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“think on it, to be called child once more, how glorious this unknown!”^

<for Terry C.>

I dreamt on it, awoke refreshing my perspective,
as if the chance, the wish, was already granted,
rose from the bed, fully rested, a musical tutorial
of loving delighting lifting me up and once again I,
believed, no, more, re-conceived, reconciled, mind,
body, slated-clean, by my parents was I embraced,
forever protected, and the joy of simplicity of a future
unspent lay ahead, glorying in the beauteous unknown
she don’t read my poetry no more

not that I blame her, she’s in the majority,
moreover, she’s got ESP womanly seniority,
sensing what I ain’t saying, before I’ve even
had a chance to think it through ain’t it clear

these double negations,
for the rest of you,
reflecting my slip slidin' away,
a slowing indirection of virulent
side effects spiraling sideways

everyone’s shouting
the end is yay! nearing,
but the  endings risk is trebling,
meaning meanings be altering,
all the same, ain’t exactly unclear

she asks me where I’m going,
to the pharmacy replied, perversely,
feeling unlucky, a sure sign it’s high time
to buy a lottery ticket. given my inversity

****, she says, you went to university,
you know the odds are just plain stupidity,
not in my favor, my reply, meaning exactly,
ain’t it clear, everything and nothing to fear
~for V~

time for a quickie?

her ever inquiring, always so refined, mind, ascheming.

sure, we respondez, after all, like I’m America’s Got Talent,
scratching out a song and dance number poem shouldn’t
prove to be too difficult, ain’t even 11 o’clock, just near enough

how ‘bout some pigs perambulating, or, some humans juggling
other humans so rapido that the eyes are auto fast forwarding,
magic tricks that I swear I saw on another show, years ago,
but just to keep up with the high jinks and the...

then, I fell asleep.
awoke to find this poem pinned to my chest.

“not your best, but lest,  
you think, not good enough,
don’t get yourself all depressed,
I’m here to inform you,
there are a few cherries^
gone into hiding, under the bed
on my side.

bet you can make them magically disappear!”
an unrequited, unrequested poem title that nonetheless,
(a fav. word, so economical) it’s a burr, an *** splinter,
festering, pestering, and it’s just easier to write it, cause
triple antibacterial ointment never cured a finger gone poem-

had two beers for breakfast, not my usual,
don’t care if you’re a Baptist or a Hassidic Jew,
I’m an ecumenical sorta guy, be informed that,
one was a long necked Corona (light), the other
a Pabst Blue Ribbon, which means I’m a ******* anti-Trump

ain’t yet nine o’click, already had two fights with
my woman, is toastier a word? I took the negativity
position, but my heart wasn’t in it, cause I know me
words, was feeling muy ornery combative, a morning existential

the other was too infuriating, she asked for ten cherries,
after checking the calories per, which I knew and told her,
but she’s gotta check hit herself, so I brought a bowl uncounted,
annoyed, she anti-overage, threw the extras rudely on bed, she’s a

that I listen to music pretty much nonstop, even in my sleep,
and my fav. lyric of the late John Prine is from Montgomery & goes:
”But how the hell can a person, Go on to work in the mornin'
To come home in the evenin', And have nothing to say”


The German^^ dishwasher maschine summoned me near round
2 AM, TO INFORM ME  (vich is how de Choiman appliances speak)
without apology, that it was done with its multiplicity of cycles,
needy for emptying bowels forthwith, because that’s the way it is,
and wasn’t I gonna get up anyway, there are poets in Manila and Mumbai, waiting to speak their minds, re burning issues of life and pentameter, ah, them wisdom and wonderful people, all answer

cause I’m an economist by habit, drink cups of coffee in trinity clips,
cause it’s efficiently economical, one less trip to the kitchen, and
anyone  who doesn’t drink at least three simultaneously, cannot be
redeemed by the verifiable angels in charge of saving coffee-colored

my tempo is ironic, write poems too long for you attention deficit
disaffected teenagers, but haven’t read a book in years, cause
reading a poem is all I can manage nowadays, cause I’m a ****
attention deficit diseased old man, justifiable, when you got few days

yes, I could go on, and on and on, but I hear your skin crawling and
sighs and moaning, enough already, while I don’t really care cause
every word I ever writ is a South Sea Pearl of something excellent,
truth is God has his ******* foot on my neck, whining way too loudly, “Jeez, enough” echoing your guttural cultural groaning, youse

so I’m quitting here and letting y’all know, that I authored
the lyrics to American Pie, the longest song ever to be No.1,
the Don stole them, but as you can plainly see, it’s my style,^ when
we were drinking whisky and rye and told him it was copyrighted,
he laughed & said, I’m gonna copy them right down, ain’t that the kind of truthful ******* that drunk writers say because they think they are

that’s about it for now, gotta do the breakfast dishes, so
Auf Wiedersehen, meine guten Männer und Frauen!

