Ambrose
Ah-kin-
MOO-sir-ee
Lifts a trumpet to his mouth.
Deep breaths blow notes
at right angles
into space.
The sound is worn denim.
The sound is Lauren Bacall.
The beat is urgent and syncopated
just like his last name.

Ambrose
Ah-kin-
MOO-sir-ee
Rests a trumpet by his side.
Reverb:
Ambrose interprets the persistence of sound;
reflections build up and decay
until the sound is absorbed
by the surfaces of this space.
Inhale.
Ambrose,
pulls the trumpet
To his mouth
once again.

Have you seen my granny?
She shoots like Johnny Wayne,
Smokes cigarettes like Garbo,
Sings like Kelly in the rain.

She's doubtless at the movies
Watching Audrey zip 'round Rome,
And wishing she were young enough
To run away from home.

My nana laughs like Rita,
Plays chess like Steve McQueen,
She smoulders like her heroes do
Up on that silver screen.

Have you seen my granny?
She loves Bogart and Bacall,
And in her dreams forever
She is blonde and six-foot tall.

You're the perfection
     of thunder & lightning
like Bogart & Bacall,
    Marilyn & DiMaggio
a breathless view of Monet's allure ,
     midst abstract Picasso's wonder
Beethoven's 5th and silly love tunes,
    complexity in contradictions
    simplicity of minimalism,
         apples and oranges
  cuppa tea with honey
     spiked with something toxic,
nice with the just the right amount of naughty
you're the poetry in my endearment,
   harmony playing my affection's song
       thrumming in satiated indulgences

Oafie lingers before his mirror
Pointing at the slinger Dillinger,
In his black suit,
******* his loot,
He won't go in there.

Then Oafie puts an old coat on,
Posing before his cheval,
Sharing jokes with Robert Duvall,
Who lights a smoke for Lauren Bacall,
Who say his coat fits well.

I know this seems humorous,
But Oafie isn't left too much;
His acuity is out of touch.
But he played guitar like a harp,
Which sadly isn't that far off.

For now the famous visit often.
He shuffled stepts to classic Sinatra,
With Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
I'll visit Oafie one last time,
And slip a mirror in his coffin.

We fall hunting for laurels,
shredding

       our purple bruises
       into rose hips.

Our silversmith rings lose their fingers,
cracked irreparable.

       Our lives of lavish luxury
       lives as lapis lazuli.

The banks of the Ipswich
call out:

       silhouettes behind birch bark.
       Remember

how we used to swim
her waters;

       tread her auric ebb?
       We aim at deer, at ripening

persimmons. They chew
the fruit pretty.

       We aim at killdeer.
       Kiss a wasp.

We were dead fireworks
under Laniakea eyes.

       As midnight, we are
       films noir:

we imagine *******
Lauren Bacall from behind,

       speaking and kissing in tongues,
       her mouth tasting

of unfiltered smoke,
breathing the snow

       melting
       down her rose hips.

We stuff the stuff of nightmares
into a cardboard box.

       We howl at solar winds and polar vortexes.
       We are a vesica; both/and.

We fall hunting for laurels,
adolescent pulsars with persimmon eyes.

