She caught me staring
not that she was beautiful or gorgeous
attractive, you know

While she didn’t let it get to her
that attraction was used to her advantage from time to time

You could see it through both her persona
Blonde hair all up in a bun
“Hi - I’m from the middle of nowhere
no one else is from there”
the uniform hiding the voluptuous shape
broad yet firm, hardened ***
this was a woman with spare time to walk.

Carrying herself in that cool, friendly, easy-going way
she likely loved what she did
more than a hobby - less than a career.

The following day - with her hair fully exposed
her face showed the no-nonsense style
“What do you want?
What’s up with you?”
the straightforward tone –
not a raised a voice
her face and hands-on-hips
          gave it away.

Those hips ready for the child-bearing years
to the light curvature in her long, strong back
while her *******, notably soft while youngish firm

To feel those hips beyond where anyone other than her husband
and two other college lovers had been,
would have been a life’s-measure

To suckle the sweet nectar of her firm, pointed ******* fully aroused
the kind of memory that memories are made of

Sauntering in and out of my life so quickly
me staring long enough to dream to distraction
- not long enough to become a nuisance, I shouldn’t think

So went my attraction

Hello all you beautiful people
that’s how I would start my dissertation
beautiful people with nothing to lose
and everything to gain

while ugly people,
plain people persons like me
have to work so hard, softened, while you,
intent on being beautiful,
are nothing
if not beautiful

My one thought gets lonely when I see you
what ought to be considered entire and whole
will one day also grow old
the beautiful are nothing if
not beautiful

For me thought comes naturally and I
consider myself fortunate as I must be
content at not being beautiful,
am forced to say something so profound
that a phrase line like
“I broke a nail”
is not as life threatening
or
“How about the price of gas”
won’t seem as wonderfully global
as it would from beautiful persons,
intent on being simply beautiful
when beautiful is simple
or vice-verse

Ugly person you see must work at being
charming, quick witted and swift
while you polish nails
I polish my lines for a play in which
the only star is the beautiful person
behind my ugly shell

A treatise on Bach, formal judgments of global peace
Orwellian theory into practice
both animalistic and I-Robotesque
work their way into ugly people conversation.

Not, “the price of gas”
but "why" the price of gas
or *how" the price of gas
and knowing the answers.

Plain persons have so much more going their way
for the effort expended learning something crucial
something literal, may one day eke a way into
beautiful persons conversation
beautiful people intent on being beautiful
are only beautiful and nothing
if not beautiful.

As for the cockeyed slim-jim like me
I’ve got a lot of learning to do
my hopes of ever being beautiful have long since passed
I thank the Gods and technology for the quest to question
and the simple beauty of not being beautiful

For if I knew nothing except how to be beautiful
I’d be lost for last words
and as for being beautiful
I’d be nothing if
only beautiful

Watching, waiting
almost patiently for you to return from whatever
may have been

Worrying, wondering
if, when I looked into your eyes
passion spark had been - really had been.

Here we are then
waiting for the immediate Cancerian moon
to offer us our mettle in life
proactive financing versus
unpredictable circumstance

Passive, powerful
glimmers of the sun dogs to take
us away from this “civilized” world
painful pleasures ensured upon arrival
of what may

Dark eyes darting past
naked souls
and my wondering how you manage
you asking me “how I’m doing”
perplexed, confused
wasted per-se

Still
Still the thoughts and memory of you
soaking till your hands withered
making my every word matter

Here we are then
so close to the inevitable Cancerian moon
to test what is ours
and hours and hours have past
since our last

Still
Still I look forward, anticipating
the next
as yet, another last

There are days that pass
for days when a man simply needs to lie on the floor
and pet his dog
prone, scratching, yawning, scratching
a dog’s day
connections between man and his best friend
found right there on the living room floor
feeding each other a steady diet of
biscuits and love

Evenings pass for nights out
once in a while when a man yearns to lie on the floor
and pass passing gasses
his own scratching, belching
with no one to hear
fuses of events flash between reality / fiction
last night there in a haze
finding himself between thoughts, words
loosely passing for poetics politics

Night after night after
night’s out lying here on the floor with you
our nakedness shining
stretching, caressing, massaging temples
for lovers self exposed
secretly, we’re finding more and more about
one another lying here, honestly - the best policy
the most difficult to accept for you it would seem
I confess my love and you cringe
I love you there, lying on the floor and you smile
“forever”, I claim
“never”, you answer afraid of my honesty

Sometimes a guy’s just gotta’ be honest
with himself, spend a few minutes lying there
on the floor
pet his dog, evade a memory
love someone
laying there, in all honesty.

Kiss me
and you’ll remember just how beautiful it can be
when our lips touched
it’s almost as though it were some oral obligation
that our lips should meet
our tongues, the tongues of dragons
should touch so delicately.

Hold me
and I’ll you recall just how wonderful it is
when our arms locked
I feel the power of ten hundred Herculean lovers
supporting the temple of passion
our fingers, the fingers of surgeons
should entwine so gently.

Teach me
and recount the magic we have found this weekend
when our lives exploded
your words are the knowledge of  one ‘chronologically advantaged'
and the years, years of study
your words, words of uncertainty
should engage my perception

Love me
and reveal to yourself the years of ******* oppression
when our hearts meet
we will know what it is to be as one
as two can become
while in the deep of the deepest of all raptures
our bodies, our bodies of sensitivity
should meet so gently.

Kiss me…
  Hold me…
    Teach me…
      Love me ….
         Kiss me….

I’m tired
thankfully, not sick-and-tired
but the world is working on that

Tired of being lied to by young and old alike
as though someone had something to hide from me
even after these months and years

Lied to that their qualifications are not as they seemed
lied to about responsibility and blame laying
versus cooperation and team work

Lied at about relationships that seemed to have no end
until they did
then lied to further still about new beginnings
with promise of future bright.

Lied to about hope, tenacity, hard work
honesty, closing time, last call, caloric content
receipt of goods and services

Lied to about death and taxes being the only two things certain
for I have found – and I’m getting tired of it all -
that being lied to is not only a certainty
in some cases it is a constant.

A quest to watch the 2018 match made in heaven
in the worst of all possible seats
the worst of all possible local locations

smells mix of stale *****, yesterdays cigarettes and ****
oozes through clothing
to no end

Not a seat in the house with idiots screaming over one another
cursing through what has never been considered sensibility
hurling insults meant to hurt, seriously, and they do
to no end

This is where you might have been
all those Saturday afternoons
left alone to fend for yourself with
enough 7Up to ruin Saturday supper.

Hours later, daddy lovingly stroking his ego
living vicariously through your tears
waiting for just the right moment to remind you that
he loves you
one of life’s many riddles

WonderWoman underwear bunched between Dora the Explorer socks
at your feet
curling into a corner after you’ve ruined mom’s home-made Saturday supper
with too much 7Up

The tears don’t come when you cry alone
to no end.





((To: JM in hopes she heals))