"indeed,"

or,

what she says when she doesn't want to say what she's thinking,
denying me her angered feelings.  

by all your judgmental metrics
the title alone
is a poem,
done

indeed.  

the original
"whatever"

so many stanzas on this,
ramp up my manly ragings -
all begging to say
"I have been released"

but I daren't unleash the hormonal
masculinity
feelings

so, borrow her word
that says nothing while saying anything,
e v e r y t h i n g
you don't want to hear.  

indeed.

wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart

with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,

oh god not again,
have no mo' time
for jes one mo' time

love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress

better not to have loved,
better, better, better,
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation

painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix

see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man

~~~

early Saturday morn marked,
looks as if it will be a as-scheduled,
chill fall brisk one, a November blend,
sun wants in, but clouds say,
uh-uh, no way Jose,
yet the yellow star insists, persists

the bed so coy, suggests a ploy

stay with me, stay with her,
ready steady in this hearts hearth,
let this Saturday be an Ogdiddynasherday

*the blonde deep sleeps,
covers up to the nose,
she doesn't know
and never will

that the edges of my eyes filled with tears,
watery from amniotic fluid,
a byproducts of this days first time ever
birthday

a moment morning marked, colored by
early morn re-readings of prior poems,
of darling love mended with tender,
writ expressly for her,
over the years of being
together~tethered

soon that other pair (of eyes) will open,
in a new way,
anew the day,
a whole new world,
a seventh day resting,
unaware of my steadfast guardian,
over-watching protection

will inform her of the Saturday menu,
stay in bed with her obedient server-man,
performing continual catch up
on who we are and why we be a we,
with out ever thinking
that's a good idea,
just like this poem came unplanned,
just an unscheduled day in bed,
woman and man,
with a new poem snuggling
in between

~~~
She's Dead (Don't Think Twice, It's All Right)

A poem, forty years in the making,
Part II of a trilogy

~~~

she's dead

my nemesis,
a truly personalized comic book
arch-villain,
all mine to own and bear,
a cost that I comically
and freely chose,
purchased with only,
just the,
larger part of my life

because of a blood letting,
me letting
a lax laziness of fear,
a kind of blood poison,
an emotional self-imposed over-ruling,
"just cry and bear it,
for the sake of
appearance, children,
whatever,"
that was the insane,
disorganized principle,
who made itself
the king of me

an ugly sweater gift to myself
and
ashamedly,
wore its invisible effects
so quiet like,
this self-imposition,
of long standing,
a faithful traveling companion,
quietly unravelling, deconstructing,
this bearer-wearer

I married the wrong woman,

now she's dead

killed by the ovarian cancer
that I nursed her through in the early years
of its misshaped, too late discovery,
with bedside manners impeccable,
even secret whispers,
for who would believe me,
even begging God to give her
twenty years of
my own time

for he was so uselessly beaten down,
and unbearable miserable,
was-would-be gladly rid
of the final semester,
exiting more gracefully
than via other
contemplated and cowardly
methods of terminations

pronounced cured,
she decided a second cure,
like extra points for
a bonus question answered,
was just what the doc ordered

so she cured herself of
me

with a divorcing, stabbing,
emotional killing motion,
so angry, a petulant childlike biting,
relentlessly, revenging,
for all the years that followed,
inflicting, afflicting
me with mine very own
mental cancerous moments

where
I hated
myself
for hating her,
a petulant child who never grew up,
much,
as much as
my censored heart
would permit,
this truth,
to admit

it debased me,
being a raging hater,
yet a hater,
of both
her and myself,
I was,
her best, most successful
victim
of her final
curse

"you're not over her"
all the fools used to say and
then, and even now,
asking pointedly,
why else this time,
one mo' time,
is this small matter
deserving of an ecrive
all its own?

I guess there are glimmers of
secrets in
a life lived in poetry,
(poetry, her unknowing Greek God's gift to me)
in everything,
even in a
confessional,
a special reserve vintage,
for admitting my imperfections

now she's dead,
losing a race to
her curse,
losing a race,
to the most cruelly, patient,
enemy that a human can face,
unwilling self-destruction,
setting one's own
holy temple on fire,
with great irony,
sourced from within,
this tinder
from the very body
she worshipped,
that went finale
crazy ablaze

where ya going with this,
you ask yourself?

a mixed up goodie bag,
of emotional conflicted torment,
brings me here,
to pen and paper

her leaving me
turned out
as the best thing ever,
drawing down my reservoirs of courage,
mined from the deepest arteries
of a damaged heart,
of a recovered addict

a thousand different tunes come to me,
all nurses aides,
to assist me to
stitch myself,
this memory wound
closed

the one that make the most sense,
an old Dylan lamentation,
correct only in exactly every phrase,
yet forced to admit,
I am indeed,
despite it,
for now,
yet,
thinking twice...
~~~

"It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
Like you never did before
It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
I can’t hear you anymore
I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’ all the way down the road

I once loved a woman, a child I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

I’m walkin’ down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell

But goodbye’s too good a word, gal
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind

You just kinda wasted my precious time

But don’t think twice, it’s all right"