was gone,
I smiled at my mother's
pale gaze
and packed my essentials
I mounted my chariot and screamed battle-cries
against the beasts of
traffic and red lights
and speed traps
"Is there a reason you were going so fast?"
"Love, Sir. I run from you
in search of Her."
"Carry on."
In my mind
in my self-created
universe,
That is the script
-----
Rodents that watch from the
woods lining the highway
fear for their lives
as I streak by,
passing Kirk and crew,
making Dale Ernhardt appear as if he
drove a go-kart,
sending jocks in muscle cars
straight to hell
with my
exhaust fumes,
giving the finger to the cops
because
I WON'T BACK DOWN
-----
I have the money
I have my car
I have my desire
and
I have called out of work.
I am on my way
-----
Kerouak hated the road,
but not me.
I, too, am a
"Dharma Bum"
I know that you
can never
fall off of a mountain
I have slipped
and tripped
been scraped
and bumped
by my travels
Some with you
some in fear of you
some resenting you
all adoring you
but I have not fallen
-----
I am here
I am yours
I am the shining-armour
Laurence Olivier
Louis L'Amour
that you rebelled against
on so many nights
in that
rich suburb
of a megalopolis
But, always,
you would
kiss me
Always, you would show me
your eyelids
Always, you would hold me close
and say,
"You know I love you."
..."Don't you?"
-----
Though he would hurt you
pull you from me to
go comfort and calm him
down from his
hair-trigger, roof-ledge
temper-tantrum-
I awoke to your body
against mine
against the dawn
against my insecurities of the night before
-----
You introduced pleasures
of the mind, body, heart, soul
that were all encompassing
enrapturing
enveloping
-----
I ate a strawberry tonight
for you
for your memory
for your future
-----
And now I sit
thinking of
fountains
and that dress that
clung to your skin
the way
peanut butter clings
to the roof of my mouth
the way your face clings
to the inside of my eyelids
-----
I pass another truck stop
I pass another visitor center
I pass another
hazards-on
jack-out
tire-flat
man-confused
I stop
and rewind
I change a tire for a tired companion
We share the road for a few miles
until his headlights fade
into the rest of the wooded
scenery
with the rest of the ashes
I have
left
behind
I pass another sleeping trucker
I pass another off-ramp
I pass another gas station
I stop
and rewind
Refill coffee mug
and gas tank
Because I CAN-
-I have the money.
I am on my way
To you
through them
through these winding
trail ways
through construction
and roadblocks
and warnings
and self-deprecation
and sleep-deprivation
My excitement keeps me awake
-----
You are
Aphrodite.
You are Venus
stepping from the painting
into my arms
Let me be your renaissance man
Let me paint,
your body as the canvas
Let me put your beauty
into inadequate words
Let me serenade you
Then fall into your arms
into our love
For
I have the money,
and
I am on my way.
- - - - - - - - -
Heroin.
Vicadin.
Novocaine.
Love.
-Wussyboy, Big Poppa E - www.wussyboy.org
-----
And for the moment, I could feel again
I let tears of sadness fall like soldiers in a war
I let tears of anger fall like murdered doves
I let tears of joy fall like beads at Mardi Gras
to their words
on fire
And I went to sleep
huddled in silence
wondering where this emptiness
that now haunts my bed
came from
Could one night
back in your arms
have caused
this rift?
Could
one night
with you
followed by
one night
without you
lead to this apathy
for everything else?
Now I sit in this smoke-filled bar
and can barely utter a sound
feeling nothing but
the humid heat
of a room filled with bodies
like jelly-beans in a jar
How I wish I could cry for their pain
How I wish I could laugh for their joy
How I wish...
How I wish I could hold your
soft body
in my arms and
slumber with you,
knowing I am
safe in your grip
How I wish I could feel something
as strong now
as what I feel with you
-----
So scarred am I by
the past year without you
that now
with you
I still keep my emotions deep
That is not to say that
my scars are all because of you
but simply that they
occurred
without you near to
hear my cries
and lick my wounds
but you see the scars:
fingernails across my back
from nights spent not thinking about you
glass shards in the
souls of my feet
from the crushed crystal dreams in my mind
long white lines across my chest
where the daggers of
lust and betrayal
etched runes into my heart;
ancient symbols for
pain and terror
Teeth-marks paint battle-scenes
on my posterior
while at the same time
my anterior seems to
shrink just that much,
giving flesh to the
scabs that take
so much more
than can be seen.
----
why do you
sit now
freezing the sweat
of my brow
with the
coldness
of silence?
I only came
Speaking what I feel
-----
And you think I settled for you?
think back...
you and I talked while I was still with her
you and I made a PLAN while I still had her
you and I made a plan that
you would come to me
I would go to work
I would clean my locker
and after that
day of independence
I would leave
with you
you and I made that plan
while I still had her
before the red-light
of the district with her;
before the fear of
hope of
dreams fulfilled
all too soon;
you and I made a plan.
where was I
Settling
for you?
she fulfilled wants and needs in me that I had then
she fulfilled a physical desire for gratification
she put it out
and I put it in
she fulfilled an emotional desire to have someone
to fall asleep with other than my dogs
She fulfilled a social desire for someone fun with whom to spend time
She fulfilled a mental desire for stimulation of
grey matters
not just
pink matters
she fulfilled a spiritual desire for someone with whom to burn
cigarettes, incense, and gasoline
discussing theology
leaving Corpus Christi for the clouds of Olympus
she did that
because you weren't here to do that for me.
where was I settling for you?
I was settling for her.
-----
I told you I loved you
you asked me why
I said
"I don't know."
It's not something I can explain, it's
simply
something I feel
simply something I know
I squeeze your hand
three times
the way my mother used to squeeze my hand
three times
I would squeeze her hand
four times
in response
I squeeze your hand
three times
you do nothing
I don't know if you
know
what I mean
when I do that
I said that I loved you
you asked me why
and I said
"I don't know"
because I don't know
I don't know why
I Love You
I know that I Love You
-----
You said that this encounter was perfect
that everything clicked
the way the clicking of a vinyl record
makes the music just that much more beautiful
the way the clicking of a key in the lock
lets you know
that your loved one is home
I squeeze your hand
three times
I look at you
and you smile
turn your head...
I squeeze your hand
three times
I hold you
just that much closer
I look at you
just that much more focused
and you smile and look away
I squeeze your hand
three times
I tell you that
the reason I hold you
that much closer
Is because it has been so long since I have held you
I look at you
that much longer
because it has been so long since I have seen you
I listen to you
that much more attentively
because it has been so long since I have heard your voice directly from your lips
I kiss you
that much stronger
because it has been so long since I have felt that silk against my skin
I inhale you
That much deeper
because it has been so long since I have had that perfume in my nostrils
'nostrils'...
such an unromantic word
but then again,
so is 'nose',
but who knows
when we will next be with each other?
and...
I Know that I Love You
I tell you
I love you
and you ask me why
I say
I don't know
but I do know
that I love you.
