Ambition

Okay

If I decided people were okay,

Like a ballroom globe my world would fall

And shatter on the floor in colored splinters.

To readjust a total maladjustment

That is confirmed. I don't like Eric Berne.

I like his humor and his clever sayings,

Unique remarks I never heard before.

1-11-14

Irene

Irene, a blonde, the nicest girl in town

Was sensitive to other people's moods,

Gauged her conversation to conform

To other people's feelings, slipped and fell

And shattered both her ankles. Sunday next,

The preacher said, “There's really no connection

Between her gentle nature and her fall.”

No connection, shit! So where was god?

1-11-14

 

Cramps

Getting next to people gives me cramps.

I went to Jacqui Schiff, and all she did

Was misinterpret everything I did.

I was not thinking what she thought I was,

As I infer from what I heard them say.

I wanted her to love me and adopt me

And let me have her therapy for free.

I worked for every minute I was there.

That was in my mind. I saw a dawn

Of new and dewy feelings in the offing.

But everywhere I looked was irony.

She drove me mad and chased me out of town.

Or so I thought. Or was I only crazy?

Whichever, I will not go back again.

But the fear continues to today.

1-11-14

 

Football

Football players are athletes.

Real men love Jesus.

Football players knock each other

Down and break their kneecaps.

The crowd bursts into frenzy

As they're carried off the field.

The crowd is never injured.

It's a game.

1-11-14

 

Ambition

My goal in verse: to be as great as Keats,

With many pages in anthologies

As Junkets has – because he is the best.

Shakespeare who wrote dramas that were poems

Excels us all. But Keats was second best.

Fluffy sugar, cherries without stones.

I am getting old for this ambition,

My poems boxed and written, and my life

More a memory than what's to come.

I'm not engulfed and swallowed writing songs

As I always was. Instead I surface,

And sit upon the edge of them and write.

1-11-14

Bobbie

Bobbie wasn't gay. Oh no. Not him.

But messaged my temples in the car

While the man was filling it with gas.

Pseudo-homosexual, but kind,

Sensitive and wise and e.e.cummings.

He called a guy a victim and a pro

At it that he with glee humiliated.

Bobbie, a profound insightful guy,

Afraid that if I did become a writer,

I'd write of him. And like a cock he crowd

To learn I was a typist in Manhattan.

1-11-14