Chapter 13

Dave

I was breathing water.

You didn't throw a raft.

I was near hysteria.

You sat there and laughed.

That is what a counselor

Thinks about the daft.

Gone once is gone forever.

Shut the window. There's a draft.

9-12-12

 

The Gift

For 16 years I thought, I hoped,

At least perhaps it seemed

Frequently he liked me.

So much for what I dreamed.

The one of all I knew with whom

I wanted to succeed.

Shattering the wall of ice,

I slipped on shards once freed.

Now I know what others felt

Through years, but one I knew

When we were both but children,

And laughed to be but two.

His nature gave him every year

Someone to prefer,

And his smile and memory

He gave away to her.

The sun is very hot today.

The sky is very black.

I gave away my love.

I never got it back.

4-4-14

Conversations

I am tired of Denny's.

This headache's getting worse.

I am tired of everything,

Even writing verse.

I hear the Christians chatter

Using up the air in breath,

Planning Wednesday's meeting.

They never mention death.

While the youth with rap and guns

And golf tees through their ears

Talk of almost nothing else,

Their living in arrears.

4-4-14

 

No Problem

They told me I am wicked.

I don't know what they thought.

Perhaps by tempting women

For whom I am not hot.

And believe me I am utterly

And absolutely not.

There's something in my nature

(I only just suppose)

That attracts the pushy nympho

And keeps her in her clothes.
Women who control

And dominate their beaus.

4-5-14

Tomes

Another book of Byron.

Then I shall have three.

The narratives are boring.

The lyrics sing to me.

Perfect, sweet and artificial,

Each a lovely little gem

Of warm Romantic honesty,

Glut me now with them.

But Byron wrote so little

When every hefty tome

Only stokes my interest.

Which brings the matter home.

I've written many books -

93 I think -

And constantly I'm writing.

Will this cargo sink?

Aiken wrote a lot

I will not battle through.

If my verse is good,

Not enough will do.

4-5-14

 

Chapter 13

Debt free. I screwed them all.

Swimming on the air.

Underneath the surface

That I am wrong is there.

To live is too expensive,

I can no longer care.

I was on the bottom,

In my fist a penny.

I was seeing problems

Where there wasn't any.

I'm doing it. I'm doing it.

Selfish, wrong and rash.

And after it is over,

I'll have to live on cash.

I cannot buy a car.

And when our own stops running,

What will we do then?

Just contemplate my cunning.

I may be immortal

Vicarious through fame,

But egregious infidelity

Will cost me my good name.

And if I lose the case -

Suppose that's what befalls -

I'll still ignore the creditors -

And their angry calls.

4-5-14

Needs

I say “need” as easily

As any other man.

Alien discomfort,

I love him as I can.

America!

The land of wealth and fun!

Yanks get off on family,

Lust to own a gun,

Cum all over god and church,

Their lifetime in the sun.

I am not a bigot.

But I haven't met

Except in Alameda

A decent black as yet.

I'm sure they're out there breathing,

Sensible and kind.
This modern situation

Has me in a double-bind.

The other dose of prejudice

That stirs the country's ire

Is the homosexual.

Jesus stokes the fire.

The ones that I have loved

(So long ago it aches)

Were simply gentle people,

Giving what it takes.

All the rest with venom

In bars and baths were snakes,

Haughty, thin and vicious

To darkling baffled flakes.

4-5-14

 

Victoria

Bad men write good novels,

But Victoria does not.

With a streak of pettiness

She sketches out a plot.

Although she confuses

Infamy with fame,

She pimps her bossy ass off

To do something with her name.

She claims with casual conceit

To “scribble poetry”.

She got rid of Jill,

And Jill got rid of me.

Her books are trash. Her poetry

I will have to say

Is really almost just as good

As what they write today.

4-5-14