And maybe I am holding you that much tighter
maybe I am kissing you that much longer
that much stronger
smelling you that much more
maybe I am doing all of those things because it
has been so long since I have
been able to do them
or
maybe it is because I am "stocking up"
I tell you I love you
you ask me why
and I tell you I don't know
and simply squeeze your hand
three times
-----
how I long for
coffee in Boston
again
I long for coffee in Boston again
and I cry for
coffee in Boston again
my seatbelt holds me
because you can't
and I pull it tighter
imagining that it is
your arms
around my waist
how I long for coffee in Boston again
where I can say that
I love you
and you can ask
why
and I can say
I don't know
how I long for a cappuccino and lemon ice
or mocha frigiutto with raspberry ice-
and it was black raspberry
the way the sky is black now
how I long to be in your arms
off this road
so that I won't have to worry about a
fucking tollbooth
so that I won't have to pay the price
so that I won't have to keep stopping
And I say "thank you"
and they take my money-
money you spared me by paying for the
coffee in Boston
money you spared me by chipping in for gas
money that I borrowed
so that I could see you
even if only for these few days
those few brief hours with you
in your arms
and the chance
to have coffee in Boston
and I looked around, but couldn't find Neponset Circle
but dammit, jack was right
god-dammit, Jack, she is my Carol.
and how I long for
coffee in Boston again
now I drive fast
seeing if I can run away from the sadness
seeing if I can maybe leave it behind
but somehow it seems that I am simply running farther into its grip
as I press down on the pedal
the sadness presses down on my heart
and my eyes hurt so badly because I am forcing them to stay open
so that I can follow this yellow line to my left
speckled lines to my right
as I pass this
broken line of cars
in my wake
and I am barely awake
but I don't want to be awake
because in my dreams
i am still with you
i can still hold you
i never have to leave you
i never have to walk away from you
i never have to drive away
i never left you
in my dreams
i never dropped you off at that airport
i never visited you at that airport
because I was with you on that plane
in my dreams
i never got lost on my way to Gardner
because I was already with you
in my dreams
he is inconsequential
he doesn't hurt you
and in my dreams
you don't have to give yourself up
to that
you don't have to volunteer
to keep yourself from being victimized
and in my dreams
so many of these scars are not here
because they were never laid
my body was bare
and these claw-marks on my back
are not those of these raptors
daemons, these daemonic nightmares
instead
in my dreams
these scratches on my back are
from your fingernails
on nights of passion
and love
and though you don't call it
"making love"
and maybe I shouldn't either
it sure wasn't just "sex"
and I never fucked you
and you never fucked me.
So I don't know what it would be called
and "intercourse" is too sterile a word
but it is love
and I grip the wheel three times because I cannot hold your hand right now
because you are so far away
and I know that
insomnia will wrack me tonight
because there is no way
that I can fall asleep with these tears
spewing forth from my eyes
like the words of the poets
like the words of the prophets
and
like the blood of the martyrs
who died for love
and how I long for
coffee in Boston
again
how I long for walking up that street
and saying "hey, let's go swimming in that lake I saw on Rt. 2"
and so we walked back to the car
but we never made it to that lake
because we sat in that car
and I looked into your eyes
and I looked into your heart
and you looked beyond my facade
and you looked into my soul
and our souls became one
and our hearts became one
and the heartbeats became one
and the heartbeats became faster
and faster
as rapture
enveloped us
enwrapped us
and I held you
and I kissed you
three times
because I could not speak
and how I long for
coffee in Boston
again
how I wish I didn't have to cry
missing you
I wish that instead of crying because of driving away from you
I wish I was crying out of joy from driving to you
I shed tears on that high-way
because I was so happy that I could see you again
coffee will never be the same
every cappuccino will remind me of words with an Italian man
while my bladder screamed
and my heart screamed
and my soul screamed
and I wish I could sing now
but my voice is too tired
my tear ducts are too tired
and my eyes hurt from forcing them open
and my stomach hurts from these wracking sobs
and my back hurts from sitting in this car for so long
and how I wish it didn't have to be this way
how I wish I could sit down with you to
coffee in Boston
again
and how I wish I could pronounce that word
I blow through miles like cigarettes
and cigarettes like whispers
I know that I could stop crying
if I could only hear your voice whisper
"I love you"
again
and I don't know why I love you
so instead I simply squeeze your hand
three times
I simply grip the wheel
three times
as I sit here on this
perverted stretch of land
longing for
coffee in Boston
again
-----
This is my Exodus
this is my flight from the dark city
from the lighted streets
from the clouded skies
from the raindrops
from the oil slicks on the streets of Manhattan
This is my escape from
poetry; from
good; from
love
This is my driving force
the motorcycle enters
the tunnel and screams its own
Gettysburg Address
The cabs outnumber the pedestrians
the cabs outnumber the residents
in this colorful city
in this dark city
clouded by night and judgement
and I have no idea what I am doing here
I was driving home
I was driving past
I was returning,
driving away from her
driving away from fear
driving towards work tomorrow night
driving towards my home
driving towards a
driving force
I spew from this tunnel
like ink from my pen
like sweat from my pores-
lack of air conditioning makes me burn in my seat
I have no idea what I am doing in this city
I have no idea what I am doing on this road,
Heading down this tattooed piece of black-top
speckled with ants
with leaves of paper
upon my back
Headed towards that mother
headed towards the queen
my own queen I have left behind
my driving force
she whom I see when I close my eyes
who I strive for
who I long for
who I hold dear
who I hold true
my muse
my inspiration
my beautiful dreams at night
she is behind me
I left her at the Yankee shop
while she held on to my candle and my heart
And I still don't know what I am doing here
I was driving home and I saw that I still had time
to experience the love of a pen
the love of a word
and so I took a slight detour
through Manhattan
and I have only been to the
Statue of Liberty
once; and I did not go there tonight
I have only been to that statue once
because once
I believed in that
Once I believed in that
As I get my ticket
heading on to this turnpike
going straight forward
I see a sticker that says
"No Fur"
My engine roars in response
I like mink.
