I love The Beach Boys
I grew up in California
It’s like a part of your identity
When you’re a Californian
I love surfer girl and wouldn’t it be nice
They’re my favorite songs
But there is one song I hate to hear
It brings up a sadness and will bring me to tears
Kokomo
Everyone loves that song
It’s pretty much the first song you think of when you think about beach boys songs
It’s funny because the painful memory went in tuned to the song
I remember picking you up from the docks
Your ship just came into dock
After a long 6 months apart
The air was salty but I loved the smell
That meant you were coming home
Oh how I still love that smell
I remember you getting in the car
The radio was on
You and mom started arguing
So she turned up the radio
Kokomo was on
I used to love the song
I remember Kermit the frog singing the song
I listened to the melody and lyrics trying to ignore your screaming
That’s when I knew
You were leaving
I wished at that moment I was at Kokomo
That’s where you wanna go to get away from it all
Down in Kokomo

THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated *******," here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
  
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
  
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.

The Rules of Online Dating Poem
(8/5/2014)

Rules start the moment we decide to do online dating.
You can't choose Christian Mingle, because things get too spicy there.
You can't choose JDate, because they all want to sign pre-nup's.
You can't choose Plenty of Fish, because who wants to date a fish?
... I mean, I'm pretty sure that's illegal in most countries.
Grindr is great, but we're talking about the rules of online dating... Dating.

Now, OkCupid is where it's at.
Okay see here, you need a username.
Something quirky.  How about 'Quirky?'
Oh, that's taken, so add numbers!
The website suggested 'Quirky 69' ... okay, maybe no numbers.
Quirky_Cat, because everything on the internet is better with cats.

Let's move on to selecting several profile pictures.
Dust off your digital archives, and find one from that time you tanned.
Ever take a funny photo eating food?  Perfect, feed it to your fans.
Is it Halloween?  Because I'm thinking Headless Torsoooo!!!
Annnnd for good measure, let me take a selfie.

The hardest part is answering the match-making questions.
My soul is searching for its soul mate, and there can only be one.
It's like the heart hunger games.  
Who can shoot their compliments with the precision of a bow and arrow,
right through the wall of cats I've accumulated from being single so long?
The first one to make me feel so alive I want to die,
but not before devouring a pint of ice cream, wins!!

SO ANSWER THESE CRUCIAL QUESTIONS:
1, Is astrological sign important to you in a match?
YOU BETTER NOT BE A GEMINI
2. Are you a cat person or a dog person?
I DON'T DATE CAT-DOG HYBRID PEOPLE, JUST BE A PERSON PLZ
3. If you turn a left-handed glove inside out, it fits?
MY ****
4. Would you be willing to meet someone from OkCupid in person?
IF YOU ANSWER NO, *** ARE YOU DOING HERE
That concludes today's question answering.  
Stay tuned for rules on writing the self-summary.

Rule #1 - Bang your head on the keyboard for 12 minutes.
This is a mandatory, required start to every OkCupid profile.
Rule #2 - Use a lot of cliches
Don't worry if you don't know any, just copy some from someone else.
Rule #3 - Say you are bad at writing self-summaries in your self-summary
That's a good one.
Rule #4 - Say what you are good at... which duh, is your writing skills.
I mean you have a liberal arts degree after all.
Rule #5 - Tell them you are a real person, not fake.
Some folks need to hear this to get over the imaginary people they dated.

Rules require structure, and structure is built by bullet point lists.
So first bullet point, favorite books:
- Quickly go find the titles of everything you had to read in high school.
Second bullet point, favorite movies, and variety is key here:  
- Include musicals, rom coms, at least one low-budget indie film,
    a foreign film or two, and throw in a few Disney flicks for good measure.
Third bullet point is what will make or break you, music:
- For gay men this will mean you're only allowed to pick female divas, so...
To the tune of 'Kokomo' by The Beach Boys.
There's Britney and Whitney, ooh I wanna take ya,
to Rhianna, Madonna, ooh and then there's Robyn.
But Queen Bey, J. Monae, Miley, and Christina,
Katy Perry, and Coldplay, because they count anyway.
Cher, and Cher, and Cher, and Cher, and Cher.

