Echoes of the Boom

by Sharon Bellush

Introduction by Richard Bellush

I enjoy writing prose (whether it's enjoyable to read or not), but my sister Sharon was the poet of the family. All but one of the 100 poems in this collection were written between 1965 and 1970. This was high tide of the 1960s and of Sharon’s teenage years. The poems are a window into both. On the rare occasions when high literacy meets adolescence, the results can be remarkable.

Skilled 19-year-olds always have made the most inspired songwriters and poets – not the best by most measures, but the most inspired. It is not clear why. Perhaps it is simply because they are not jaded, as much as they themselves often like to pretend otherwise. They do not yet greet the ultimately tragic cycle of birth, love, and death with a weary shrug. The world with its pleasure, pain, joy, and sorrow is fresh. It is fertile soil for poetry.

Sharon always was in sync with the times. She was a fine hippie in the Summer of Love, she discoed in the 70s, and she could out-yuppie Michael J. Fox in the Reagan years. There is much to be said for being in step, or at least so it seems to those of us whose footfalls are never quite right.

The one chronological outlier in this collection is the last poem (Too Young to Retire). It was written in 1988 or thereabouts. I included it at the end just to illustrate the way it differs in world-weariness from the verses of youth.

Sharon grew up in suburban NJ. She attended Boston University 1968-1972. After living for ten years in Los Angeles, she returned to Mendham in the 1980s. She worked variously in public relations, local journalism, and real estate. She married twice. Sharon died in 1995 from non-Hodgkins.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Leafleting

On the high noon sidewalk

I am brushed by fringe coats

I am anemic with anecdotes

My thumb works overtime

It is a liberated thumb, I assure

You with a liberated smirk

I am participating, I am

Democracy on tap, I am a

Squeaky cog in your wheel

I meant to keep my acquiescent yes unnoticed

Blinding the day with laughter

Hiding at night behind unbrushed hair

Tousled by nomadic sojourns

Wrapped and warmed by primeval quilts

I rest easier than my independence

I am

More vulnerable than indignant

Come to me you will leave unscathed

I will bleed in order to give

And bravely declare my

Morning freedom

My blue jeans are faded

I am emancipated

- - - - - - - - - - -

Time magazine

Portrayed her wrinkled face

Her lusty eyes of yesteryear

Yes,

Yes, it was she who painted

Her toe-nails blood-red

And dragged a leopard by the leash

She rots alone in crumpled castle

Horrified at Revolution

My anger confines itself

To streets

Safely checkered in red and green lights

O we’ll strut through the fields in crimson draperies

And have affairs with lumberjacks

Darting through the trees

Volkswagen trees

I saunter into the kitchen and drug your goblet

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Courted by toad trills and rare diseased flies

You swing stately in your hammock.

Safe in the deadly peace

Of unconquered southern jungle

You have healed the wounds of your Zen guitars,

Your Freudian literature forgotten.

The jungle lacked a philosophy

And you took the jungle

Growing lean

And gray and grizzled on

Bananas and war paint ground

In earth pots scratching heedlessly wherever

Because there are no eyes here only fangs

And it was your phallic right

And I young and lank-haired

Of a blurred National Geographic centerfold

I came with the blood and the claws

And mellowed with you still young

And indistinguishable from the earth,

The grain, the huts, and the

Brown ageless children

Running rampant beneath your hammock

And I still young,

My form stretched and mellowed through you

I flash my yellow nut-stained teeth

In tremulous coquetry

Offering my morning’s work

Of jungle entrail cookery

Mingled with my fecund sweat.

You remove your straw hat to eat

You reveal your transcendency, you

Are but a man.

I am soft and slavish, I am

Pure existence, I am god

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The cold summer night

Held us dark

And lit only by fireflies

We chased them

Tumbling

Through the wet grass

And stuffed them in jars

With leaves

And tin-foil breathing holes

Like royalty, with

Neon treasure, we set

The jars on bureaus and left the room dark

To admire the splendor

In the morning

The jars had dimmed

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A FAIRY TALE OF FERVENCY

Carrying a sack

Of squirmy, crawling

Things, I waddled

With belabor down a

Crowded thoroughfare; he met me there

And shook me in delight.

“Take care,” I would have

Warned. “I have a package

For the river,” but it was

Too late – the bag took flight

From sweating palms

And landed on the walk;

“Arrgh” I sobbed and

Threw myself upon the

Ground to rescue what

I carried—

My sensibilities to be exact, --

I had tucked them away

Like a kitten litter

And would have drowned them all

But now the worst

Has come to pass;

My basest and most

Slimy of affections

Wriggled all over the street

Before him. “Aargh” he

Returned, thoroughly shocked.

“What horrid creatures. Surely

They don’t belong to you?” And

Even as he spoke, they

Slithered

Toward his feet

And crawled into

His pockets, cuffs

And up his perfect crease,

They would not cease, I

Knew; my disposition

Is of the most stubborn

Kind.

“My god!” I cried.

“All is lost and my

Forgetful soul is tangled

In your life forever.”