And I think again
about why it is that I have never returned to that copper woman
standing on the sea
getting her feet wet
but keeping her ankles dry
Still the hem of her dress is uncut
still she is the model of the puritan society
of which our country is based
because if she were a true “Woman of Liberty”
if she were a true symbol for what this country supposedly stands for
what our forefathers
what THEIR forefathers
Jefferson, Roosevelt, Washington, Lincoln
what their four fathers
allegedly had in mind
If those plans were true,
they would not laugh at me when I walk down the street
they would not call me "Freak" because I walk by without anything separating my two legs
they would not batter a woman because she decided to get a job today
they would not laugh and mock and beat the lesbians and the gays and the transgendered and the transsexual who transcend the barriers of conformity
those who transcend the evil looks they receive and when mocked simply fire back with "I love you"
and yet are mocked again
and those of us who do not have the courage to stand up with a raised fist
sit down with a pen drawn
like the swords of the conquistadors
and whom do we conquer?
who do we come to lay the flag down for?
because we do not even have command of our own hearts
let not the blood of our pens
fall upon deaf ears
-----
I HATE YOU
I screamed at you
as we stood in the cross street
of our lives
my eyes like
water fountains of youth
your eyes
peered
pondered
questioned
I hate you because I love you
and you are leaving me
When I was intoxicated with lust
you carried me up the stairs
when I was so confused
you made things clear
You were my Baloo
When I was King Louie
You were my Bill the Kat
When I was Opus
I hate you because even when I was ashamed
to be with you shocked
by what you had done afraid
of things you had said apologizing
secretly for you
Even then
in those moments where I was so
mortified
I could have been
buried
I was still proud to call you my brother
Not my brother by blood
my brother by choice
when we met
you were a
strange stranger
later I found the key
to your secret garden
and entered with
magic passwords
and metaphors
through many
smoke-filled
chrome-lined
nights in diners and bars
with hearts and microphones
split wide open,
our buddy relationship
blossomed over
coffee and cigarettes
war-stories and tall-tales
water-sports and blood baths
We fought side-by-side
or one-on-one
in missions of espionage
and terrorist actions
You were my Ambassador
when we journeyed to the
crown of Gaia
and into the land of
retarded infatuation
though you were wrong
when she walked away,
you were dead-on
when I tried to do the same
Though I walked into the conversation
I was pulled from the rubble of what was once a promising friendship
You helped me see that I still
had gotten what I wanted
and needed:
understanding
You fed me when I was without food
you housed me when I was without home
You loved me even when I didn't want you to
You have made me laugh
You made me angry
and now
you make me cry
We carried the weight of your world yesterday
and placed it in a
box-shaped-box
That is why I weep
I weep because
I love you
and you are leaving me
and I can't control that
I can't stop this
I can't keep you from going
but neither can I send you off
I can’t throw you a celebration that would rival the halls of Valhalla
But I can say that which your father never uttered
I am proud of you
I am not proud of what you go to do,
but I am proud of you.
I am not proud of who you go to serve,
but I am proud of you.
I am Proud of You.
-----
I laughed the first time I heard the word "Transgendered"
I had no clue what it meant.
I thought gender and sex and sexual orientation went hand in hand in hand.
When I was in Middle school,
there was a boy named Kurt who later abbreviated his name to simply "K".
Well, K wore makeup sometimes.
In other words,
Every time we saw him,
he had on eyeliner or mascara or pancake foundation...
And we didn't understand.
We laughed at him
talked about him
pointed Judas Fingers at him-
I later found out that indeed he was a beautiful child of God
We would beat the shit out of K on a regular basis
Why?
Because he was different.
We would lecture him while we did it, too:
"You're fucked up, K"
(Bam!)
"You're gonna burn in hell for being a faggot"
(Bam!)
"Quit being a Fucking pussy!"
(Bam!!)
I never thought about it then, but I recall that he never once hit us back.
I later became a pacifist...
just like Kurt.
One time, I was at the skating rink, and this other guy
(whom I had also made fun of in the past)
hit me in the back for no apparent reason.
He then said he wanted to fight me for being a dick to him in the past, and I said
"No."
He told me then- with his posse at his back- that he smelled something...
"Pussy"
When my dad came to pick me up that night,
I was too ashamed to explain why the other boys were laughing at me.
In High school, I got into theatre.
I quickly gained the title of "Art-Fag" by the local rednecks
But I didn't care.
I got stared at while perusing the aisles of the Fiesta-Mart because of my stage makeup
But I didn't care.
I would get laughed at in the halls for being in costume
But I DIDN'T CARE.
...about that.
When I got to college, I realized that my hippie peers wouldn't give me negative attention when I wore my sarong,
...but the Hereford boys would
and my female friends would bitch about the fact that I looked better in their skirts than they did, but they loved me anyway
And though my pseudonym isn't because of my dress, I am still flattered to be confused with a beautiful woman named Lottie-Mae
I kiss my male friends in public.
I rarely wear garments that separate my legs.
I haven't worn underwear but once in the past three months.
I get judged as gay, and though I don't have a girlfriend, I simply reply that she would disagree, and continue on my way to the OUT-tober-Fest.
I listen to Ani DiFranco and Hot Honey Magnet at full blast with both windows rolled down, my hair in a bun, my cigarette dangling precariously from my smile like the accusations from their snarls, my accelerator to the floor as I fly past their broken-down way of thinking as the phoenix rising up from the ashes of my former lack of self esteem.
I weep openly in movie theatres.
I LIKE Steel Magnolias, Fried Green Tomatoes, and If Lucy Fell.
I think Pablo Naruda is one of the greatest poets of all time.
I think Kim and Scott should be running mates in the next presidential election.
I want to get "Towanda" tattooed across my knuckles because my mother and my sister are the Pillars of Hercules.
I think Michael is a role model because he keeps searching for that which he seeks.
I like Morrissey.
I like the Cure.
I like Souixsie.
And if that makes me a wussyboy, then I will stand proud next to Big Poppa E and "Ducky".
I am not afraid to be naked.
I am not afraid to disrobe my emotions.
I am not afraid to be who I am.
I am not afraid of myself.
I am not afraid to write about my lovers.
I am not afraid to stand in a room full of strangers at a slam and constantly be beaten by Denise.
I am not afraid to stand on stage as someone else.
I am not afraid to be like K.
-----
Tonight, I am listening to The Cure.
Tonight, I am drinking red instead of white.
Tonight
I am Listening to The Cure.
Tonight, I am reading Rilke instead of Eliot.
Tonight, I am painting all of the rooms black-
No. Burgundy.
Tonight, I am walking around the house naked.
Tonight, I am Superman.
Tonight, I am Batman.
Tonight, I am all of my superheroes because they don't get hurt.
Tonight, I am washing all of my clothes
Tonight, I am taking out the trash.
Tonight, I am mopping the floor.
Tonight,
I am cleaning house.
Tonight, I don't want to think about you, but I am anyway.
Tonight, I don't blame you.
Instead, I can't get over the thought that it is my fault; that it's something I did because I didn't understand; that I made an assumption and I was wrong; and for that, I can't sleep.
Tonight, I can't decide if I want to call you to apologize for the misunderstanding that caused you pain, or if I should wait for you to apologize for yelling at me when all I tried to do was give you your things back.
I tried to be good for you.
I tried to give you everything you wanted or needed.
I tried not to ask for too much in return.
All I wanted was for someone to love.
All I wanted was someone with whom I could share my pillow, and my thoughts, and my dreams.
You followed me to the top of the world and back.
I followed you to your mom's condo.
You made me happier than I have been in a long time.
And I tried so hard to make you happy in return.
Where did I go wrong?
What did I do that hurt you so much?
How did we metamorphose into this debt that I cannot pay off?
-----
Tonight, I am listening to The Cure.
Tonight, I am drinking red instead of white.
Tonight
I am Listening to The Cure.
Tonight, I am reading Rilke instead of Eliot.
Tonight, I am painting all of the rooms black-
No. Burgundy.
Tonight, I am walking around the house naked.