TALLAHASSEE CONTAINS ALLAH to whom I'm truly true blue
as He is the Just, the King, the Watchful, the Father of me & of you
Like 9 dogs eatin' tuna fish I cried for your thigh to comfort me like
the jack breadfruit that comforted Bounty Lieutenant William Bligh
whilst he abstained from Tahitian maidens who were cunningly shy
My big, beautiful mouth that frets & sasses makes me intellectually
superior to everyone except the most idiotic of ******* dumb *****
whose apple cider vinegar becomes unsulfured blackstrap molasses
Remember again old cross firemen, Jesus burned for your arson sin
2,000 years before I wrapped your fat *** around your chinless chin
through hellish dew of frosty equanimity with Gail Fisher as Peggy,
Mannix shaved his dangling loose hairy stems above gay legs leggy
so that he might wiggle folklorical jigs like Haitians do with reggae
Gay-***-whackin' Hillary Clinton humps *** to a disco-***-humpin'
beat from her *** crooked-pants-suited *** to her lezzy-***-toed feet
stuck in turds as Bill sodomizes a mule, **** Hillary can be bought
stuck in pig **** as Billy rapes another, shaky Hillary can be bought
with Kleenex 'cause her honker has 5 pounds of unsought nose snot
that added nothin' to the virulent ****** that I ain't not never caught
On clean teen carpet she munched, slurped & lapped sink drain-like
forcing me to slap her shitless so that she could be a real, sane ****
whose despicable antics I am not morally outraged by, nor annoyed
as this repugnant behavior is directed medically by faux cushingoid
which accounts for her likeness to the puffy-faced star Alison Lloyd
who had something criminally criminal to do when she wasn't doin'
something grimy to fill her cravenously-craven-criminalistical void
that toys with emotions that are not immune to being toyed with on
the weekends that were made for Michelob on my blue hemorrhoid
that toys with emotions that aren't afraid of being toyed with on gay
weekends that were made for Michelob dumped on my hemorrhoid
only 'cause it is something to do when you are not doing something
that could have ended early the cowboyin'-guy-life of William Boyd
whose hoppin,' in the hoppin'-along biz, derived from a secosteroid
Vegetable-hating vegans love pagans & meat-eaters secrete beavers
& Yukio & Yoko Mishima beat to death with a bat old Tom Seavers
after he frittered away his ball-batting career as a raunchy, gay dude
to the tune of 4 original Beatles crooning the god-awful "Hey Jude"
while fat priests ****** nuns & nudists in nudist colonies pray ****
for chapel cameras of the ******* Channel's dude ranch, Play Dude
where the rudest nudists & naturalists, nudely & naturally stay rude
without caring to distinguish betwixt fake night & serious day food
that could throw a self-effacing exhibitionist into a filthy, gay mood
with prelude payload which equates to slaves getting their pay sued
by orthognathical charlatans who worship devil-lovin' Ben Franklin
in his guise as Frenchy Chucky de Gaulle who could send tank men
for forensical strikes targetin' ****** on rivers whereat men bank sin
with a plugged-up ******* called Peter Hamilton, feet or Nam again
in quokka flesh minus 22% over a pig sty or a bacon-oiled ham pen
Even though He maintained amazing Bible-understanding abilities,
Pittsburgh's wall-to-wall ******* gave Jesus the Hill District jiggers
Despite His God given Holy Christian Bible-understandin' abilities,
Pittsburgh's loo-to-loo ******* gave Jesus shaky, Hill District jitters
that ache way too late & shake for a sexily-religious girl who titters
over dead Zhanna Friske's Russian lickspittles & ******* pig-sitters
gettin' one passed normal lesbians with tattoos of sickly zoo critters
that clearly show pederasts of The New York Times ******* shitless
after chalking Marxistical New York Times sources ******* shitless
in Bethlehem stables stabling new stud muffin horses shoed witless
where hippy people with greasy long hair were quite apt to be livin'
clawing about what's issue based vs. character drivel, I mean driven
Ol' Walker McDonald was my very special friend until he ***** me
