i've got me a ***** black cadillac,
stretched out—front windows rolled right down—on the curb.
with a French girl waiting inside, legs long as sin, sitting against the wide dark window
legs extended 'cross the backseat.
hiding her eyes behind big round sunglasses, smoking oily moroccan cigarettes
—writing about the way i talk.

there's a whole lotta crisp, cold money in the trunk,
waitin' to be spent on the furs she wants;
old books for me.                                                 and why not??
old books on art,
and i can't even paint!
just sit around not talking—read about Brughel or som'thin,
wishing my over-large, complacent hands knew to render the face
a fifth so well.
a fifth of whisky's 's close 's i get,
i get drunk and further away,
out now in that devil of a car, parked presently out
by the shed where i go most nights to sit in musty chairs 'n scratch ink lazily
on pages nobody ever reads..
            —but it feels ******
                       g  o  o  d  .

my frenchwoman would like to know what i think of old Proust...

REPLY: he took too ****** long! // (a sigh can be a story)
—one could write a novel in the time it takes to
toss your load on a pair of trembling *******, held up in offering—oh i can't help but be uncouth!!
—i mean just the other day fr christ's sake i moved a friend in Waterloo
to her new apartment and when carrying up the stairs two bags of clothes and a toaster
saw wonderful little second year heading up as well so i
let her go first (at first glance you may think me chivalrous) and while climbing up behind her
composed in my head the following pome, which i dashed off later on a post-it
and dedicated to her exquisite ***:

“all legs blonde climbin' the stairs, lamp in hand, yoga pants
hot & clinging like wee-ooo / hot enough in this cramped old stairwell as is,
carrying all these bags & boxes & couches up for a friend.
—hey when you're all moved in / you could come sit that thing on my lap.
share a cigarette while i carve slices of apple & offer them to you,
impaled on the end of the knife.”

The oyster. Her oyster,
I've been dying to see the pearl,
the moment I and she,
went to swim together,
our eyes, with intense emotions, half closed.
I'll softly touch her with my long, trembling fingers,
swiftly, when I touch,
it would open like a jewel box,
I'll peer inside at all the treasures,
exotic it would be, never forget,
through obsessive nights,
I thought and kept awake, bleary eyed,
I wanted to tell her this,
but then, froze on my tracks.

The oyster, it glows in mind,
she, too pulsates with excitement,
we'll be together, in this submarine adventure.

In that night, our hearts didn't even wink,
sauntering through the still moon lit terrace,
when, one by one stars  
fell in place and adorned the sky's coiffure,
the waves of the sea,  softened
moved in languid salaciousness,
then, at that precise moment,
we came face to face.

The rough grains of sand, under our undulating bodies,
sighed sweet, sang a ***** night gull's song,
searing feel of salty wind  mingled with blood
oozing from love bruise, bites that hurt,
enhanced the pleasure of frothing blood ,
thirsty mating tongues, twirled and twisted.

*Oyster, her oyster, I remember every moment,
tapering in to gentle whispers,
dissolve and be the light, playing with the humming waves.

so Old Farmer Joe is missing for breakfast
and his wife Mary goes out
to look for her hubby of fifty years
and finds him standing there
in the middle of the field

What are you doing here, darl
asks Mary
standing here in the field?

And dreamy Old Joe says:
I hear they award
a Nobel Prize to those
out standing in their field
I’m going to win, sweetie


Come, let’s go home, darl
says Old Mary
and she guides him,
as he leans on her shoulder,
and he grumbles:
*I knew you’d spoil everything

If experience has taught me anything (an unlikely assumption)
it is that if a woman ever tells you
-straight up-
that she’s a *****
she is not lying.
this advice is not at all useful.
at least; it hasn’t been for me
since every single time it happens
I insist that she’s just got low self esteem
or she’s  joking
or she’s just had one of those days.
But a few months to a year later,
I find myself on the blindside of the road
bags barely packed
rushed out with the trash
in shock and agreement.
But see,
at least for me,
It’s hard to believe someone
when you’re in love -
which is not unlike losing your glasses
and sort of seeing blurs of people
not nearly as clear as you would with sober eyes.
I don’t expect anyone to heed my warning
I believe it even less than you do
to be honest.
I’m just a little drunk
and in a funk
and thinking way too much,
as I’m prone to do from time to time
in bars like this.
So, don’t pay me any mind
or do
I don’t care, really
how’d we get on this topic, anyway?

