Springtime for Visceral Nonsense with Pictures
I caught up with her outside of the dining room
before I could be seen by others invited for this unmasking occasion.
She was not alone and talking was going to be difficult at best.
She is never alone—she doesn’t do alone at any time of the day or night.
I’ve called most of the men and women in her life to have been my friends for the most part.
I’m not fond of sitting next to friends who know how to yank my chain.
So many of those arriving have illustrious anarchist roots that go way back.
I would rather listen to vintage “Burns & Allen”on the radio sitting in my Kia Sportage.
I’m good at keeping my head down in the parking lot
with bewilderment turning into comic madness at the drop of a hat.
The disposable crowd was bumping against my patience with great fervor.
Probably, I was going to have to find a seat at the able and play
Valley games that only neurotic poets have any idea how to play.
I was carrying a marked-up poetry manuscript under my right arm
that she had taken the time to make frightful suggestions.
But if I wanted her to stay around, I had to live with her digging at my word choices.
Maybe I should turn into some random fantasy character who doesn’t give a flying fajita.
Yes, that strategy would definitely turn down the heat.
Should I go for the Invisible Man, Frankenstein’s monster, or maybe something more obscure.
I opened the next door I came to—not always very smart—and I fell
into a North African desert or it could be the desert from the movie Dune.
I say “absurd,” while someone else goes with “certifiable”—but it all gets us
nowhere closer to having a ham sandwich for lunch,that is it looks like
we all have taken the plunge into the nonsensical springtime vapor
that hangs over the Valley on most weekdays and sometimes Saturday if it drizzles.
No comments:
Post a Comment