under a nice fig tree beyond the bitchiest beach of the Sargasso Sea
where he wouldn't quit ****** me despite my sexiest desperate plea
I hollered a lot in a ******-nutty masculine voice but he did not care
about rotten figs that matted my Ellen-degenerated, lezzy-short hair
I told everyone in North Vietnam & Laos that he couldn't he trusted
'cause the 21,798 times he ***** me made me thoroughly disgusted
like there were gigantical nests of bugs up my *** heavily encrusted
in cracks where ****-crop-dusting planes can't dive swoop in dusted
before flying into my inner-sanctum room like old Corrie ten Boom
whose bee-busy life, after her crapping-out death, has yet to resume
in order to beat senseless neo-brutalistical V.A. nursing home abuse
that kills the blood-coagulatin' screams of a cursing gnome papoose
draped across the *** of a ***-rail engineer takin' it up the caboose
to make his gay meaning known to stragglers too lucid to be obtuse
Don't ****** me I'm your amigo, oh yeah I forgot in your final spin
that a plucky slice'd paralyze you forever good on any hot spinal fin
****** ****** at ****** mall: Who's the baddest ****** of them all?
Is it Ringo, or dead George/John, or false/fake ******, Beatle Faul?
I cannot wear no slutty dress because I got a sass-*** dose of P.M.S.
I can't ***** in my slutty dress while I got a bad-*** dose of P.M.S.
My boyfriend's a ***** queer who has been ripped up his ***'s rear
In city pig files they record my criminal-*****-bone record in miles
Here amongst the thoroughly hypnotized, I spank your lard **** red
while you flee with free fleas that fly with flies that are too-well fed
while you flee with 3 free fleas that fly with flies that are overly fed
The traveling mermaid porked & beaned me in the moldy sea green
as P.B.S.'s Fred Rogers fits into a death list of ***, dead codgers we
ruefully mourn the murders of Jack the Ripper's ******-red lodgers
who overtly related homosexually to lesbian heterosex bed-dodgers
on mountain picnics in Pennsylvania where they are fed odd chores
There ain't nothing grim in threading tawny-titted Hawaiian women
before drug-induced comas or with food cramps got from swimmin' Demon Hillary, I Would ****** Everybody Just to Make You Smile
Is this wrong? No, murdering everybody is Scratch's most beautiful
way to say: "I loathe you Bill" in his hottest court of Luciferian trial
A raunchy **** bussed my *** with cerebral palsy quicker than Ajax
scrubbed the crapped-out Admiral William Halsey. I'd mount 1 trull
plain or crunchy too but not when she humps like a Harlem *******
We told everybody deaf 'bout "us" but everybody but "us" was deaf
to our mutant deafness save Harland Sanders & Burger Chef & Jeff
Swallow this sea-warped poker chip to see what can happen while I
moodily tap out Florida flame red maple trees to drain all the sap in
Anita O'Day never curled the nether tufts of Melvin Howard Tormé
because she was a limpless gimp who saw sike-a-***** as girly gay
in the throes of scissor lovin' between Blobert Rake & Huddy Bolly
whose fine, rug-burned legs queered their sapphical, sexoholic folly
that in 1966 farted greasy Earth's real cheeses to slickly **** breezes
as 99 rescue inhalers asphyxiated fatalistically-asthmatical wheezes
I love the ocean. Do you feel the aloof sea spray on your face? That
ain't sea spray. That's a gay *** peeing down on you from the roof.
I like my ******* on caffeine-free diets as they're better controlled I
think, than apes on caffeine-big diets who **** ******* cherry pink
for sea-lovers in iron linkage to twist apart a chewed-on master link
soaked in a tub 93% bigger than a beef washer's blood-washed sink
Let us forgive my unkind words but the dog turds I tracked in aren't
my dog's turds 'cause your ***'s really pretty like that of an angel's
dead cousin, so you must not cream on creamy donuts by the dozen
I will not talk of you in the old past as long as you are able to ****
really fast. The way to hell is lousy with sinners as each part of you
could provide several dinners. Our cherries are nicer than the sweet
cherries in pies. I wish that our 4 eye sockets had 4 cherry-red eyes.
