Dear Ms. Di Prima,
I really,
Really,
Think that Alchemy—Alchemy--Al-Chem-EEEEE
Is a
Nifty
Topic.
But,
My mother has a ring
Of gold.
Standard Gold,
No lead. None.
Or had,
Until our house was
B-R-O / K-E / N
Into
By some lowlife scumbag with
Too much ability
And
Not enough intelligence.
With Alchemy
I could make a shitload
Of Gold (wasn't that the point?),
Provided I had the
Lead,
And not that
IMPOSTER
Crap in pencils (Graphite. My childhood was a shambles.).
But it's only valuable
Because
We're willing to pay so much.
Like with Diamonds.
Or Japanese Akita.
Or Wagyū.
It's not a lie.
Just a trick.
Making you think you want things that you don't need because it helps someone else who you've never met make more money than they'd ever be able to use in a legitimate way
                                   (HOOKERS AND BLOW).
All of these things are synthetic.
With the exceptions of
Gold
And
Graphite.
So,
       Maybe,
                      Alchemy did work out alright,
Just not in the anticipated way.
We can make all sorts of things.
But they become coveted only when they exist.
Just ask Swipey McStickyfingers.
It actually wasn't gold.
You just got a bunch of painted junk,
And passports.
No rubies.
We weren't international crooks,
Renowned and beloved
By jealous zealots.
It was purely sentimental.
But you can't understand.
You can't fondly look at the earrings as the last reminder of a deceased parent.
You can't flip through the identification booklet and be flooded with memories of your first trip out of the country.
You ******. You can't even cash the savings bonds that were bought to put someone through college.
No. He got a box of documents and some cheap jewelery.
But still. Probably called for celebration. A successful heist
Because his brain is still in his head.
                                                           ­     We create people as well as objects.
                                                   ­                                       Ms. Di Prima,
In the end,
      Some people will always be
     Clasping *******.

What reason do I have
To watch the wind blow? Back
And forth sway the trees, save
The majestic pine. Gave

Me nothing but some flak
For sitting and watching
The people who attack
Each other, claim I lack

Motivation. I sing
My own tune, hum my beats
To keep aware. The ring
About my finger stings.

I see where the wind meets
With the trees, marking feats
Such as sways. Minds retreat.
Suddenly, all is neat.

I searched for days, so many days, to find
A flower nearing bloom that smelled as strong
As all the love I house for you. So wrong
Was I to try and find with my own mind
Such a sight... Lo! A man was there, behind
The signs. He sold me it, humming a song;
The seller shouted as I left the throng,
"Its bloom is nearing soon, but give it time!"

And the flower's bloom releases a scent
So foul--It is the skunk that ceased to be
Because of some unfortunate event.
And so much time for fragrances was spent,
This morbid stench only harasses me:
The Titan Arum has from Hell been sent.

wearied is my mind from these sleepless nights,
nights spent up an wondering without cause,
nights spent suffering through all of my flaws,
nights spent avoiding so many close fights,
fights only strengthening these weary nights
that go without sleep. i look up all laws
that might yet protect me from my dear thoughts
of quieting myself within my rights.
still, yet, i always pause to wonder what
you have been thinking about all this strife
and whether or not i'll see those bright eyes
in the morning when i wake, or shut
a door too hard in the night. oh, so rife
are these relentless dreams i have with lies.

You smile as we pass,
But I wonder:
Do you actually remember me?
Or are you just smiling
To be polite?
You always looked so sad,
Like the child whose pet grasshopper
Died.
I sit
And I wonder
If you still know my name,
Or if you recognize my face.
I wonder if I am in your mind
In the same way that you are in mine.

Gatsby saw a green light across the sea;
I see a red one in-between the trees,
And hear your frightened callings and pleas,
Your vocal desires to again see
The missing love you desperately need,
The love that gently hides within the reeds
Watching and waiting, so fiercely it feeds
Like the stalker hiding up in the tree.
But I am not the twisted, sick ******,
And I did not ask you for "your prices," --
In my defense, everything was hazy.
I was at home and should have remained there
And listened to my father's advices
When he warned me not to fall for crazy.

My hands forming a circle, I ensnare
The Stars, so long as I, with the Earth, do
Spin, keeping my eyes upon mine prize, new
Distractions kept from within. Such is fair
That, in my attempts of something so rare
To behold, I must suffer, to reduce
What I consume, my most glorious use,
Of the meals I so long to prepare.
But in vain it all makes itself to be,
For when the Moon recedes, the Sun is seen,
And the Stars are no more for me to see!
Only at night is my World complete.
The Stars, they mock, so vile, to demean,
And I am bound under their spell for Thee.