THE LONG HELLO

I left my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling plaster.

Who am I?
Wish I knew!

Maybe I'm a salesman
traveling in lady's underwear.

Naw...that don't seem right!

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed

before me
constructing in my mind's eye

a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set

nothing behind it
but...

fakily real.

She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve

bit frayed
'round the edges.

and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin

was all femme
fatale.

She spoke
in Film Noir.

I knew
the lingo.

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly

as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.

I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.

I'm a stickler for detail.

This broad
was slim

but with curves
in all the right places

; ; ; if ya get my drift.

Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.

'Good...good! '
she cooed.

'I see your ******* is at least
listening! '

I involuntary
covered my crotch

with both hands
as if I was naked.

I wish she was.

Her curves flowed
like very runny honey

over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip

of a tongue.

She was strictly
yum as in YUM!

Then she went
all Cubist on me

as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.

I felt like a 2-D
drawing

as she approached me
in 3-D.

My conscience found
its voice

(down behind
the back of the couch)

It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.

'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice

'I believe I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.

'I guess we both know the score.'

She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet

like a green silk
puddle.

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's

Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink

...done it! '

'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finshed! '

She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.

I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.

She poured her body
all around me

like jelly
in a mold.

'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '

Her kiss was like
the last page

of a **** good Who
...dun it!

finally falling
falling

falling
into place.

I kissed her
lovely face.

MR. E. A. POE AND I IN THE
OXFAM BOOKSHOP GUILDFORD.

( to the glorious Mr. S. )

One has only to
enter the shop and

the books start
talking to one

in the voice
of their author.

"Death looks
gigantically down..."

Ahhh Mr. E.A. Poe
is it your self so it is.

Jeremiah something something
or other

whispers to me
in its Biblical way:

"Because of the ground
which is dismayed..."

All the books eager
for the good home

of a mind
like mine

jumping up and down
like puppies in a pet shop

how can I
leave one behind.

"For the poor benefit of
a bewildering minute?"

Even as I depart
with all the treasures I have found

tucked under my arm
a voice calls to me:

"Com to a mountayne  and
found therein

nobody . .."
but I

am back on  the street with
"My City in the Sea."

Thomas Heywood's words still
ringing in my ears:

"O God! O God! that it were possible
To undo things undone: to call back

yesterday. . ."

THE WHO OF WHAT WE ARE

The fog strips us
right down to our

voices
only

leaves out the shape or
the skin we're in &

even what ***
we are

we lose society's references
how it elects to see us

stumble around in
this cotton wool

& somehow now
we re-emerge

our selves
tentatively again

you most definitely  woman
I made man again

white skin
embracing
black skin

nothing now
but

love

!YOU AGAIN!

Your summer dress
comes to rest

upon the balcony

hung up on a thin
wire hanger

(an exotic bird)        

it cries for your body
weeps at being

parted from you
& your curves

a pool of tears
collects at its hem

as longingly it dreams of
the touch of your skin

asleep now
in the sun.

Later that evening
frightened by the approaching storm

it tries to escape
the clamour of its hanger

almost flies off
beyond the reach of my hands

run away to sea
seeking for further horizons.

I calm it
tame its panic

fold it tenderly

carry it like a dreaming
child

lay it to rest
at the foot of the bed

where all night long it sleeps
at your feet

awaiting your footstep

the sunshine
of being

you
again.

THE...DREAM UNTIES...THE WRITING AND/THE/WORDS//JUST FALL /IN/A/SENSELESS/HEAP/AT/MY/FEET. . .

In my dream
I am

everything

not only the ball of thread
unraveling

but Ariadne’s trembling hand

and a frightened Theseus
as the echo of his footsteps

are erased by the silence

that rebounds

from these spiraling walls

until finally
reaching the center

of all this horror

I find that I am
the Minotaur

roaring with fear
and pain and anger and shame

and then I

wake up

words useless words
scattered about my feet

stupid
stupid

as tears.

!HEART GALLERY!

You step forth
from your bath

as if you were
a Bonard

come alive

spread yourself
across crisp cool sheets

as sensationally
sensuous

as a Modigliani
****

or a Noguchi
sculpture.

Here, you
Matisse

if only
for a brief

moment now so
Ernst!

Now so
playfully Picasso...ish!

I smile
as you Vermeer!

"Come here
& kiss me!"

You my Magritte!

You my Dali!

You my laughing walking talking
'art gallery!

HERE'S A HOW-DE-DO!

"Oh!" cries Yum Yum
pinched upon the ***

by that nasty Poo-Bah
who makes her skin crawl.

She madly in love
with Peep-Bo

who having seen this
assault on her lover's posterior

knees Poo-Bah
in the *****...tra la!

The backstage Mikado antics
more interesting than the real thing.

"Keep yer filthy 'ands off my Yum-Yum!"
growls an incensed Peep-Po.

Poo-Bah can only
manage a strangulated howl.

"Ok you guys...one minute to go and
you're on!"