And I stood there in

Despair while he began

To alarm and itch

(By now They had burrowed

Into his skin)

“Stop them! Stop them!” he

Screamed like one possessed

And writhed about

In the most unfathomed

Way. “I would, if

I knew how,” I told him,

“But this never happened before.

I’ve always,” I explained with pride

“Kept my desires under control.”

And knowing naught

What else to do, I sat

Myself down to wait.

It was not so long

Before he was consumed

Unto the bone;

Several passersby

Thought this a curious thing,

But only one was aroused

To pause – a sidewalk

Philosopher, he was quite

Old and very red. “Ah,”

He sighed upon hearing my tale,

“I have seen cases like it –

There is nothing to do but

Wait until your

Emotions have feasted their fill.”

So we sat together, waiting

Late into the day – and finally

My subconscious did emerge.

Oh, but there was such

A growl, such a spitting

Such as man has never heard!

“What will happen now?” I

Asked in fear. “A battle

Will ensue,” the little man

Replied, “between the Love

And Greed.” The wriggly

Creatures, huge in size,

Did indeed take sides and

Soon the sidewalk ran

With blood as blue as kind

And green as hate; I could

Not watch this Battle of

Myself and hid my face. “Tell

Me when it’s over,” I said,

For I suddenly heard not

A noise but a funny chomp.

“It is over,” he said, and

I turned to see him

Gobbling up the remains.

“Stop! Stop! They’re mine!”

I cried, but it was too late.

He surried away and I

Stood there alone,

With an old kitten bag

And a heap of love bones.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

CITY WOMAN SONG

Boppin thru the city

It’s sure a pretty night

Got my best dress on

And I feel all right

Got me some nickels

Got me some dimes

Gonna get my head together

Gonna look real fine

Lookin for a footloose man

To put me at my ease

Those down’n’outs and married men

Keep plucking at my sleeve

Want a happy lover

With the sunshine in his soul

Can’t bother with no cloudy men

They bring me down so low

Wanna dance with city men

With lustlights in their eyes

Wanna play with mountain men

And tease them all with lies

Wanna be a city woman

Wanna be a country child

Wanna settle down

And I wanna stay wild

Truckin down the city streets

It’s sure a pretty night

Got my high heels on

And I feel all right

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Throwing mud, steaming sun, and

Nothing to feed my mind;

There is time for large questions of purpose

And doing

But I’d rather escape

Into more familiar personalities.

I have resigned myself

To prefabricated moralities for a season

Have you no mind of your own?

No.

I have a superego which super-rationalizes

Adapting values to my impulses

That way I can call a breakdown in principles

An evolution in principles.

And who would judge me,

Whether I have deteriorated or

Matured, whatever that means –

I’m only a kid

And curious

All moralities seem logical to me

If the advocator is red and earnest

About it

But to get off the subject

“&” he screamed “%” as I stabbed him with my

Butcher knife with red and white stripes

On the handle

“#, &#$,” were his dying words and I

stood there and squished my toes in the blood.

The problem with stabbing him would be

That he wouldn’t live to be sorry

About what he did to me, so perhaps slow

Paralysis, or some horrible deforming

Crippling would be better –

My pride will be the end of me.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In the corner my radio

Plays static-y and beautiful

As a tribal drum

I like the look of it, sitting there,

I wait for the

Sensuous piano parts

Between all the rest of the jazz, I listen and smoke

And cough

I think of the stoned mindless

Warmth of last night

I am still unable to think

Constructively

There’s nothing worse than

The Sunday night after

The Saturday night

Full of meaningless impulse

I lay drained of my capability to feel.

This numbness will last for

Awhile

I’ll slide out of it easily

As long as I don’t see him much

I won’t feel used then

I will have accomplished

Another casual relationship

I can bury it in me for

Future reference

Retreat into

My giggly virgin mask

And in unguarded moments

Wonder why

It all matters so much.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Hitting naught

But inch-deep, laughter

Sloshing through my

Brain

I am having an experience

??

I wasn’t

pre-

pared

very

well for this.

I hope you realize.

Friend.

Not knowing

About the fireworks

I want

Reassurance, spoiling

And love from afar.

YOU

Shatter my carefully

Strung

Tight-rope ego

You laugh

At my naiveté – so.

I am young. It is

A fairly common ailment.

A minority of one

You will be

In the midst

Of universal Reverence

Then you will be sorry

In the meantime

I will learn some day.