Alright alright.  We've had our fun, but now it gets serious.
The profile is going to ask us to advertise ourselves like products.
Of course we are going to comply.
5 foot 6.  145 pounds.  Brown hair, Hazel eyes.
Bi-lingual and knows how to use a tongue.
Annual income?  More like outgo, as in out goes my money.
Do I use drugs?  Only if they're free.
Do I diet?  As in drink diet soda, as opposed to regular?
Slightly hungover on Sundays.
Can send more pictures of cats I wish were my pets, upon request.

Alright, start stalking people for endless hours,
sending messages sporadically.
Good news!  We're ready to do online dating.

But...  what if I don't really know what I want?
Maybe online dating isn't for me.

This started in 9th grade, when I thought words would be my greatest weapon.
I might have used the language in a way demanding of attention.
Not to languish in introversion but to reach a friend was my intention.
But—with every line I typed—my outlet morphed more into introspection.
If my heart and soul is pad and pen, each verse is meta-style confession.
My fingers blister at their job to bleed my inner-thoughts for pulp infection.
Operation tables shall be my grave should fiction fail my self-dissection.
I just really hope that writing something somehow retcons mild depression.
If I feel better at the end, I think I might call these The Smile Sessions.

I'm lying in bed, listening to everything but Good Vibrations
Convinced that happiness can best be found by seeking new locations
So let's drive around for hours and we'll move across the water
Add some music to my ride so I don't even have to bother
Making conversation, or risk admitting I don't know where I want to go
Then confide I think my future sounds even worse than Kokomo
I'm eating all my vegetables, I'm listening to Do It Again
I'm wondering why the hell anyone would ever stop seeing their friends
But all of them are growing, and I can barely write a poem
It's like the surf is up and I'm the one who left his board at home
I'm feeling so alone and I'm scared of what I dream
Every night I see the people leaving and I want to scream
If I want to Howl, and if Allen Ginsberg died of liver cancer,
And if liquor kills the liver but it also is the answer
To the pain that we all feel when we don't make it as a singer
Or a dancer, or a poet . . . (whatever dream you had that lingers)
But that pain is motivation for the greats to push their art
I think that Brian Wilson's smile shows the sorrow in his heart
I ask of liquor, liver, pain and art: which are villains, which are heroes?
In all of time no final words shall strike a more brutal chord than Nero's.
I've been in this town so long, I may never make my escape
It's always fun, fun, fun to dream of seeing this cage break
I don't hate this place—or these people, and I'm not trying to be mean
If anything I love too much, ask any sweet little sixteen
Ask any surfer girl I've ever met, that faux-love that I express
The tricky lie that I obsess over involving any person in a dress
Less like love, more like a buoy when I'm drowning out at sea
Don't let me drown; if you save me, maybe you can help me leave
You see, I'm always quick to bet the house on any person I think might stick
Around. I scream out, "Help me, Rhonda" when I barely even know the chick
If I'm hurting, than I follow her like a purple-hearted goon
To the edges of my town she draws me out like a cartoon
She will draw me with bold lines if thoughts of bigger worlds will make her swoon
And if one night, she says she hopes the rocket ships are coming soon
So she can blast off right away and live on Mercury sometime next June
That night, I guarantee I dream of skies filled with quicksilver moons.

Wouldn't it be nice? Do you want to dance? Something about California girls?
Come to think of it, maybe there are already enough silly love poems in the world.

I think what gets me most at night is knowing everybody cared
Everybody wanted me to go and face the world prepared
And they still do, and they always will; there are so many whom I love
Those friends and family always trying to give me little shoves
While encouragements are nice, I always plug my ears
Because I'm tired, and I'm bitter, and I barely want to be here
I barely want to write, there's just **** else that I can do
I think this word doc is the last thing I have left that is helping me break through
I think I need an intervention.
There's something I want to say but I keep losing my attention.
And I forgot it, but it was important, so—oh, ****, I'm feeling tension
I hope writing this somehow retcons years of terrible depression
If I feel better at the end, I think I might call these The Smile Sessions.

I am eligible for being a good human...And this belief keeps me in touch with mankind....