You're so tiny that you stand 'neath my knee at a distance so nice to
bruise my better kidney. Shut up a lot, I told you before. I ain't got a
mistress who did not chronically snore. I could slather your body in
peanut butter from scalp to *** belly like would that jack-*** Kojak
Savalas brother called Telly. How many times have I warned you to
shut up? 3,345 trillion 9 hundred thousand 128? Enough is enough!
I scratched your back while you were reverently praying, just like a
Catholical priest, which is the chief role I'm now piously portraying
Part of me wants to **** you the other doesn't when I was me & you
were so wasn't, when your ****** were floral with dandelions, ever
more gay than those that were Paul Ryan's. After January we'll ****
bleached whales on the beach while I castigate old adulteresses in a
sermon I preach beneath the flickering grand dragon wizard's torch.
God has blessed us with elbows & knees & sharp teeth, only to bite
whoever's sporting deliciously-moist quims that we strive to please
Kicking the **** out of constipation is my preferred realization with prunes, olive oil & herbs from rich soil, for once I'm well you'll see
healthful regularity overtaking me. I'll make your cheery cherry pop
by threading your pretty Barbie bobbin so fast that I can hardly stop
from attaching psychedelical fixations to conundrums psycholytical
No one asleep had ever downed a pickle 'cause the racer who hit 45
wet spots was the women-pleasing racer large Richard **** Trickle
No one awake had ever drowned a pickle because the racer who hit
damp spots was the ****-racing racer, big-stick Richard **** Trickle
No one awake had ever got ******-cell sickle with the racer who hit
87 damp spots, the ***-****-racing racer, ***** Richard **** Trickle
who found that **** babes with keen intellects were tricky to tickle
as ****'ll be doin' Marianne Faithfull with big-ribbed-****** ******
in his British Marxian way with obligatory sledge hammer & sickle
to spread her ******* for shire horse hung Beatle Jimmy Nicol
as Albert Hofmann's 102-year-old L.S.D. schlort is a thrill pickle in
a Swiss lab bobbing dead in *****, unable to pork, **** & ***** all
while Bert Hofmann's 102-year-ol' L.S.D. ******* is a dill pickle in
a Swiss lab bobbin' in *****, unable to poke, sock, cram & stick all
because of contact with a toxical/allergical rose bushy thorn prickle
Some of me's puerile, the other section's a rash, over my nasty belly
is mama, below is a wacky, pinkish ******, while I pile onward real
love from 11 p.m. till the pole star's there, 8 degrees from starboard
several acres from where the **** wipes for my liquor bar are stored
You're brave & you're wise, with my camera I'll capture your thighs
I long for blonde hair of which you've plenty. I want to kiss all of it
before you turn 20. Our Russian passion will pass a fever pitch like
convicts on a chain gang diggin' a ditch. You whistle alluringly like
Lauren Bacall. I wonder, can you do it pulling from Bogart's straw?
Let's eat cookies while we sleep in my million-dollar Blue Bird bus
because I have expensive chocolate chip cookies just for the 2 of us
Tell me the truth, I am dyin' to know. Will you be able to stop when
we go go go? It's very important that you're careful so you don't get
knocked up by a drunken sailor or a window washer or a blind man
with a tin cup. Your pocked *** is really low slung like a green pine
ladder's 1st broken rung. I bang you in the murky morning too early
for lunch 'cause you ain't ½ as **** as Alice from The Brady Bunch
whose meat-hacking with butcher Sam included a knock-out punch
Turn up the gas, I want no damp cell, no moist damsel in **** hell
whose ill virginity is wiped clean by my hellishly-wild *** machine
I love you tall, I love you short in a barrel, beneath a port. You are a
broad. I know it's true. Live up to the crooked contract or I will sue.
Richard F. Burton, extinguish *** Taylor's fiery *** that lit abruptly
in the Golfo de México from B.P.'s unmothered-crack-head-****-gas
I took harmful advice to seize a 1-upped leg man ****-deep in knees