I WILL grow up

Some day.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Communal love

Meaningless giggle

I drift through the days with a Jello head

I sink into trees and bottle caps

And diffuse into music

I love until I can’t speak, I

Can’t say good morning, I can’t argue

I am gluey lost in understanding

And slither through the day untouched

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tangled

In a

Web

Of brows and

Furry lashes

I am

Drawn into

Your eyes

They are

Like quicksand

Deep

And amber-dark

Two jungle pools

Of swampy

Savage

Poison life

That glitter

Hurtle, slither

Sink

Their fangs into

My brain.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Pulsating hours

Of daylight melt

Into blueness

And I soften

With the shadows

A musky lakehouse

Smell of deep

Engulfing

Cushions

Fill the chairs

And muffles

Sounds of laughter

From another time;

Wind-weary and stiff

With sun and sand

I lie couched

In the warmness

Of a log-walled den

You are hard and

Soft and strong

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

ON THE WATERFRONT

Marlon Brando movie

I sit and mentally

Caress his beautiful eyes

In multicolored daydreams

The room is fraught with tension

It is high school film

Festival night

Filled with schoolmates

Come to watch the longshoreman

Battle and

In front of me there is

A certain intriguing eye, not

Handsome but

Effective enough to blur

The perspective between

The movie screen and eye (I?)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Don’t tell anyone

But I crave violence

I have a trust

In the sharp definition

Of hate and anger

That is lacking in any other

Sensation

Hate is absolute

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

10:30 sitting on a couch

In my living room, stereo

Records loud enough

To non-fool everyone into

Thinking we are here to listen

And guzzle Coke and giggle

And perhaps communicate –

Already wondering how long

A decent interval must pass before

One proceeds to become passionate,

I strain to hear my mother’s nervous laugh –

Aha, it is far away –

My date just sprawls there

Strumming the air with his football

Fingers in time to Rolling Stones

“Ah,” he sighs, “I can’t stand it,”

And writhes in some private frenzy;

I frown in frustration and watch my

Toe pump up and sown, and down

And out and the bass is throbbing,

A clock is ticking, his eyes

Roll ecstatically, revealing

The bloodshot whites –

(His ears kind of stick out, also,

Actually) –

Eleven o’ three

He grabs me and the world breaks down.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The day is dank in mood as well as weather

And my mind rains sadness, we are in

A crowd of familiar faces, faces I have

No reactions to – I huddle in the wind and in

The dejection that overcomes me we I speak to

You and you answer brother-like and yet strange –

We are so blandly, politely, indifferent –

We hide behind banalities, smile painfully wide

And I am searching your expression for some

Unutterable sense of recognition, for I sense

You are as depressed as I –

Your eyes are kind and obscure and you

Inquire about me with the air of a friend

Who will always be “interested” and always

Inscrutable and I want to scream at you and

Make you somehow violent; I prefer hate,

Hostility, to this empty sense of lost

Tenderness, reliving all the nights of

Meaningless months in a glance or a stupid

Remark about the rain – my god you tear me

A hundred ways.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Moderation

He whispered in my ear

Is meadows and wholesome;

Is breeze and blueness;

Sift in tall grasses, safe from

Storms, he urged, and come

With me;

And I would go, but

Live too restless in uncommon

Softness; I long for

Violence; for all or nothing;

This tenderness is intolerable.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Late afternoon

Mellow-rich sun, soft breeze with

A sorrowful chill;

Happiness is somehow

Sad.

I think of you

And nothing matters –

I think of you

And dissolve beyond

The commonness of words.

Tall grass

Runs through my

Fingers,

Your image through

My mind;

Soon you will be gone;

Soon perhaps

You will not occur to me.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Insensitive to insensitivity

I wander vulnerable

Among the taller people, believing

They have needs like mine –

I have no memory, I have

Infinite capacity to feel, I

Cannot bury myself and become hardened

I heal over and over

Self-destructive flings and delusions

That I can let myself be used without

Being hurt

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Fog and rain

On slushy snow

School-buses

And 8:00 AM

Me

In the morning

Round-shouldered

From books and

Wearing my

Security uniform

Of short-hemmed mascara;

Bundles of self-

Congratulating adolescence

Glandular turmoil

Shooting me towards

Opposite poles

At the glance of another gland.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Outskirts of a town well-guarded

By matronly suburban streets

The charcoal, dusty tar, the houses

Box-white, edges softened

In a flutter of curtains

And willow-tree shadows

Which demand a respectability

Of persons, noises and sundry smells

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I have

An abominable awareness

Of the soles of my feet. They

Are sand-stung, unused

To pebbly lake bottoms, pine needle

Beds –

My feet sting and my breath

Draws deeply, nostrils

Flared to absorb

The air that forces

Coolness into well-heated lungs –

The twilight turns the

Sun from bright to

Smoldering metallic rose and

Seething wavelets draw the

Fury down

To the level of docks, and lake and sand –

And me –

I stick a toe into the pinkness

And it numbs –

The ruggedness of all I feel

Intrigues me; I am a match

For the brittle dusk

The campsite is calm, the wind

Is dying, a burnt-wood smell

Drifts into the sun – I watch

It sink, impaled for a time

On a mountaintop –

Waves of purple, vermilion

And green shoot up

To the clouds

In a symphony of

Lonely light –

I turn to replenish the fire.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Learning to smoke cigarettes

Hidden in the girls room

Deep in the rec room cellar

Surrounded by smoke

Not knowing how to inhale

Not knowing to keep

My eyes from running

Coughing and burping and

Breathing spasmodically

The thing sits there burning

What the hell are you doing

Here

Down in the garage looking in

The car mirror

Don’t everything look cool

It’s really funny, I should

Have gone through this

Years ago

My rebellion has failed

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

DINNER WITH AN ELIGIBLE WASP

Sitting sophisticated

In a lace-curtain summer eating elegant chicken

Taking Salem menthol

Tweed walks

Through the stables

He talks through his side-teeth

With high-class disdain

I long myself

To become knowing and

Worldly

I am beautifully bitchy

There is nothing to do

Very little to say

The sun is setting and

The clouds darken and scatter in the

Patterns of my mind

My self-denial needles me

I would like with all my

Insides to shock him horribly

I would like to roll

Down a hill in the grass.

