some factoids re me:

I live in LA (Cali).
I like to jog, to stay fit,
bonus is that got great
killer long legs, another
smoke smothering reason
to run my **** off

now the big secret!

am only human,
au courant, single, in bested~
busted, heart recovery mode,
looking for a rebound takeaway,
and “really cautious”
ain’t a word in my vocab
(just a little version)
borm elemental stuff

don’t! mock, critique,
hell, don’t even speak,
a romantic idiot believes
that love is impossibly
hard to uncover, ergo,
grab it like when you
smell it close by,
yum, like warm oven
fresh brioche bread

Anyway,
(set the scene, my momma sez)

love to endorphin~run by
water, Palisades Park, my haunt,
run along Ocean Avenue,
breathtaking panoramic
views of Santa Monica Bay
from atop the sandstone bluffs

believe it, my eyes drift upward,
checking out the scenery,
checking out the scene,
writing/ singing/ watch
feedbacking my reality,
check, check, and checking
as well, the competition ,
the lionesses, and the lions

eyes up, toe down,
slight irregular
sidewalk jutting,
me tumbling,
scratches,multicolored
bruises in many places
surely to follow in the
shortly thereafter, but my
ankle is screaming at me,
clearly more upsetting
than
a typical normative,
upsetting upset regretting

eyes closed, combo
of brilliant sun,  +
pain waves rendering
me semi-blinded,
hearing functioning,
voice saying, let me
please, let us
take a quick 👀

he had me at the
us,^
now acting cool,
overlooking him over,
easy, but required me to
overlook as well
my twisted agoniste

(ageoniste: A muscle that is controlled by the action of an antagonist with which it is
paired (paired!!!*)

still groan whimpering,
tres tres embarrassing
and hopefully endearing,
hearing this: “Hi! it’s Michael,
need an ambulance at this location,
probably just a twisted ankle,
assorted contusions, possible
concussion, needs a full set
of x-rays..

Ok. Who has an ambulance service
on speed dial

on and  on the story
gies, flows, cries and
finally cracks:

this dark tan slim man
is an ER doc, who
picks
packs
pecks
me up,
but wont
tell me his last name
or why he only smiles
so sadly

somewhere on the way
he says:

cant stay with you
but you’ll be all fixed up
and soon be better,
and when your running
always be looking ahead
five, maybe ten feet

I
do the most
unpredictable
unlikely
ridiculous
thing I’ve
ever done:
weeping don’t leave me,
repeatedly repeatedly,
and he renders tender
with its
just a fender ******
and you will most excellently
recover

somewhere
on the ride
I believe
he quiet cautiously whispers
you’re beautiful and lovely
but I dare not
no longer allows himself
to get involved with patients,
it always end badly

a year later,
wrote my next poem

the *** needs stirring,
the stitches have been
removed, or melted,
and the scars fainter,
daily…but, my words
have been clogged,
swallowing difficult,

and heartbreak is
non-curable and
the sad songs
combine the exercise
of crying and dying,
you can feel it piecemeal,
chips of you breakaway,
and you are just lessened…

all the variations of less,
redound cross my lips, but
there is no one here, no one
in my life…and yes he’s gone,
the one who lived faraway
but was intrepid in his love,
and solid in his affection,

but ardor cooled, distance
intervened, but I still have
that short skirt he adored
and close eyed images in
my cerebral cortex, and how

I wish someone would write
a poem
exclusively for me, selfishly,
and my mom calls less frequently,
she,
doesn’t know new words
to instigate healing, to break
me open and let positivity
return…butI having learned
much,

and my selective mode
is different, crap it’s true,
been made over into a sad sack,
incurable romantic…and that
part tarnished is the only part
of me that is growing by leaps
and winks and sighs and…

makes
the sadbad move aside…perhaps,
you’ll write me a poem, soothing,
gel cooling, and… no mas…

everybody
is the sum of their parts

and some of us dream and dabble
our various parts

nip and tuck,
Botox and Ozempic

refresh, redress,
the obvious errors made


by a God-in-a-hurry,
***** got 8 billion  of us

that need care ‘n feeding,
loving and breathing

I know, I know,
this is a simplistic

my poetic tomfoolery,
What? My fav part?

the one on my head,
that separates east & west

an old familiar friend,
not very chic, but comforting

keeps me grounded,
for when I look at me

in my kindergarten
class pictures with

no front teeth, but my best
part,
still extant!

I am true to myself,
which is the most
important
part of truth

I’m a sucka for long eyelashes,
wishful sighs punctuating long
skyward gazes, endlessly searching
for answers to questions as of yet,
unasked,
thus is my manly melancholy primary
tasked,
or rather,
my hurry up need fix for tender loving
by a man who writes me poems that are  this fem’s,
as in feminine, as in all mine, even down
to the unwrit, declarative dedication that, is powerful
whispered, avec a-graze~touch
upon my cheek,
“I wrote this for you,”

oh gawd, I even love him despite
his horrible pink sneakers…
ugly to almost ning cute…

BC