When I was young my mother painted the ceiling with every color there was.
She made the falling stucco and sealant into clouds and rainbows and horses;
horses of blue and purple and green.
One time I left my room and stared all night at the stars,
they were so much more vivid.
You couldn't deny their presence,
they were like little beings coming straight toward you.
Didn't need to look up, you could stare straight forward out of the window and it's like they were looking at you too.
But cautious, they never came close enough for me to grab them and trap them in my hand like a rolli-polly.
There were fireflies that loved to gather like tiny self supporting oil lamps by the tree next to our house.
They would swim around me because they knew they were far too clever for me.
There were toadstools that I would kick out of principal and river rocks that were never smooth enough for the current hadn't the will.
Caves where the ivy would circle for no reason but to give me the best hiding place of all time.
We ate snow that one time, when it had snowed for the one time it would in 7 years.
There was a single stoplight in a square of one tiny block where I would get dizzy riding my bike.
Then the Crawfords would let me ride their horse.
That's where I got stung by a bee for the first time and I fell on the red dirt road and cried and cried.
One time a tornado almost swallowed me whole while my trailer baby-sitter wasn't looking.
I remember asking with all sincerity for the third time how to spell cat.
Lolly-pops adorned the daycare where I watched trolls singing Kokomo.
These are all the good things I can remember,
so I cherish them.

twenty minutes to write a poem
to stop and think and scribe
to create an etude, a vignette
from daily life,
minutea



teapot sits
still warm
rendolent
of terraces
of camelias
in foreign lands

crumbs sit in clusters
on the worn pine table
survivors of the toast and jam war

underneath the tuxedo cat
basks in a sliver of stainedglassgreen sunlight
hopeful of something wonderful


the clattering of the boychild
can be heard, akin to rollerblading rhino's
as he prepares for another day of learning


I sit, running fingertip around teacup lip
as I contemplate procrastination
with regard to all things domestic

outside, the world reverberates
as some one begins to cut grass
and the the Beach Boys sing Kokomo

It Could Happen To You And Probably Has

Step one:
You meet or met;
The Internet.
Not  long ago.
You from somewhere in Kokomo, (that’s Indiana),
Or in Goa, India.
Or goodness knows - it happened anyhow.
Warmth turned to passion,
Fashioned from that crossing passage
Into one another’s lives.
Pair-tners waxing like the moon.

Step two:
The snoring, interruptions,
Mannerisms, quirks, needs, those discussions,
Frame of mind.
You find
Its whole attire tiring.
Time scale of no import,
Both or one
Work out, discover, come to grips :
Passion gone,
And too, the pair-tnership.

Step three:
You fire him or her,
Or he or she fires you
From love that turned into a job.
Although you sob you’ve not been robbed.
It’s fair to say
And not deride
The faults, blemishes on either side,
For condemnation’s not the way.
The plot and play’s scenario
Are all too
Recognizable.

It Could Happen To You And Probably Has 9.26.2016
Love Relationships II;
Arlene Corwin

Kokomo Joe is on a roll
No more on the run
It’s Saturday night
The moon is bright
Here comes serious fun
Lolling on the library steps
The statue of a lion by his side
Annie arrives to greet him
Her eyes open wide
At his sartorial splendor
For he wears a midnight blue vest
He’s looked forward to this all week
They kiss with zest
The amorous pair walk arm in arm
To the nearest bar
Resisting another caress
Then it’s off to the park
Where doves coo, indeed sing
Surprise, surprise he drops to one knee
Then presents her a ring
A passerby stops to take a picture on his phone
As she accepts and Joe feels like a king

Step by day by slow
Troubles come and go
Solamente yo
Chuck Berry's Kokomo

The little way xie xie
Watch my children play
Forever and a day
Mother Mary May

No I can't control her
Lord Shiva bipolar roller
If I could I would console her
Joan Jett should rock n' roller

A little ocean motion
Quietly devotion
Brian Katz kept coachin'
Music is love potion

           Verdi Cries!

Hungry like the Wolf
Animal

Rock the boat
Africa

Riggity Wrecked
Quagmire song

Call Me Al
Ray of Light


Wild Horses
Beast of Burden

Ophelie
Safari Disco Club

Hungry Like the Wolf
Animal

Ray of Light
Call Me Al

Foxy Foxy
Ride


Rock the Boat
Africa

Frozen
Ah! Leah!