Indian wrestle

Make his side-parted sandy hair

(Inevitably side-parted, perfect and neat)

Hall down in thatches over his

Face

Sitting ladylike I seethe

With resentment

For God’s sake what does

Ladylike

Have to do with being

A woman?

His drawling sidelong glance

Is asking

Would I like to start back

I smile with the dominant

Coldness of the cool he projects

I feel awkward, very awkward

And dislike myself

For deferring to this person

Who chooses to ignore

The warmth and the frivolity

And the earthiness

That I offer him

Feeling alien and inadequate

I follow with misgivings toward the house.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cheers and the winter city

Students flirting

Vulnerable

I am disheveled

And warm and secure

I have just left him

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Literate

Liberals

Sucking the essence of youth

Emptily espouse the liberation of the masses

Undeniably

Bloodlines bloody

With quality

Prep-school philanthropists

Child of peasantry

What do you envy

Blood pedigree brilliancy

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Amidst the manly chatter

Of a room not mine

I wait for you

My mind in your arms

My mind in your arms

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Under the bridge a man pacing

Above in the window a girl dreaming

Through the streetlights to the river

Oh give me a signal

I will give myself in secrecy

Students on the grass

And tall sad David stepping through them

Beating himself into his own eternity

Welcome the gray city day

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Powerless

And comprehending

We

Are the only ones

Human enough

To make snowmen

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eyes on a mobile

Paper eyes watching me

As I sleep

There are silhouetted heads

Peeking in my windows

Martians under my bed

Ghosts in my closet

Apparitions who walk the

Streets at night

I believe in Maurice Woodruff

Despite David Susskind

I could speak to the other side

But I won’t try, in case it works

And I really have to believe it

The moon is in Gemini

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

FM radio

Tantalizingly

Fade out and in

With forbidden rhymes and reasons

Stone man jockeys

Four letter words of love

And call letters

Signaling their tribe

Waiting attitudes

To bedrooms and beaches

Uniting the protest

Revolution for its invigorating quality

Running free and boundless

Sensual in angriness

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My dog runs after

The sticks I throw him

Huge,

Black-striped, and muscled,

He has a mournful face.

Alone in the sun

I daydream of loves

And lavish my loving overflow

On my dog, hugging him

He asks for nothing but sticks and loving

And does not complain

When locked up for the night.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

School in the sunshine

Abstract and not serious

My real education

Is out on the grass

Sprawling, rapping. Watching

And being watched

So many blue-jeaned hips

So much bowing hair

Passing quick smiles.

Humanity cannot be lost

If such spontaneous

Smiles are possible –

Dirty bared feet

Part of the answer

Bare elbows, bare neck napes

And bare dusty legs

The more naked the body

The more naked the soul.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

We were talking about Victorian Dickens

In my ultraprogressive seminar group

Some budding and prolific

Literatum choking over his pipe

Impressed me when he said that those

Who search for love won’t find it

Loving is a way of life. It was

A paraphrase of Dylan Thomas

Related smoothly

To Ibsen and Rousseau

Pipe-smokers

You can’t entrap me now

A boutique of a mind studded

With colorful turns of thought,

Antique and social imagery

Men for fireplace discussions

Of books and the afterlife

For passionate intellectualism

I won’t try to possess you

Momentarily enthralled I am

Fostering upon my detached admiration

Irrational desires

My undisciplined emotional tirades

Would horrify you

What would you do with my demands

Upon your mind, your soul, your body?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spinning fantasies

From a touch

I make your touches

Commonplace

I want you

I want you not to matter

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I whiled away

That rainy day

In reverie and thought

Though well I knew

That idleness

Is hard and dearly bought

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

LOVE

forever

TIME

forever

US

forever

HAPPINESS

now

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

CINDERELLA LIKED IT HOT

Scorched

Giggles wrinkled

The teacups, and

Forced a raving vegetable

To upwards stare

Upon a golden urn;

Where I, a heap of

The finest ash,

Prepared for the

Attack! And lethal

Me-chars flew aligned,

For I had known hot

Hair upon my neck:

And randomly shot cinders

Into ravaged coal-burned eyes

Oh yeah

I had no logs to put into my

Own

“A-shes, ashes

We

All

Fall

Down”