Tonight, I am Superman.
Tonight, I am Batman.
Tonight, I am all of my superheroes because they don't get hurt.
Tonight, I am washing all of my clothes
Tonight, I am taking out the trash.
Tonight, I am mopping the floor.
Tonight,
I am cleaning house.
Tonight, I don't want to think about you, but I am anyway.
Tonight, I don't blame you.
Instead, I can't get over the thought that it is my fault; that it's something I did because I didn't understand; that I made an assumption and I was wrong; and for that, I can't sleep.
Tonight, I can't decide if I want to call you to apologize for the misunderstanding that caused you pain, or if I should wait for you to apologize for yelling at me when all I tried to do was give you your things back.
Tonight, the hawk of ego assassinated the dove of hope.
Tonight, the wild mood swings overtook me and I cried and sighed and screamed and disintegrated.
Tonight, the bloodflowers I once gave you faded and died, leaving only pictures of you; pictures painted in red and gold, lime green and tangerine and they almost seem just like heaven.
I don't care that Monday's blue
Tuesday grey and Wednesday, too
Thursday, I won't care about you
Because Friday, it won't matter what I do.
I know I'll never really get inside of you.
So,
Tonight, I am listening to the Cure.
Tonight, I am drinking red- instead of white.
Tonight,
I am listening to the Cure.
-----
I do not dance for other people's pleasure
I dance for my own
I dance because it gets me off-
NOT because it turns you on
that is simply an added bonus
I dance because I like beating the shit out of concrete floors with my steel-toed boots
I dance because I also like the way the muddy grass feels between my naked toes
I dance because I enjoy making my car shake
I dance because I like pounding on the basement door until Apollo wakes
I dance because I also like rocking him gently back to sleep
I dance because sometimes my soul SCREAMS for release
and is realized
and gratified
by the feral outlashings of the pit
I dance because I prefer to be the center of attention
I dance because I NEED to
I dance because I like the way your arms feel draped around my neck
the way your hair feels draped around my shoulder
the way your perfume feels draped around my nostrils
the way your love feels draped around my heart
I dance because I like dancing alone
I dance because I like letting my hair down over my locked eyelids
so all I can see are the intermittent flashes of the strobes,
oscillating wildly as the beat of my...
hips
I dance because it makes me hungry
I dance because I can't sit still to the music of
Ani or
Celia;
Jonathan Davis or
Art Alexakis
I dance because I am excited to see you
I dance because I am angry
I dance because I am barely holding back the tears
I dance because I am in love
I dance because I am ALIVE
-----
And I just wish for
one phone call.
not one of those
"I just called to say I love you"
phone calls, but a
"Hi. How are you?"
phone call.
And I just wish for a fucking clue
what to do
about you
no...
Fuck You.
If I told my parents,
you would be in Jail.
And I want to SCREAM
but not for you
I will not scream for you
I won't scream, because my throat is so fucking hoarse from crying
but these tears are not for you, no.
These tears are for the 3 1/2 weeks that I have been waiting
These tears are for the 3 1/2 weeks that I have not been able to sleep when I have wanted to
These tears are for the 3 1/2 weeks that I have had to stay awake with only my thoughts as company until I pass out from exhaustion
These tears are for the 3 1/2 weeks that I can now explain
These tears are for the 8 Months I have left to cry.
And how I wish I could be 17 and carefree again
Instead of 17 and (at least) 3 1/2 weeks and Scared to Death
And how I wish I could get
one phone call
because last I checked,
you got
one phone call
when you went to prison
and I am imprisoned in my fear
with your-
my-
OUR child
imprisoned in my womb
and I can't even get
one phone call
from you
And how I wish I could be normal
How I wish, for once, that I didn't have to be the
Point-One Percent
And how I wish I knew what to do
but instead,
I am feeling queasy
as Quasi
takes me to the clinic
And I wonder if I'll see
Geoff Trenchard
and that little kid with the
WWJD
on his arm
because my heart is on my sleeve
and my fear is tattooed across my face
like a brand on my soul
And I wonder if I'll see the
fundamentalist pro-lifers
out front
telling me
that I am going to go to hell if I make
That Choice
well...
too late.
I am living the hell
of fear and sleepless anticipation
and I haven't made that choice
yet
but if I did,
it's MY choice to make
so as I drive to that clinic,
I hope you are happy with her
and I hope she knows how lucky she is that she got
blood-stains
instead of
morning sickness
and how I wish for just
One Phone Call
and how I wish I could just be
seventeen
and carefree
again.
-----
I work at a dance club
where the patrons don't really dance;
Rather, they dry-hump on my dance floor.
But that's beside the point.
We get all different kinds of people in the club,
but there's this one girl...
She has short, spiky red hair,
Eyes like demitasse espresso cups,
Cheeks like marble,
A jaw line smooth and defined,
A slender neck, gracious and soft
And then there is her waist...
it brings out desires in me...
I just want to...
wrap her in my arms...
carry her to my home...
tie her to the bedposts...
and feed her.
-----
The Heat
of my urine
reminds me of the heat of her skin next to mine on many nights of passion and tangled sheets
To the zenith of Atlas did we venture
Upon the tides of Psyche were we borne
Sometimes lost on highways based upon Caribbean geometry
Sometimes locked in the oubliette of a cup of coffee and one more cigarette
Though I saw the end before the final chapter
I was still the stupid one
and I sat back while she pulled a
motorcycle drive by on my heart
she woke me up and
slit the throat of my confidence
The funny thing about pain
is that when you feel so alone
you know you're alive
sometimes the pain is the only thing that's real
She walked through the chrome bars of the diner the other day
where I sat and drank my costumed water
she walked right by me like a
no-parking sign
and over me like a
speed bump
I continued my conversation
after my heart returned from its comatose state
And though she did not hear me,
I told her all of the things that needed to be said
I told her of my unrestrained desire to give her everything she wanted
I told her of the nights that I didn't call first
I said how bad I felt that I made a reasonable assumption
I said how she made me feel when she slammed the door like a guillotine
And I said to her
As I walked away
"Fuck you."
-----
she sits
she stares
eyes wandering
over there
she has casually discarded
those who want to be their own drummers
playing a beat on her bass
her raspy voice
confesses her ennui
and I blush as she walks away
her shirt reveals her backbone
and I wish I could
take her home
feel the satin touch of
skin upon skin
feel delicate hair between fingers
see eyes like
young children running
naked in the street
playing in hydrants
opened to relieve the heat
of a midsummer's eve
she complains of being overworked
and underpaid
and out of time
and out of mind
but still I invite her to dinner
she walks away
curves shifting
sliding
simmering
in my mind
trying to impress her
I show how
I master many languages
and I can bring fire and brimstone
and place it in a small manila envelope
and I can pretend not to be bored or tired or in lust
and I can write while singing out of tempo to the music
and she just smiles and says she'll see me later
the music drones on
while my pen maintains the courage
to scream what I cannot even whisper
the lights flash and flicker
reminding me of the
electricity she shoots through my skin
with her cashmere touch
and i just want the
music to fade
and the
lights to dim
and the
leaves to change
and the
phone to ring
and the
door to open
-----
and the son of sam kills again
addicted to the kill
and he hits the guitar again
and he hits the joint again
and he hits the fag again
and he hits that ass again
"We're all wearing dog collars
You're wearing a dog collar."