(yeah, yeah, learning German from Herr Bosch, the dish washer-man)
down by the levee? nah, Levy!

Tue, 26 May 2020 = 3rd of Sivan, 5780

Late afternoon, tween twilight but before the dusk
in time for afternoon prayers, ******* followed by
the evening service, The Name reached out unto me
to touch my face, wake me from a lifelong slowing slumber.

My man! My good man, I’ve been numbering those days,
you will have no disagreement that you’re quite the closer,
close by, the chapter finale of our story, your living, a well
thumbed novella, enjoyed by many, and a favorite o’mine.

Do not restless rustle, no busing bustle, the Set Table^ cleared,
tabulations done, the sums and dividend distributed, in sync,
your words well distributed, remainders to be dearly shared, saved,
showings of great love, valleys of feeling, these your humble attire.

Look how easy the (our) words come, the fluids of a man for which
we have been long patient be awaiting, the company all in readiness,
for confession and days of permanent new creation, fast beginnings,
think on it, to be called child once more, how glorious this unknown!

Dimensions recorded, measurements tailor-taken, silk tuxedo deep bleu,
luxe, a hint of violet, here-presented, patent, the leather for blue suede
winged dancing shoes no airport dare ask you remove, before they beg you, say, save grace, just once, pronounce The Name, the one of Seventy!

To walk, talk, rhyme and theorize, to forget and memorize, refreshing,
knowing nothing lasts, except things that last forever, last never,
yet decisions need completion, choices, ordering songs you’ve loved best, replete all sorrowed pains, uplifting prayers, hallelujah hymns, last rites..

You, a world to us, a microcosm of a triathlon life, juggling the many, last of a lineage who could pray, making rain, reading poetry to angels, giving comforting absolution for making storms, plagues, tidal waves, volcanoes, concentration camps, death marches, stillborn children, incurable sadness.

Quick when the curtain calls, listen close for the cue, toe the mark,
take position, hands upward joined, eyes down, ahead are fearless words,
a soliloquy lasting hundreds of years, balances aligned, only now you  needed, to make mercy allocations, closing periods in places properly positioned.

then to commence the writing of only love poetry forevermore.

Sabbath May 23
woke from a half-nap, while listening to music heard a certain song, then wrote in a single sitting of thirty minutes

^ Shulchan Aruch
~for r, just because~

put her in my mouth and she became my

put myself inside her and she became my
insides out.

spill good words on her belly, licked & laced us together, then came my 

on elbow, she claimed coauthor-ship, demanded her name above        

I smiled, answering most matter-of-factly,
surely they’re your creations, you-a-ruler, procreator, foremost, first,

the ABCedarian

the muse goddess of alphabets, all that is poetic divine mistress to

I’m mortal,
your transcriber, copyist, alphabetically seconded, merest mere,

the ABEcedarian

I’m rudimentary without you, lost midst the masses o’poets nameless.

She snorted, said
“sounds like poetic ******* to me”
but returned to her sleepy heaven,
mumbling most contentedly.
a person who is learning the letters of the alphabet.
a rudimentary beginner in any field of learning.
  May 20 Nat Lipstadt
she said:
you are a man knowing cruel, knowing hard,
with strangest soft skin, a funny way of talking,
lick my face with your words so I’ll learn,
to be tough and tender too, this I want, wanted

he replied:
life gave me splinters, broken from rough edges,
left under my exterior to fester, blister, and scar,
life licked my face, taught me mean, and the words
that came with that, were sand papered on my skin

she answered:
I’m not blind, I can feel, smell your contradictories,
want your antibodies in my blood, survival skills,
to be what I am not, and keep too, what I’ve got, to
be infected and protected, knowing words defensive

he listened:
what you desire, is the health that comes after,
after what you don’t understand, until you’ve
loved, lost, been beaten down so that getting up is
miraculous, this unteachable, this licking by words

she insisted:
your arrhythmic rhymes, skinflint perspectives,
this is what I ask, what I need, what you can give,
what is in your possess, what you need to unburden,
making me better for making you lessened

he wept:
and said nothing.

for nothing taught appreciating silence and that,
was the beginning,
of what she wanted,
of what he did not,
of what he gives reluctantly

Wed May 20
Isle of Mind
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