Warm, warm, furnace-baby…

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Warmness

Stabbed obliquely

Through my body

I am impaled

Of that shaft of heat

With hot fork-fingers

I have

No wish to escape

But hang limply

Lightly

Above the mother ground

There is no time

But only embers

Of a smoldering

Now-sense

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

GENIUS?? LIMITED

Though outwardly faultless

This choice Chunk of Brain,

His nature’s not human

I cannot refrain

From wondering how one

So exceedingly quick

To grasp printed text

Can be utterly thick

In matters not governed

By reason or rule;

He is blind to the meaning

The dullest fool

Would see in a swift

But significant glance

Or the half-playful banter

Exchanged at a dance

For when the distance between us

I tried to erase

His intelligence quotient

Slapped me in the face

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

ANTILOVE

I had the world

In my grip

And the sun was real

And the earth was solid

And arms and lips were warm

And strong

But time

Was a drifting soul

For I looked at you

And your face was blurred

And my arms held nothingness

After all

I floated away

Above the sun

And watched you, a

Speck on a speck of an earth

And you screamed, I hope you’re

Happy now

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sadness on Sunday

Is a common occurrence

In my mind.

Arising late, I find my world cut short

By primness and I

Hide.

Why?

All my sins of the

Week loom blacker;

(Sweet kisses

Deserved and never

Received)

I stamp my foot at You!

And busy work

And meatloaf smells

TV football

Creeps under my door

To attack me

Unmercifully.

No People!

I wallow in such

Melodrama

My face is grimy

My hair in tangles

For Sunday I wear

My ancient Jeans.

O lovely sloth!

O world somewhere!

I burst tomorrow

In full array:

O grundy Sunday!

Unending

Unbearable

Gray longing

Quenching

(A wiggly tooth

Is sore as Sunday)

Day for Nothing

Day of strange

Unfamiliar

Myselfness…

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

THE IT

How far I went

Before I found

That road had led me

Round and round

Till I had passed

The spot marked Go

A thousand times

I collected though

I had a scalp

A shrunken head

Into its gutless

Eyes I fed

All that I found

Along the way

Until that one

Ironic day

When all was gone

There were no more

It laughed at me

Rolled on the floor

With mirth and screeched

“I had you there!

All year you fed

My silent stare

And ran in circles

Now you see

That what you did

To strengthen me

Has left you nothing

In its stead

And all in vain

For I am dead

ALREADY!” and with

This parting shot

It turned to go

“Gee, thanks a lot”

I quipped, but then

Called out “But wait!

Don’t leave me in

This sorry state”

And quickly I

Unscrewed my head

And joined him on

The floor; I said

“My life has been

Much too sedate

Come show me how

You operate

We shook on that

And said no more

Our two heads rolled

Out through the door.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There is a web

Of loneliness

Of restlessness

That weaves through

My life

That I cannot reach

Or run away from.

In crowded streets

In brightly lit rooms

I will feel it most.

I will feel that this

Is not what I had

Expected from life;

I am not the person

I had expected to be;

Yet I don’t know

What it is that I

Search for.

I am not unhappy;

I am not repressed.

But somewhere there

Is something missing,

Some meaning I

Cannot find within

Myself,

But that I long for

Intensely.

I need

Some reason, some purpose

To live for.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I remember

The winter past

A sharp-edged night

So cold

The confusion of

Lights

From tall town

Buildings

My hand in yours

We ran

Through the streets

And the green

To keep warm

And held tightly

To each other

Shivering

The wind blew hard

I buried my face

In the tweed roughness

Of your overcoat

Beyond your shoulder

A shadow-red world

Of nighttime people

Spun

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It is

Warm in my

Mind, in the air

You are with me

And I know what I feel;

I am longing for a world

Where rules

Encompass all emotion;

Life is sea-green in your eyes

I’m not afraid

Of the reality deep

In their liquid warmness;

Treat me not

With love,

(For love is still

Too strange a word)

But gently

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I wonder what happened

To the other side of the fence

When hypnotized by intenseness

I took that running jump

Perhaps it was never there

In the first place

People do see illusions sometimes

When they’re hungry

But I do feel rather silly

Lying here on my back

With all those scraggly crows

Laughing and looking down at me

I should have known

A man must be strange

To have built all his

Fences in circles

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Happiness to me

Comes not through solitude

Though all my

Wizards caution

That this is

The purest way

To survive.

Isolation! They sing

Will leave you

Free to feel, to think –

To think of what?

I cannot lock

My mind away,

Nor flinch at

Every threat of pain;

A small investment,

Damaged pride;

The dividend

Is life…

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My sun-world

Of daydreams

And stolen kisses

Teasingly scurries away from under

The reality cloud

Where you are;

Half-afraid

Of your strength

And perception

You are

A tangibility

My mind cannot

Weave through

With singsong

Nonchalance;

With courage gathered

I could perhaps

Look levelly

Into your eyes

But it is such an effort –

(You know me

Too well and watch

My attempts at maturity

With patient amusement)

I am too young

To know total involvement

To give up the dreams

I have yet to live –

Wait for me.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

PRAGUE

Survival becomes

All important;

There is no material

Value

Nothing is owned

That cannot be taken away;

Gray walls and streets

Chickens in the yard

And ubiquitous eggs

To be taken and sold

For the Brotherhood.