Smoking is terrible for you - we all know that,
But there's nothing quite as **** as a cigarette
With its wafts of smoke curving sensuously up
Like a winding staircase to heaven.

Maybe it's that, that Bacall and Bogie dance
Of noir fog above a lit cigarette,
Or it could be the intimate way
The word "young" is carved out on your slab,

Or the intimate way that the smell lingers
On the clothes of loved ones long after
You're dead and buried.
Nothing makes a guy harder than rigour mortis.

Chocolates and cigarettes?
Julie says

as you sit in a chair
opposite her

in the rest room
of the hospital

in the psychiatric ward
I thought you’d prefer them

to flowers
you reply

yes
she says

flowers tend to lie
heavy in my gut

and she smiles
and you look at her there

with her dark hair
long but dishevelled

I haven’t brushed my hair
or bathed yet

she says
seeing you look at her

but you can scrub my back
if you want

she says
watching you blush

best not
you say looking away

seeing out the window
a small garden

with summer flowers
but sensing

a slight movement
in your groin

at the mere thought
of her suggestion

how did you find me?
she asks

of all the hospitals
and all the wards

in this area
you managed to walk

into mine
she adds

you make me sound
like Bogart to Bacall

you say shyly
how about a drink later

down the road to the bar?
she says

You’re permitted to drink
while on drugs?

you ask
studying her eyes

and her lips slightly parted
only cola

she says pulling a face
but at least it gets me

out of this place
for an hour or so

you look at her
a small stirring

still taking place
between your thighs

there’s a small room
where they keep brooms

and brushes and such
where we can go

for a quickie
she says

looking at you
studiously

then breaking
into a laugh

at the sight
of your shocked face

some other time
you say

some other place
cigarette?

she asks
opening up

the pack you’d brought
you nod

and she hands you one
between her slim fingers

and you place it
between your lips

and she lights it
with a small red

plastic lighter
and you heave in

and feel the smoke
hit the back

of your throat
she inhales deep

and says
I prefer the ones

that make me float
and you see hollowness

open up in her
and her eyes

become wide open spaces
like cold winter skies.

I heard Lauren had passed
& erupted,
"***,
how sad,
she was so killer,
beautiful in Casablanca!"
And my young co-worker,
said, "Who, where?"
I thought,
really.....imagine that,
truly sad,
a world without Bacall!

I like a classic movie
One with Bogie and Bacall
Kate Hepburn in her heyday
Or Errol Flynn in a brawl

A Cary Grant comedy
Irene Dunne at his side
Bette Davis raising hell
Or Frankenstein's scary bride

I think of Ingrid Bergman's smile
The sweetest nun appearing onscreen
And Mae West's sassy manner
As she lit up every scene

Spencer Tracy wowed us
Charlie Chaplin made us roar
Great stars, great stories, great times
The movies I adore

.

Standing alone in a room filled with sadness
Photograph smiles in a frame on the shelf
Ashtrays are filled with a death wish still breathing
Lighting another in spite of myself

A hand full of pills and a glass of Jack Daniels
And old black and white, I think Lauren Bacall
Through heavy eyes, I am still thinking of you
Only the floor there to meet as I fall

When on the door comes a knock unexpected
Shattering plans that I must put on hold
Closing one eye as I look through the peep hole
A shadowy figure is there in the cold

Twisting the lock and then turning the handle
Chilled is the blast that runs into my face
There I find death with his sickle untarnished
Needless to say my sad heart starts to race

“What are you doing, you can’t be that stupid
It’s not your time for this world to depart
Just for some girl who has left you here crying
Wanting to die for a **** broken heart”

I stopped and I thought and I heard this thing speaking
Then shoved my finger inside of its chest
“I’ll do as I please you know not what you’re saying
It’s time to go and I think it is best”

“God what a loser, oh wait, I meant Satan
Fine, suit yourself, we’ve a place you can lie
Swallow those pills but I’ll take that Jack Daniels
I will get thirsty while watching you die”

I thought of her and what I would be leaving
How much it hurt she had found someone new
Then of my heart that was shattered in pieces
The sound of her voice when she shouted, “we’re through”

That she is happy with somebody else
How every scar of my life has now bled
Why would I want to give her satisfaction
Knowing she’d smile if she heard I was dead

Then like a bolt or a light bulb exploding
Came a decision as clear as a bell
I’ll stick around in this room filled with sadness
It’s definitely worse than that place he calls hell

Oafie lingers before his mirror
Pointing at the slinger Dillinger,
In his black suit,
******* his loot,
He won't go in there.