Ah, all of you young and all my children
and all of you lovely ones
You throw us this lovely 50th anniversary party
and you honor me and my beloved wife
And all this food, and all these drinks
and celebration and dance and music…
It moves my heart…and you ask me to tell you
what 50 years of marriage have taught me,
what such a long marriage teaches,
and well, this is what I have learned:
*Well, a long marriage as such teaches you
all the qualities that make one human
and such qualities
I have learned
as loyalty and love and generosity and empathy
and understanding and give-and-take attitude
and the necessity of speech and the necessity to remain silent –
all qualities, and understanding,
dearest friends and my most loved ones,
qualities I need never have acquired O if only I had remained single

breath: there is nothing like you
a flower, the river next to it, a
strain of summer and



                                                      breath
­












                                                    ­                                     there
































       is






























































­
                                                                ­                                                                 ­      nothing

Let's taste the ocean water together 
just you and I
we will dive into the deep blue sea 
holding hands til our heads are just floating on top 
riding with the waves 
and let's dive in even further after that 
until we're kissing the ocean bottom 
gulping in copious amounts of sea salt and shrimp brine 
lets just dive in 
dive in 
dive in 
and sink with the mollusks and octopi 
give up on living this sham we call a life 
cloistered in our clam shells we don't have a room with a view 
always protecting our pearls from those that are out to poach us for our inner treasures 
remember all the gold memories we've collected in our troves 
like we were hoarding them away for some rainy day 
well it doesnt get any rainier than drowning in these murky depths 
we're like treasure chests sinking to the bottom fast 
lost from some forgotten shipwreck 
we're collecting on the ocean floor waiting to be discovered 
over centuries we'll rust and be covered in barnacles before we're found 
Crumbling in the hands of those that try to rescue us 
lets just give up 
give up 
give up 
but we can't give up 
Not yet anyway
Not while we're treading these waves
with sharks lapping hungrily at our feet 
With rows of ravenous razor sharp teeth
savoring the slow taste of our defeat
as we inch closer 
And closer
With our heads fighting to stay above water
til we can no longer tread with these useless arms and legs
we take that last gasp of treasured breath into our lungs 
and feel the water pressure collapse around our tired bodies
feeling the ache of our worn out limbs 
we sink and we sink 
We sink
We sink to the bottom of where we started 
filling our deflated hearts with all the failed dreams and squandered hopes of all the shipwrecked treasures that came before us 
And all those that join us sooner or later on these murky endless bottoms
We've been here before
And we're all destined to be here again
And again
And again 
So let's just keep treading these waves for as long as we can
Maybe we'll luck out and find an island in all this oceanic bliss
We'll crawl on shore 
Grasping for dry sand and a warm place to hole up in
Before we find ourselves back out
Lost in the sea
Treading water
With sharks licking hungrily at our feet 
With rows of ravenous razor sharp teeth
Savoring the slow taste of our defeat

1
And it’s fifty years
since Farmer Joe and Mary married
but Joe forgets;
Joe is always in La La land

Darl, do you know what day it'll  be
come Saturday?
says Mary, who’s still got all her teeth

No, says Joe
who's still got strong hands and feet
No, no, no…I don’t know – wait,
what was your question?


2
It’s our fiftieth, darl
says Mary
Let’s have a feast, invite the kids
and the neighbors
– and let’s **** a pig


O, says Farmer Joe
*I don’t know why
the pig’s got to take the blame
for something we did fifty years ago