In such a life

Of want, one craves

The mystic;

A strong impregnable

Building that houses a God;

A softener to life

Combined with homemade

Wines

The bread

And coffee taste

Like dust;

And life becomes

All-meaningful –

Perhaps

Desperation breeds

More love

Than affluence.

A letter from

The Free is magic;

An American

Dollar and icon –

I cannot feel like

They –

Paternal liberty

Is after all

Dehumanizing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

BOREDOM WRITES BAD VERSES

I really don’t have anything

To write about at all

But here I am stranded

In a boring study hall

I’ve fifteen minutes left to kill

And all my homework’s done

There’s really nothing much to do

But sit which isn’t fun

For the harassed English teacher

Who’s assigned to this study room

Will for the softest whisper

Send a student to her doom

And down the hall is a classroom

Where a certain person sits

That’s really where I’d rather be

(I think I’ve lost my wits)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

THIS IS A MESSAGE

Intended to guide

Posterity on its long and

Bloody path, something

Unique in history;

Perhaps you see, they will bring

Busloads of people to look

At my room and baby shoes

After I’m dead;

They will build romances

From high school rings

Left in my drawers,

Tragedies from moldy

Corsages

Pressed in my anthology books.

I will be mysterious

Shrouded in mystery –

When asked of me, my

Lovers, now grown suavely

Wrinkled, will smile sadly

And sigh “I knew her when.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I cannot believe I

Face the reprehensible act

Of arising each morning –

The clock early hours

Are painful and cold

And the sleep strains my

Eyes

I think of all the tasks

I must perform

Before I can again return

To oblivion,

Of synthetic quilts

And existence bores me –

I think of all my

Battered emotions one must take

Before the day will end –

Ha! Sleep serves the world.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The Racing Rat that eggs me on

Will not be daunted, not be gone

No peace or refuge can I find

His teeth are lodged deep in my mind

And chew upon my fear

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Where are the lean

And hungry minds

That clamored to know all?

They could not find

The strength to climb

Above the High Church wall

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lousy verse

Nothing worse

That’s why

This verse is terse

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I despise

Your eyes

They frown

In brown

And hint

In glints

Of golden

Emboldened

Fever

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Recluse et al

I may become

A lifetime wasted

But no harm done 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

THE IT

How far I went

Before I found

That road had led me

Round and round

Till I had passed

The spot marked Go

A thousand times

I collected though

I had a scalp

A shrunken head

Into its gutless

Eyes I fed

All that I found

Along the way

Until that one

Ironic day

When all was gone

There were no more

It laughed at me

Rolled on the floor

With mirth and screeched

“I had you there!

All year you fed

My silent stare

And ran in circles

Now you see

That what you did

To strengthen me

Has left you nothing

In its stead

And all in vain

For I am dead

ALREADY!” and with

This parting shot

It turned to go

“Gee, thanks a lot”

I quipped, but then

Called out “But wait!

Don’t leave me in

This sorry state”

And quickly I

Unscrewed my head

And joined him on

The floor; I said

“My life has been

Much too sedate

Come show me how

You operate

We shook on that

And said no more

Our two heads rolled

Out through the door.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There is a web

Of loneliness

Of restlessness

That weaves through

My life

That I cannot reach

Or run away from.

In crowded streets

In brightly lit rooms

I will feel it most.

I will feel that this

Is not what I had

Expected from life;

I am not the person

I had expected to be;

Yet I don’t know

What it is that I

Search for.

I am not unhappy;

I am not repressed.

But somewhere there

Is something missing,

Some meaning I

Cannot find within

Myself,

But that I long for

Intensely.

I need

Some reason, some purpose

To live for.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I remember

The winter past

A sharp-edged night

So cold

The confusion of

Lights

From tall town

Buildings

My hand in yours

We ran

Through the streets

And the green

To keep warm

And held tightly

To each other

Shivering

The wind blew hard

I buried my face

In the tweed roughness

Of your overcoat

Beyond your shoulder

A shadow-red world

Of nighttime people

Spun

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It is

Warm in my

Mind, in the air

You are with me

And I know what I feel;

I am longing for a world

Where rules

Encompass all emotion;

Life is sea-green in your eyes

I’m not afraid

Of the reality deep

In their liquid warmness;

Treat me not

With love,

(For love is still

Too strange a word)

But gently

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I wonder what happened

To the other side of the fence

When hypnotized by intenseness

I took that running jump

Perhaps it was never there

In the first place

People do see illusions sometimes

When they’re hungry

But I do feel rather silly

Lying here on my back

With all those scraggly crows

Laughing and looking down at me

I should have known

A man must be strange

To have built all his

Fences in circles

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Happiness to me

Comes not through solitude

Though all my

Wizards caution

That this is

The purest way

To survive.

Isolation! They sing

Will leave you

Free to feel, to think –

To think of what?

