I have no purpose any more.
I’m a painter who’s gone blind
And a singer who’s gone deaf.
There is no call for what I sell.

I still daub colors on a board
To smell the Linseed Oil again
I hear the music in my head
And mouth the words in silence.

There is no surgery or cure,
What’s gone is lost forever.
And I must find a way to live
In silent darkness, if I can.
              ljm

With their store-bought *****
And Botoxed faces
With Gucci bags and corset laces
They smiled on us like we were Rubes

Who didn’t know the stuff they learned
From whispers at the Polo Bar,
And how some gal became a star
Rewarded for the tricks she turned.

To them class is designer’s names
On things worth less than half their price
They always seek the biggest slice
Of that big pizza known as fame.

They’re always at the big events
When there are cameras around.
If there are headlines to be found.
Their statements seldom make much sense.

I wouldn’t want to be like them
Living such a plastic life
Longing for the surgeons knife
To give them beauty on a whim

I’ll go on my Rube-like way
Without the glitter and the glam
I’ll just stay the way I am
And live a happy, useful day.
ljm

But does a lover ignore his beloved?
Do I think you get used to it?
Like a flute playing in the distance.
Do I think you blind or deaf
to my silence
to the bustling dreary me?
Do I think you are immune
to my flight?
Do I hope you are dough waiting to be kneaded
assume you are accustomed to being unneeded
or do I wear
a dark cloak glad you don’t see me there?

How often do I blithely
utter, I love you
while wrapped secure
in the loaf of self?