"I got these things I like doin'
I like doin' 'em so much
it's like I hafta' do 'em"
"do I really like doin' 'em?"
And the son of sam kills again
Don't blame the world
the power's out
the door opens
the flashlight shines in
the children lie down in the streets
but these handguns don't kill
we all wear collars
the dogs are our masters
I'm gonna get some help
I know I'm sick
We all cut our knuckles
on the same glass
with which we cut our coke
and we all release the
primal screams of withdrawal
we all pray that our
addictions are not
dead ends
and the son of sam stops killing
but still Richie lies
bleeding on the pavement
-----
I don't believe you.
You're so serene.
I am
balled up in stress,
tangled up in blue,
and all messed up in you;
and I sling beans like breaths,
musing over my troubles.
I see my yellow man
and I see his Colombian woman.
I smile.
Then I see you-
I lose my heartbeat.
I forget my self.
My train of thought falls off the tracks.
And I pause.
You are my deep breath.
A silent sigh erupts from the caverns of my lungs
as I hold you
and my muscles relax
and my mind takes a nap.
All that is left is silence
and the sparkle of the electricity
in the air around your eyes.
-----
Now there is only
skin against skin.
The dolphins of my fingertips
swim in the ocean of your hair.
your hand grips my arm.
I kiss your lips.
You kiss my chest;
Velvet on what has for so long
felt only sandpaper.
You curl into my arms
and you envelop my heart
and my thoughts
and the visions of future dreams race upon my eyes-
dreams of holding you
dreams of dreaming next to you
dreams of waking up to you.
I wish every night could be like this-
that every night,
I could say
goodnight
without saying
goodbye.
I whisper in your ear how glad I am
that I was tipsy from the energy that night
and you were tipsy from the activities that night
because I don't think I could have said what I said
and I don't think you would have done what you did
and instead I would be alone
instead of dreaming next to you.
You are beautiful. Come with me
Into the realm of dreams
into the realm of the future
into the realm of the
velvet kiss
and the
satin touch.
I hold you tight
as you kiss my arm
and I kiss your head
and I slip away.
-----
"What's the answer to Question Number One?"
he asks her,
straining to see her eyes
in the cloud dampened moonlight.
"I don't know," she sighs,
placing her hand in the tangled mat of hair
that covers his breast.
He holds her close,
assuring her that
some questions don't need answers.
He simply whispers,
"I will stay for as long as you wish,
and I will leave as soon as you ask.
Some questions don't need answers."
Will the end of a cherry pi
make the circle more perfect?
If you knew the name
of the lady in Stairway to Heaven,
would that get you closer to it?
He knows that knowing such things
isn't going to make the night last longer.
All that matters is that for now,
he is in the arms of his angel.
She paints him from the
inferno of stress
and bathes him in her serenity.
She wards off his narcolepsy with another
kiss on his chest.
He tastes her and she pulls him closer.
"You are my deep breath,"
he whispers to her
as she whispers that he is
her favourite pillow.
-----
I am gnawing my fingernails again
as perpetual ticking pushes me.
I have changed much since that day on the train
I saw you all around me on my path
I smelled your perfume
and now I wear my own
jaded dissolution like a crash helmet
because I keep dreaming in colour.
So now I sit motionless
in my seat at the diner
with my water that is masquerading
as an African poet.
I am held in my suspended animation
because for the first time in my life,
I don't need to move.
I don't need to run.
I don't need to ramble.
My wanderlust is now like a
slumbering greyhound,
but my eyes are open.
My skin invites the feeling of
the wind in my hair
as it slaps against my eyes
as I hold my head
out of the speeding automobile
I give myself away to this moment
the smell of burning loves in the air.
The streetlamps like searchlights and
shooting stars.
The slight rain on my cheeks
like angelic kisses.
The wind in my hair...
I have thrown myself at the ground,
but I got distracted
by the wind in my hair
so instead,
I fly.
-----
My bed feels empty without you.
The lights seem less bright.
The snow made me shiver
and all I could think was how much I wanted to share it with you.
I wanted to catch a snowflake
on my tongue
and give it to you in a kiss,
but I can't even catch my breath.
So instead, I hold onto your face in my mind
and I clutch my pillow
because I cannot hold you.
-----
The landfill of tissues was the only tangible reminder of the rainstorm.
The quilt that told the tale of the gale-force winds and the pelting teardrops was taffy-stuck and tongue-tied and the pillows took refuge near structural walls.
The boy asked if the girl wanted him to leave, after disaster-relief had removed the evidence of what had come before him.
She replied, her eyes still swollen from the tears,
"I am just going to listen to Sleater-Kinney, read, and finish this bottle of red wine.
I'll probably be going to bed pretty early, too."
-----
So he ran from her into the starless sky, the clouds bright from the moonlight
He lies and says,
"I am ready.
I am ready.
I am Ready.
I am fine,"
Of course, his voice is tuneless and tone-deaf from the tears.
He runs from her into Dian's arms as she hides her face from his gaze.
He runs, but the darkness catches him.
The deer watch his retreat from the pain as they greet his arrival at the water.
Naked but for his masque, he swims.
He screams to his companion,
"Sometimes, that which is sacred,
Suddenly becomes forgotten.
Sometimes that which is forsaken,
Becomes treasured.
Regardless, the only way to wash the salt-water tears of a human
is in the fresh-water tears of Mother Earth."
His brother smiles.
Antonio laughs and tells Otis the things that need to be said,
but never want to be heard.
They are fish together now-
Pisces, Gemini,
Omar.
The sky flashes and they return to the muddy shore.
Otis starts running again
from the rain and its accompanying
gunshot lightening bolts.
He wants to shout along with the thunder,
to let out all of his frustration and fear,
but he knows that screaming can't make anything better,
so he stays quiet.
Soon, Sarah serenades him,
reminding him of the comfort he once found in the solace of Cassidy's serenity,
but memories are all that remain of those nights.
He sits,
behind his masque,
with his painted water
and thinks about Cass and her expensive bottle of red wine
and her low tolerance and high stress,
her heavy tears and her light hair,
her scratchy records and her smooth skin.
Her smooth skin.
Her skin like gossamer that only in his memories does he touch.
He is jolted back to the reality that is the jukebox and says,
"Tony,
though you watch the blade drop,
you can't stop the blood.
Though you know why it bleeds,
you can't stop the pain.
Though you know why it hurts,
You can't make it heal any quicker."
Antonio simply embraces Otis as they fall off of the cliff that is poetry.
They were given to fly,
both distracted at the time that should have been impact;
Tony distracted by his own lover,
Otis distracted by their glow,
and their shadows meander gracefully across the hills.