I cannot lock

My mind away,

Nor flinch at

Every threat of pain;

A small investment,

Damaged pride;

The dividend

Is life…

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My sun-world

Of daydreams

And stolen kisses

Teasingly scurries away from under

The reality cloud

Where you are;

Half-afraid

Of your strength

And perception

You are

A tangibility

My mind cannot

Weave through

With singsong

Nonchalance;

With courage gathered

I could perhaps

Look levelly

Into your eyes

But it is such an effort –

(You know me

Too well and watch

My attempts at maturity

With patient amusement)

I am too young

To know total involvement

To give up the dreams

I have yet to live –

Wait for me.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I cannot make you

Understand

My impulse to break free

And tear away all sacred things;

Still shrouded

By some Orthodox Chiffon

My laughter shocks you;

You cause me then

To shock myself

For my merriment stems from

Naiveté;

I have never dreamed

Such propriety

Of ritual

That you have been

Brought up in.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There was a time

When I was bold

With struts and dark eyes flashing

But then I grew

My eyes turned blue

And I was much less dashing

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Marijuana, acid, speed

Ravi Shankar, Freon, weed

If I die before I waken

I will have too many Sominex taken

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Emily Dickensen

Incessant hack

You wrote to the world

Then turned your back

You played with Death

But lacked the time

To live, and drowned

In endless rhyme

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The songs of love

Have all been sung

I cannot write

Another one

All the words

I wish to say

Have all been said

Another way

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

THE LECTURER

To listen fifty minutes

To a low persistent drone

That neither changes topic

Nor digresses from its tone

Is torture to the nth degree

I cannot take much more

My eyes are fixed upon him

But my mind strains for the door

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I remember pondering

The strangeness of my

Contact with him

I wanted him to kiss me

And in holding his hand I

Felt strange vibrations in

My Middle Toe

It was an odd thing to be aware of

While wanting his mouth

And his shoulders and the

Hair falling down across his forehead

The sadness was

That it was impossible to return

He is not mine to take any

Longer

But for that one moment

That state of things

Didn’t matter much

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

To go about the business

Of capturing a moment --

Of the millions of minutes

I plunge through

Not many are worth saving –

Very few of the men I

Know have dreams in their eyes

And I, out of habit suppress mine –

My only aspect of life

Love affection sex

I throw my mind away on men

There are passions as equally

Important – are there –

Flesh in the flesh

Inhibits me emotionally

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Have you ever had a truly

Meaningful relationship,” my

Date was asking me

Oh yes, I replied and

Thought of Bruce.

Ha!

“This summer,” I said

“I had the educational

Relationship of my life.”

I remembered

Rainy nights and

A blue frat seat shirt

“But what was he like?”

“I don’t know, he was – “I am

At a loss for words. I can’t

Remember, except for the

Flavor of the relationship

Blue skies, blue eyes –

Everything was blue that summer

“He was a product of my

imagination I think.” And

I changed the subject

I went home and looked

At his picture for a long time

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Stucco houses on the

Roadside faded to

Easter egg blotchiness

Wooden houses were solidly

Rotten-looking

Lived-in and flesh-like

Hunks of old cars

Dumped carelessly, they

Were bought used anyway

And the South is a myriad

Of Coca-Cola signs and

Pecans

I would like to fly

From my clean-brand-newness

And well-educated mind, my

Shock absorbent automobile

Walk in and feel the strangeness

Of familiar dirt and

Disregard –

Touch human emotions

Unfettered by grammar

Or ambition

Live in dust-baked

Perpetual sunlight, hard

And all pervasive

And deliciously imperfect.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

RHYMED REMORSE

Had I conducted myself

With more care,

I might not have lost

A friendship so rare,

Nor dragged myself down

To the depths of despair

(Though none but my own

Silliness brought me there)

But such is the way

Of the world, cruel or fair,

We make ourselves

All the burdens we bear.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I waited so long

Before finding

Strength and knowledge,

A perception of the world

Keener than my own

Oh, I had so much to learn;

A lifetime of pent-up

Emotion to give

That I couldn’t see

These rock beliefs

Admitted greater weakness

Than the uncertainty

Of my own younger soul

For rock under stress

Cannot bend

But must break

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

LATE APRIL

It is nearing toward evening,

Almost eight o’clock, yet

There is still enough light

To write by,

While silent shadows melt

From dim corners of

My room,

To blend with the last rays

Of sunset, still bright;

And tonight I am alone

And longing,

In need of not love

(I never asked for that in the

First place) but a common

Bond with the whole of life;

For I am young, and restless,

Yet happy;

I identify with

This hour, this night,

The latent wind that stirs

Among the peace of

Pastel dusk – a wind

As strained and impatient

As I to be freed and gone;

For each, the wind and I, is

An untamed nature; and each is

Confined and bound by the

Limits of time.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In tired revolt

My mind releases

The demons

Locked

In the pit of my throat

Sage

In a vault

Of sweat-proof depression

And free

They giggle

And swarm

Through my body

Licking my

Mind and driving

Me

Toward madness

My mind

Is under control

Of an ARCH*ARSONIST

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The bitch in me

Can rise to the challenge

Of the brittle city.