Then Oafie puts an old coat on,
Posing before his cheval,
Sharing jokes with Robert Duvall,
Who lights a smoke for Lauren Bacall,
Who say his coat fits well.

I know this seems humorous,
But Oafie isn't left too much;
His acuity is out of touch.
But he played guitar like a harp,
Which sadly isn't that far off.

For now the famous visit often.
He shuffled steps to classic Sinatra,
With Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
I'll visit Oafie one last time,
And slip a mirror in his coffin.

From Beyonce's blood that flows
to Brandy's flush face that glows
to J. Lo's fresh flesh
to Joy Bryant's, for example, self-dignity
that talk about the pulse
that refreshes
that same fountain
of Reality's Child
and a "cool chick"
reeks of a blood type
dealing in chocolate code
of the mind
and cherry coke of the ***
such that
Lana Turner
would turn over in her grave
if she knew of
a new breed of female *** symbols
harking back to her, Gable,
Heyworth, Bacall, and Hepburn.

It's not so much that you hadn't aged
Or that I didn't notice it
I only wished I'd been there to witness
The changes
How time rearranged the subtle glow
Of your beauty
Replaced with something profound
The marking of experience
Eyes looking for innocence
Seldom finding it anywhere
But your smile was still real
Genuine, authentic
Not a trace of a lie on those lips
A much younger man would not have seen it
A secret
Precious few can keep it
You looked enchanting to me
Never too old we grew together
Cast in a Bogart-Bacall romance
Fated to last but for one evening
One electric night to compensate
For too many years to count
When you pulled me down to receive your kiss
They all shrank into a moment
In which I experienced each and every second
The gloss spread on your lips
A taste I can recall from memory even now
Sweet, a hint of spearmint and alcohol
Such a lucid thought
Brings this old tin man to life

I had a dream on
The tip of my tongue
That tasted very sweet
I took it off, like a CD
And put it on repeat...

It was like an old-time movie
Framed in black-and-white
A white-chocolate
Licorice drop
It played on
through the night

Then, all of a sudden
The cast of the show changed
Bogie & Bacall became
Something very strange!

They weren't exactly zombies
But they had changed!
Oh, no!
The dream was now
quite bitter
It was a horror show!

Yes! The leading lady
Was a POD PERSON! Man!
As she began her
Tell-tale scream
I took off... I RAN!

Next time you have
A pleasant dream
Remember that
they turn
Sometimes you can
Consume a thought
Which just gives you
heartburn!

Next time you taste
A sweet dream drop
And put it on repeat
Be sure you take
a grip-o-TUMS

'N BE CAREFUL
WHAT YOU EAT!


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/29/2017

The Old Bijoux Theater

*The old Bijoux closed today.
After all this time it closed its doors.
It is empty now overtaken by technology and time.
Its silver screens have graced the best of Hollywood.
How often I have sat here with you my love.
Watching Bogart and Bacall share a kiss.
Later returning to our small flat
to make tea and love.
You were so beautiful my angel
all that I ever wanted or needed.
Remember how I stood outside your flat
ion the pouring rain to catch a glimpse of you.
I was so in love with you
So in love.
You have gone now of course
Such beauty is for the Gods
not for ordinary men like me.
I shall miss this old place so much
watching the old movies flickering on the screen.
I know I did not move on quiet as I should.
You see my heart was very broken and sadly
still remains so even after all these years.
But sometimes in an old movie
that we have seen a hundred times.
yes I know the endings are always the same.
But I feel your hand slip softly into mine
and I can feel it there again
and just for a moment
all is well in my world once more.

I would not change a thing about us my love.
Even knowing how broken I would be
and that my heart would be vacant for evermore.
for once in my life I reached for a star
and for a fleeting moment
I held it in my hands.