-----
"If nothing's Ventured/
Nothing's gained/
So I must seize the day"
-VNV Nation "Standing"
And so I scream
"Carpe Diem"
Seize the day
Wrestle the reigns from Apollo's grasp
and ride with the sun and shout
"Today will be a Great day!"
Grip the goals of grandeur and glory,
Take that gamble,
you can't win if you don't wager.
So, bet your life
And I scream
"Carpe Noctem"
Seize the night
Hit the streets in your best dress
or your best pair of ripped jeans.
Shout it out in the streets,
Duke it out in the pit,
Sweat it out in the sheets,
but announce it to the grasshoppers,
"Tonight, I am alive!"
Because tonight is all there is.
And I scream
"Carpe Amore"
Seize the love.
Hold them until you feel nothing but that
One True Thing
Love them until you are not whole without them
Love them until you see their eyes in your own reflection
Love them until you are leaving room for them on a bed in a motel room a thousand miles from home
But, Love them because you want them
Not because you need them.
And I scream
"Carpe Minute"
Seize the instant
Because now is the only time that truly exists.
The past is dead.
Let the dead bury the dead.
The most valuable thing you can give someone is Time.
Once that instant is gone, it is so forever.
Time is the only thing in this world that can never be returned to you,
So
Seize the Day
Seize the Night
Seize the Love
Seize the Instant
When that spiritual bank account runs dry,
there is no over-draft protection.
There are no balance-checks or deposits,
There are only withdrawals.
But enough with metaphors
Get up and Live
Smell the rose
Pick the rose
Hold the rose
Give the rose
Just Be the rose.
-----
Two banners of smoke rise and gather in a single cloud, lit by the ethereal halogens.
People standing together after coffee talk about humidity making wine go bad.
Women sit at the bar smoking stale cigarettes
and a lover waits for his love.
The beautiful man walks by with napkins and a towel, cleaning after his guests, trodding up the stairs, but with profound grace.
The artist enters from stage left with a box of frames-
captured floral instants that would otherwise be gone forever.
And the coffee brews on,
ignoring the breaths and beats of the intermingling strangers
who pass like cars on an interstate highway in the Midwest.
-----
Can I get a "Hell-yeah!"?
I met a girl today;
a beautiful woman placed on Earth by Aphrodite herself.
Her skin is hand-carved of the finest ivory.
Her hair is of tiger's eye and moonstone.
Her eyes are like wishing wells,
and I wished her well as she walked on by
with my phone number in the pocket by her right thigh
and my heart in the pocket by her own.
Can I get a "Hell-Yeah!"?
She called me today,
just as I was heading out the door to go to work
still tying my shoes and
trying not to coo,
striving to soothe the savage throbbing in my chest.
I said I had to go and
she said she understood,
but that I would have to make it up to her
over dinner.
Can I get a "Hell-yeah!"?
I saw her tonight
and we danced in the light of a fountain
and ran from the light of a policeman
into the light of Baltimore St.
on the way back to my car
where we waited with the potholes
and the pot-heads for the
flat-bed to come and pick us up
or pick my locked car.
I ran up the street for compensation
but before I did, she Kissed me!
Can I get a "Hell-yeah!"?
I woke up this morning to find
that shut were the blinds
and the memory that binds
my mind to her
might wind me up in love
the way she wound me up
with velvet ropes of kisses
and handcuffs of fingernails and love poems.
But I was worried to see that I might be
alone and drowning in a sea
of blessed infatuation
because the bed was empty
except for me
and on the floor where her shoes should be
was nothing more than carpet.
Wanting only coffee or an explanation,
I went downstairs to cook some bacon
and think about making some phone-calls.
When entering the kitchen,
what did I find within,
but this angel of ivory and moonstone,
holding a smile between her cheeks
and a coffee-mug between her fingers.
Hell-Yeah.
-----
Starlight, star bright
first star I see tonight
I wish I may, I wish I might
have this girl I met tonight.
She has eyes of deep brown
hair of tiger's eye
skin of ivory
and a heart of gold
She joined me on a safari
of iced coffee and poetry
and places to be
and people to see.
I feel so blessed just to be near her
to hold her hand and to bask in the glory that is her smile.
So, Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray that she my heart will keep,
but if this be dream and I should wake,
I know like glass, my heart will break.
-----
Seeing you standing in the doorway;
past the chrome threshold
and the tapestry that hangs like a shower curtain;
all of my stress dissolved.
I skipped and smiled,
spun pirouettes and giggled
like a child on the playground.
A deep breath that smelled of
stargazer lilies and coffee beans
filled my consciousness.
I took you home
where we stood and talked of
hair-care products and self-mutilation;
all the while, I held back my urge
to ask why you held onto me that night
to ask why you hold my hand
to ask why you give me little kisses on my shoulder when we embrace.
And I left you there
as you stood by your bed in the pants
that hold you the way a mother holds her newborn
and the shirt that is almost as revealing as a National Enquirer story,
but still sexier than a spring sale at Vicki's.
I left you there but carried you with me in my heart.
As I responded to a phone call,
you walked down the hall
wearing only terry-cloth and makeup
toward the showers,
kissing me lightly on my cheek as you passed.
I watched you as you walked past,
and noticed the way the pomade in your hair would make Pablo confused
and the way your pale legs moved with awkward grace upon the carpet
and the way your hand touched the door as you walked through it
and into the bathroom.
It is because of these things that I could not resist following after you
to steal another smile,
still hoping you would ask me to stay with you tonight,
the way I want you to stay with me forever.
But I swallow that question
just like every time I wonder what our
Reality-Quotient is-
whether we are "reality material"
or if you are just my Jane.
Every night,
my pen paints pictures on paper
and dry-erase boards,
telling our story like an Indian sage
to any passers-by who are
curious about the meaning
of my disoriented scribblings.
Dreaming aloud in metaphors,
I am screaming while I sleep.
Screaming though my throat is raw
and my voice is hoarse;
but screaming because
I know not the words to say to you
how I feel in your gaze
and how I am lost in your touch
and how I long for your kiss
and how I can still smell your skin.
-----
And if I kissed you,
What then?
Would that make you stop loving him?
Would that make you want to discontinue the frustration he brings?
Would that stop the pain?
If I kissed you,
Would you then have me?
Would your flowers never fade?
Would you be unafraid to love me?
-----
She says,
"don't ask me, I'm sleeping"
So I drive to the movie store,
taking Neil home,
seeking insomniac's dreams
and lunar missions by taxi cab.
Then it is to talk of the pass-times of fish
and the finer points of masturbation.
We pass a crime scene still littered
with red lights and yellow tape
while heading toward peach upholstery
and a yellow man.
Posing as Noah,
we swim for fourteen minutes
and four miles until
the rains subside
and Frankie can dream again.
Onward until
Cancer-death and a glory-speech
bring this all to a close.
Under three layers does she slumber,
with Tom'n'Jerry in her tube;
Ben'n'Jerry in her tummy;
and all of this in my thoughts.
All because I asked,
"Where do you want to go tonight?"
-----
The tears beat down her walls
and bead down her cheeks.
It seems she is crying all the time now.