Another Planet
Loving the Alien

Ray of Light
Call Me Al


I Had the Time of My Life
Flashdance (What a Feeling)

Rock the Boat
Africa

Ray of Light
Call Me Al

No Ordinary Love
My Favourite Things



Neon Human
I Just Wanna See

Rock the Boat
Africa

Ray of Light
Call Me Al

Ride Captain Ride
Number One

Resistance
Simply Irresistible


Rock the Boat
Africa

Ray of Light
Call Me Al

Virtual Diva
Bandoleros

My Life Be Like
Good Life


Something Wicked
Wayward Son

Hungry Like the Wolf
Animal

The Future
Sleepwalking

O Fortuna
Double Trouble


Rocket Man
Baker Street

Kokomo
Ride Captain Ride

I've Been Everywhere Man
Walk Like An Egyptian

Ray of Light
Call Me Al

Rock the Boat
Africa

Moving in Stereo
Tom Sawyer


Man in Motion
All Night Long

Hayling
You Know

I Gotta Feeling
Wayward Son

Ray of Light
Call Me Al



Rock the Boat
Africa

Baker Street
Don't You Forget About Me

Get Your Freak On
Der Kommissar En


If You Steal My Sunshine
More More More

Rock the Boat
Africa

Baker Street
Classical Gas


Slow Ride
Rock Me Like a Hurricane

Rock the Boat
Africa

Hungry Like the Wolf
Animal

Baker Street
Don't You Forget About Me

Rocket man
Crocodile Rock


Get Low
Turn Down For What *Scotty

99 Luftballons
Hurra die Welt Geht Unter

Intergalactic
Sabotage

Space Cowboy
Cowboy

Rock the Boat
Africa


Secret Agent Man
Der Kommissar De

Soak Up the Sun
Stoner Girl

Alien
When I'm Gone


Nights in White Satin
Classical Gas

Spirit in the Sky
Kokomo

The Rose
My Favourite Things rmx

All Night Long
Africa

/                           what i'd consider an armchair

     in a metaphysical sense...

drinking a ***** sharpshooter
   (ratio of ***** to
the mixer is like...
      3 : 1)

     listening to garmarna:
    sveedish? northern...

                               herr holger
            herr mannelig

       type of music...

                              "pop" folk...

(can't get enough of that ****,
sweat to god)

                           while reading
heidegger... in english,
       making fun of myself being
"fluent" in german

while retaining an inheritance
"tax"
                         of a dumb p'oh lack...

well... as my grandmother
used to say:
    if you go among the crows,
  you have to croak like a crow...

so here i am:
                attired in english "clothes"...
allowing myself self-deprecating
within the confines of what is
   body by accounts made
                   by deleuze and guattari...

convening to stage an open mouth,
an inverted feeding simulation
akin to a sea gull...
     with the "confines" of
the antithesis
         of the cartesian res cogitans...

airy-fairy: nowhere near as scary -
   like some rampant predator,
bulk frame akin to a bear,

           and a bear: is a predator?
   really?
                        what? berries and fishing?!
civilised people inherit
the concept of a devolved bear...
barbarians?
   the concept of an evolved ape!

      ha ha       - surd h plus -ey + p minus -it!
(berlusconi bongo bongo
     down in beach boys' kokomo
   like some toothless fijian giving you
the smile 'n' wink wink)

simple!

                   so yeah...
             ah: conversational overtones...

always with this fudge of thought,
always running, when actually standing still...

every time i pause while
reading a philosophy book
    i concise myself with a single thought...
can i put a dialectical punctuation
mark here?
                                   or there?
or nowhere?

         philosophy: a ******* pompous words
by people who speak it...

  i still come out with the antithesis
of descartes...                        res vanus...

because i, really start "thinking":
    when i "don't"                                 it;

can't escape the persistence on
   the geological scale,
    on the meteorological,
             on the blatant arrogant persistence
of:                      a mash-up
    of thinking-and-empirical-stratifications:

like watching the sound of a plane
rather than the plane itself
                    dragging the sound.