The jagged yellow smile of the jaundiced moon
Pokes through the clouds and plays peekaboo
Spits light into the Room
In the Shadow of Love

The silent phantom its eyes watch lovers who
Make cloak and dagger plans to run away real soon
Leave this Ugly place and find a somewhere new

In the Shadow of Love
Where the Angels hide
I sit inside and call your name
In the Shadow of Love
I Play the fool and lose my cool
Aint that the way

Outside the hunter hides in the dark
Pulls back his bow and aims straight for the heart
Cupid smiles as his arrow hits the mark
In the shadow of Love

There amongst the sailors bones that heard the sirens call
Made Johnny walk the line and pride take a fall
Romeo and Juliet and Bogart and Bacall

In the Shadow of Love
Where the Angels hide
I sit inside and call your name
In the Shadow of Love
I Play the fool and lose my cool
Aint that the way

I am its witness felt hands laid on
Felt its warmth in the middle of a storm
Seen it reflected in the eyes of my newborn
LOVE…. love…. love….

Bonnie and Clyde Barrow on a jagged country road
Holding hands while machine guns unload
they died together and they wanted nothing more
In the Shadow Of Love
In the Shadow Of Love

Prayers travel light in
the vacuum of space and
some wandering God
picks them up,
spits them back in your face.

In the cynical zone
a miracle goes home
with a thorn in its side.

Send me Wells Fargo
I'm off
to Key Largo to call upon
Bogart and
blow kisses at
Bacall
after all it's
what
dreamers do.

Silvered Screen Memories
By
Jude Kyrie*

The old Bijoux cinema closed today.
After all this time it closed its doors.
It is empty now overtaken by technology and time.
Perhaps a lot like me,
Its silver screens
have graced the best of Hollywood.

How often we sat there together my love.
Watching Bogart and Bacall share a kiss.
Later returning to our small flat
to make tea and love.

You were so beautiful my angel
All that I ever wanted or needed.
All that I ever prayed for.

Remember how I stood outside your flat

In the pouring Seattle rain
just to catch a glimpse of you.
I was young then and
so in love with you---So in love.

You have gone now of course
Such beauty is for the Gods
Not for ordinary men like me.
I shall miss this old place so much
Watching the old movies
flickering on the screen.
Thinking of our time together.

I know I did not move
on quiet as I should have done.
You see my love
My heart was very broken
and sadly
still remains so
even after all these years.

But sometimes in an old movie
that we had seen a hundred times.
Yes, I know the endings are always the same.
But In my heart.
I can feel your hand slip softly into mine
just like it used to.
And as I can feel it there,
just for a single moment
All is well in this world once more.

I would not change
a single thing about us my love.
Even knowing how broken
I would be after you left me.
And how my heart
would be vacant for evermore.

For once in my life,
I reached for a star,
and for a fleeting moment
I held it in my hands.

he Old Bijoux Cinema

*The old Bijoux closed today.
After all this time it closed its doors.
It is empty now overtaken by technology and time.
Its silver screens have graced the best of Hollywood
How often I have sat here with you my love.
Watching Bogart and Bacall share a kiss.
Later returning to our small flat

To make tea and love.
You were so beautiful my angel
All that I ever wanted or needed.
Remember how I stood outside your flat
In the pouring rain to catch a glimpse of you.
I was so in love with you
So much in love.
You have gone now of course
Such beauty is for the Gods
Not for ordinary men like me.
I shall miss this old place so much
Watching the old movies flickering on the screen.
I know I did not move on quiet as I should.
You see my heart was very broken and sadly still remains so even after all these years.