I kidnap her,
and we harass Target employees,
and I steal flowers from Watson’s,
trying to steal another smile from her.
I take her home,
where we play video games,
becoming the cartoons that we watch together.
We have cuddle-time and talk about fantasies
and how they are less surreal than reality.
She curls into a ball,
and I wrap my arms around her,
trying to protect her from
the torture of depression.
I bring her home,
where we talk more.
I tell her I am going to get some help;
that I am tired of my anxiety-attacks
I am tired of my apathy
I am tired of my senseless crying
She, too, is tired
of fighting off the tears
that enter without knocking.
She tells me that she is leaving soon-
going home to family,
forced meds,
and maybe hospital beds.
We say goodnight and goodbye.
She turns on the t.v. and I turn off the light.
Closing the door,
I blow a kiss,
and exhale deeply.
-----
For what seems like an eternity,
I have held her in my eyes,
and in silence.
But as the sun rises this morning,
we embrace in conversation
and playful flirtations,
still unsure of intentions.
Tumbling among rolling plains of flannel sheets
and pillows,
we wrestle for clues that may reveal motives.
Settling back against the wall
of insecurities,
boldness overtakes me
and lips greet skin,
leaving behind a sultry stream of water
that permeates and exits further south.
We discuss how one could be so infatuated
with a simple den of flesh,
a soft field of peach-fuzz
protecting a long dry well.
I reply with another kiss
and a grip against ribs,
pulling hips against my chest
while I try to fill this well
with rain from teeth and tongue.
The earth shifts
and the field is replaced
by a range of vertebrae.
My hands mix with oil
and I reach to touch the fertile soil
that is the shoulders,
the backs of ribs,
the waist,
wasting nothing,
not even breaths.
With every exhale,
an adulation:
"You are beautiful"
(breath)
"You are intriguing"
(breath)
"I want you"
(pause)
The world turns again,
and I see a universe in deep eyes
and waves of curls breaking
over smooth shorelines of shoulders.
I hold this planet closer,
placing the high-lands of backbones
within the valley between my breasts.
My hands push back the seas,
exposing once again the barren shore.
I try to bring rain to that desert I've created,
but only bring monsoons in the South.
My thighs enwrap the equator
as my hands climb the terraced slopes
of ribs caging a fast-beating heart.
The clouds of a pillow fall away,
fleeing rising body-heat
as hands brush lightly against
peaks of mountains,
tender and mature.
Lips caress caves
along the Northern shore,
bringing only more rain in the South.
I shift my body,
pulling this world around once more,
where lips meet dense forests
of lust and sensuality,
finally finding fruition
in the seductive oasis of a kiss;
lips to lips.
And lips roam,
reaching gentle curves of
jaw lines and cheekbones.
My lips journey to the elevated tips
of the soft Appalachian mounds.
The fields undulate over
deep lungs breathing in my scent
as I inhale the earthy smell of pheromones.
I lose myself in the taste
of the fruits of this field.
My grip slips slightly
and my world comes softly down,
where I am lauded by finger-lakes
that force my long-tense muscles to relax,
being given rest;
reveling in the overwhelming beauty
of kisses along my arms-
kisses of appreciation and adoration.
This stellar body slides smoothly-
holding me now.
This planet that for an eternity
I have held above me,
without understanding,
but now truly grasping the sincerity
of mountain ranges,
terraced slopes,
subtle fields,
and rains in the South.
-----
The painter told me I have beautiful hands.
I could only respond with cheeks like
so many rose buds
these hands have handed to
so many lovers over
so many cups of coffee and
so many thresholds over
so many "I love you"s over
so many lifetimes.
These hands have cupped a
drowning body while trying to
resuscitate that dying light
with cartoon-cuddle-time
and stargazer lilies.
These hands created
entire universes over
Six day's time
and ripped the Lego city apart
on the seventh.
These hands constantly paint
words in ink on receipts and diner napkins
only to type them onto the
hard-driven memories of
mothers, children, brothers, sisters
in rooms that emanate love and energy
like the nucleus of an atom.
these hands have shaken hands with
capitalist devils in bleeding
cesspools of finance and aspiration.
these hands have held back hair
to keep these precious locks
from being plastered with
the vomitous regurgitation
of alcohol, pain-killers, heroin,
and love.
These hands have gripped these ears
in futile attempts to quell
the myriad voices yelling at me
from inside the fortress of my skull.
These hands have held the wheel of an
automobile rocketing to a pharmacy at
Two A.M. for an emergency fill-up of Zanac
to stop the manic attack
of the fifth letter;
shaved head and unshaved legs,
scared, scarred, and helpless
in the passenger seat of my truck
as we climb the highest mountains
of stress and pain, frustration and fear.
These hands have carried silver-plated flatware
over dinners with elders who taught me
about my history
and their history.
These hands have cupped breasts in
motel bathrooms and dew-covered fields,
vacant theatres and automobiles,
searching for heaven in an orgasm,
but only finding the false god of
sex-without-love and another trip
to the laundromat to clean my soul
of loveless-sex,
only to return as Lady MacBeth,
throwing myself at the courtyard floor
with my heart as my jury and a verdict of
"Not Guilty" because
though I throw myself toward the ground-
that doesn't mean that I am falling.
These hands have scrubbed floors and tile walls
in search of
green-golden respect,
only learning to hate my self in the process
of servitude to a tyrant king
with a liar's smile
and a false prophet
promising me a better life.
These hands have traveled the vast
waistlines of unwritten love poems
whispered in twilight sleep with
skin against skin.
These hands have roamed over fret boards
seeking peace on
an ax and an amp
with candle-lit scores
of gut-wrenching lyrics
sooner forgotten than spoken.
These hands have tended the hanging gardens
while climbing Jacob’s ladder
out of the hell of addiction
into a sober heaven with
angelic poetesses singing as I walk through
the pearly gates of self-esteem and self-respect.
These hands have clung to the trapeze of sanity
above the netless pit of manic-depression
with Jiminy-Cricket at my side
and Pinocchio as my guide.
These hands have done all of this and more
and for that I say
Yes.
These hands
are beautiful.
-----
Dreaming,
though still awake,
I set the coffee down for the woman.
She asks for cream,
but I forget it
even before saying
I will get it.
I am pondering
Austin and
Coffee Bars with a Bio-Major
from the suburbs of Houston.
I am imagining what it would be like to spend
the New Year making plum jam
and changing the oil in a Mazda.
I pick up the phone on my break from Reality
to call her for the fourth time
in as many days.
The machine picks up.
I hang up.
I am hung up
on her eyes;
crucified for lying about the zoo.
Each strand of her hair
is an arrow from
Helen's Fortress,
piercing my one weakness.
I beg Krsna to enlighten me
because I don’t know if
this is love or Maya.
Am I a lover
or am I a liar?
I wash my arms to my elbows
before taking in her memory.
And it is now that I understand
that over the course of millennia
none have come to see that
the flaw in selflessly giving of one’s self
in the name of love
is impossible.