But sometimes in an old movie
that we have seen a hundred times.
Yes I know the endings are always the same.
But I feel your hand slip softly into mine
In the darkness.
And I can feel it there, and just for a brief moment
All is well in this world once more
I would not change a thing about us my love
Even knowing how broken I would be
And that my heart would be vacant for evermore
You see darling
For once in my life I tried to catch the wind
and for a fleeting moment
I held it in my hands

Uncle Jesse James Tiberius Kirk Douglas MacArthur Park Overall
will stun you with ethics till spring stumbles into summer then fall
into 2014 stroke mode for the near-nonagenarian hag Lauren Bacall
who seldom took a dump without wearing her Bogie-knitted shawl
at Kmart, Sears or the prettiest, cleanest, white-people-loving mall
where Ninjas practice Moslem prostration & the evangelistic crawl
spanning 12 lifetimes along the width weft-wise of a soft rock wall
where Sonny Bono tempted a political hit in horse-face Cher's stall,
as midgets beat the bejesus out of men who're 6-feet-something tall

Sat alone in the tiny old cinema
where we used to go.
on rainy afternoons
When we were lost in love
so very long ago.
Watching the old classics
on the flickering silver screen.
Devoid of modern technology
Just sweet timeless emotions.

Bogart and Bacall
kiss in the love scene as usual.
The endings are all still the same.
We watched this one so many times.
Returning to our little flat
making tea and love.

I remember when I first saw you
I would stand outside your flat.
In the driving rain soaked to the skin.
Just to catch a glimpse of you,
So beautiful so lovely.
I could not think
of anything else but you.

You have gone now of course.
I knew even then you were beyond me.
Such beauty is for the Gods
Not for ordinary men like me.

My heart was broken and still is
even after all this time.
It remains uninhabited and will stay
so for a very long while

I know I have not been able to adapt
and move on quiet as I should.
Yet sometimes,
in the middle of a movie that we shared.
I feel your hand slip into mine
and for a fleeting moment
all is well and
I am with you once more.

I do not regret anything and would
do it all over again my darling.
Even knowing how badly
I would be broken.

For I tried to catch the wind,
and for a brief moment
I held it in my hands.

Give me your hirsute/textile/hombre love you lovely hairy rag man,
with your pointy nose, unlimbered leg & warts from Larry Hagman
who from the horse's mountable side snuck up like an airy stag ram
Don't take what little's left via state Santa Christmas merry bag ban
Let's dress like women in debt at the oldest Chuck Berry drag stand
My happiness is easily seen in blood-letting cirques as corpuscular
while my rippling backwards frontage is of a physique so muscular
that it is known by fat aunt Joan as socked-in and highly avuncular
Uncle Jesse James Tiberius Kirk Douglas MacArthur Park Overall
will stun you with ethics till spring stumbles into summer then fall
into 2014 stroke mode for the near-nonagenarian hag Lauren Bacall
who seldom took a dump without wearing her Bogie-knitted shawl
at K-Mart, Sears or the prettiest, cleanest, white-people-loving mall
where Ninjas practice Moslem prostration & the evangelistic crawl
spanning 12 lifetimes along the width weft-wise of a soft rock wall
where Sonny Bono tempted a political hit in horse-face Cher's stall,
as midgets beat the bejesus out of men who're 6-feet-something tall
exhibiting syndromic Parkinsonian tremors that deliver restive rest,
in vales, dells & knolls made greater by craters marking flood crest
Dwarves are closer to ground-in filth as the average giant can attest
making 1% of nothing seem more like freeing compounded interest
that dialyze the failing kidneys of flitty Obama's E.V.D. ebola guest
Let's not be hostile, malevolent, vindictive, vengeful, edgy & mean
over the fact in Bali brassieres are for keeping peanuts nice & clean
& because poverty forces negroes to use pigeon **** for Afro-Sheen
the sympathetic Balinese must dance in ritualistic limbo in between
butch hustlers & ****** in drag that for sober Johns is readily seen
especially when darkies scarf squirrel intestines like a ghetto queen
who lacks the get-off-food-stamps-and-find-a-job-to-pay-rent gene
or the smarts not to get knocked up 5 times while you're still a teen
The sun's setting for my ******* to vent her Black Panther spleen
as it's from the udder of masonic exploitation that a **** must wean