For in seeking only to please the other,
there is a prayer to actually
See
Them
Smile.
-----
She was a tall woman,
with deep, dark eyes
and isn't it strange
how the night moves
when your entire life
is with you in a truck
crossing the Mississippi?
It sounds like an old country ballad:
Me, my dog,
My brother and my woman,
all in my truck...
running.
There is always tomorrow.
I say that
Tomorrow, I will stop loving her.
Tomorrow, I will visit the tomb of Saint Jack.
Tomorrow, I will get some help.
But when I wake,
it is only another today,
with only another yesterday.
I am still a compass with
North and South mood swings
but no rose.
I am still in my bed
in a northern suburb of Baltimore,
not Lowell.
I am still living the growing pains of love.
She never gives up,
and she never gives in.
She just changes her mind.
She's always a woman to me.
I just wish that she were
my
woman, or rather that I belonged
to her,
as I think I once did.
This gypsy remains in my heart the way
a palm reading remains in the minds
of Catholic parents-
Strong,
Powerful,
Frightening,
Forever
She slides through my memories like the last sip of a great cup of coffee.
I offered up my best defense,
but Love is the end of the innocence.
I thought that I could rationalize my way out,
by making a Jane of my Juliet-
but Maya is always realized in the end.
Gary once told me:
Maya is created because
we refuse to accept the truth.
She doesn't make me flowers anymore,
but memories bloom in my mind
of swimming pools at work,
rainstorms at play,
showers at motels,
and tears at homes.
The phone rings again
the machine picks up again
I stutter again
I hang up again.
And I still ponder poetry in Austin,
like Providence in her arms.
All of this while I sit in a smoking section
the size of a pack of cigarettes
in a diner not old enough for circumcision.
I am cut off in my thoughts by the death of the music.
I sip the cup of life once more.
I am resisting the urge to call her-
but more importantly,
I am resisting the urge to check
the flight prices this time of year.
-----
We're again in 61,
Jukebox whispering U2
to a disinterested crowd.
We're chanting poetry,
praying for the end of
our poems about broken hearts
and broken coffee-cups
over broken bread.
We try to keep awake
to live another night
but we're running out of breath
trying to swim beneath
the ice that covers the streets.
But it is warm in the booth
where we sit as
you count my tips from today.
Taking thirty-five cents
and a stiff breath,
you leave me
for the pay phone
to call your dark-haired
once-was.
"You had to be a big-shot, 'din-cha'?"
But truth was behind your eyes
when you spoke
of your own growing pains.
A purple bearer of black ink
bruises your hand.
You are pushing too hard-
but that always was your way.
You grab the bill,
complaining about Frank paychecks
as you head for the counter.
You return with
four Jacks and a Ten.
You call my bluff,
but I rake in the
jukebox chips to spin into tips
and we prepare for another
walk up the corridor
and back home.
This time though,
like good Cowboys,
we have my Truck,
as we also have each other.
Tonight you bleed from
wounds I also feel,
and we fight the same battles.
We ride into the same
streetlight sunset tonight
and forever.
-----
It is a question of time.
It is a question of the heart.
It is a question of
whether you have the time
to share your heart with me.
It is a question of
whether your heart
wants to spend time with mine.
-----
She is thin
but full of amazing thoughts.
Thoughts that she is often afraid
to share in the company of others.
She sleeps with
the t.v. on or
the lights on or
she doesn't sleep at all
until the dawn
unless she has someone there
to keep her warm.
She is sleeping,
and her pillow is
my one arm,
while her blanket is
my other;
armour,
trying to keep her
from the things that would harm her.
She finds strength in swarms
of lyrics by strong women
in songs like,
"Write me back, Fucker"
and
"By the time you're Twenty-Five".
She says they make her feel alive.
She finds strength in the
power of poetry
and the promise of a kiss,
but I feel powerless
when I walk in the room.
I feel powerless
in my futile attempts
to be that light for her
even when I am not there
in her darkest hours
to show her I care;
that I am here to share
the pain with her.
There is
"Nothing I can do
That I have not done
No words I can say
No truth left that I can see
So must I let this end
So everything falls apart"
screams Victory not Vengeance
from my car stereo,
followed by Sweet Raymond
confirming what I already know:
"She falls apart
by herself"
And I am driving alone
as the lyrics of a million songs
swim in my hair
the way my fingertips once
swam in hers.
And I
Wish
there was
Some
Thing
I
could do.
But the walk down the dark tunnel
is one we all must make alone.
and these words are all but
present memories
of past events.
She walked down that tunnel,
away from this place,
toward the light of a night lamp
in a bedroom
in upstate New York.
She walked down her tunnel
away from this place
to a room
in Upstate New York.
Where she sleeps alone at night.
with the t.v. off.
-----
I've chewed through my lip
because I've run out of
fingernails and coffee
in anticipation of the
second coming
of your grace
to my kingdom
and questioning if you will give him
ten warnings before
your exodus
Will he let you go
if you give him
swarms of flies and frogs
the way you once gave me roses?
Will his wine run red
like my bleeding heart?
-----
You are a harder habit to quit than Heroin.
I should be in a Methadone clinic
for my addiction to you.
If there were meetings
I could go to,
I would pick up a
"Just for Today"
key tag every night
because I relapse on memories
twenty-four times a day
and more.
You are my Heroine
and my antagonist.
You are the plot and the script.
You are the writer and director.
I am but a pawn in the play,
I am Robert Downey, Jr.
I simply can't keep clean.
I need you the way
Elvis needed
peanut butter and banana sandwiches
the way
a car needs oil
but also the way
Kennedy needed a parade in Dallas.
-----
And in retrospect,
I'll say we've done no wrong.
-VNV Nation, "Further", Burning Empires
All transgressions are forgiven
all promises are postponed,
not broken.
In the time that has passed
between presence,
we find that fine lines within
letters, poems, and phones
sew together the gaps
in the fabric of space between bodies.
I stopped numbering the times
actions were simply the defaults
of inability to choose.
And still I am searching for words
to fill the silence in the midnight air,
pacing frantically
with souls on the carpet,
waiting for the phone to ring,
snorting lines of
Eliot, Ott, Ginsburg, Smith
to stave off the wrath of sleep,
wondering how many more times
I can hear my friends say in jest,
"You know that shit's killing you...
They've got meetings for that..."
before I start taking them seriously,
badgering witnesses of my insomnia
to reveal why I can't hold a job,
sitting at diners until dawn
because I have lost the will to sleep,
losing myself to the wonders of the modern era,
but at least I know the price of plane tickets now.
And I have finally reached the understanding
that the cost is more than monetary.
-----
01-01-2001-----3rd Edition-----1st
Printing
Printed at Printergy.Com and the Goucher College
Thormann International Center
-----
A Perfect 30 will soon be available on audio compact
As read by the author.
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All of the pieces contained within are the work of
David Donald Schein II and are
Copyright 2000, David Donald Schein II, All Rights
Reserved
A Perfect 30 as a whole is
Copyright 2000, figmentofimagination Productions,
All Rights Reserved
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