Pride fluffed,

I trail lustiness and

Reckless laughter in my wake.

I wallow in my impregnability

The river frozen beneath

My window

Early in the morning

The calm wind and streets

Are my weakness.

I would skate away on

The sun-glanced river

To a mountain place

And let loose my softness.

Soon.

Before I harden with use.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Three eggs fry and the sink fills with dishes and pans

Swagger eyed, you

Muse into the soap drips,

Whistle

Proverbs through your cigarette

“John and Yoko don’t have a bad life.”

A lip curled,

An eyebrow raised in query,

You play at Renaissance.

I sit at your table

I finger your plastic doilies.

Decadent, I violate your coffee cups

I debauch your Renaissance.

Playing the sun by ear,

My creation is my duplicity.

(You betray yourself, to

Grind out slowly

Your cigarettes at twilight.

A night of you is easy won.)

I may smile, I have

My female secrets.

No one asks of them.

It is my Freedom I assert before you.

(So redefined

With easy mind

I sleep beneath a heavy arm

Thrown carelessly across my neck)

And you with your projects

Your hordes of lost giggling women

Your strength may steer the night

And quake beneath a canny eye

See my eyes, beacons

Extinguished in the brittle morning.

See us

We are sphinxy

With our seamy snares

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cambridge

Dissipation

Encountered through gin and tonic

Blurring through

My baby pink system

How young you are my dear

Purrs

The personification of lust

Across the table

Paunchy as Ben Franklin

With Harvard trained lids

Half-closed

Skin flushed with Scotch and

Self-satisfaction

Swelled cynical lips over

Irregular teeth

Talk about your orgies on the Cape

Your secretaries from Zak’s

I like you intellectually,

I explained through

My bubble-gum smile

I can’t control my chemistry,

I giggled.

Oh christ get your mind off

Your cunt, he said.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bopping down the street beside you

I am speechless but respond to

Innate rhythms

My cynicism plays chords of giggles

Lightly, restrained, strumming the surface,

Playing with you and my own predictability

Damn you, I was through with rationalizations

I was launched on waves of wantonness

And now my vanity is piqued

Because you refuse to dissect me.

Idiot,

I am capable

Of devouring you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

FREUDIAN SLIPS FROM

LEARY SUBCONSCIOUSNESS

SUBLIMATES

MCLUHANESQUE

CONDITIONING.

THOREAU IN VAIN

OOZED THROUGH THE MUD.

DR. SPOCK NEVER

SPOKE OF THAT.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I’m looking into the

Twilight

Through little-paned criss-crossed

Windows.

Little squares of life show through

Cut

And

Quartered

STAMP OUT PASSION STAMP OUT PASSION STAMP OUT PASSION

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Stunted lioness,

Sooty with smog,

Skulk beneath the melted leaves

A perversity of nature’s dreams haunted autumn nights

The world forgets

And turns to the cock-roached walls

Despising

The community of contribution

The well-fed machine of anonymity

Dawn, and the sun

Backs the urban ground, sends yellow smoke to

The earth to poison the faithless children.

Lioness

Sneaks in the gutters by night

Her salvation her female claw

Parades herself with pride and innocence

In the night that blinds those who would see

We are all incapable of meaning

Screaming relevance

We nurture in sweet searching sacred ghostmen

Unreal without their constant touch

Stunted mating, there is no more mating

Not groaning over sweating bodies

We struggle over words

That betray in the morning

No way for the lioness to transcend herself

No purpose for her fierceness

Her beauty falls flat in the eyes of gutted souls who

Seek only rhythms, who know only rhythms

And only sell words with the lioness blood

Who envy the sensuous ripple of muscles

That breaks in waves of shimmering coat

That is, that is, and has no home to be in

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Crazy crabby corner ladies

People think we’re kind of shocky

We never act like we’re supposed to

But we’re so squeezy and fun to be close to

We don’t need much

Just love and goodies

World-wide adulation

Pretty dresses and such

Happy birthday and hope you get all the above

Especially love

And show ‘em all

That moonbeams are brighter than sunshine

Anytime

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lizards in the berry patch

In the castle you reside with your sweatshirts

The sun fires up

Our dormant suburban instincts

The cold catering only

To our

Coolness of intellect and our

Grizzly furs

Motorcycles convertibles

Chewing gum ice cream cones

Transistors that spit music

Dependent on the profits of pimple cream

It somehow seems to

Suit the gritty asphalt, the prickly grass

Grossly physical humanity

We are

Boy-men in t-shirts and

Low slung jeans

Walk hands in

Pockets thumbs down All-American

Red-blooded posture, we as girls

Stripping winter-white legs swing

Poses and flash

Bosom

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Morning attacked us

Through the windows

Averted eyes accomplished nothing

A man breathed deeply

Of his Wall Street Journal

Rouge on the cheeks

Of gray flaking ladies

Blazed

In bottled fever

I handed over my broken glasses

With the delicacy I would

Grant to a corpse

“Ah one of life’s minor tragedies”

They said

But there was nothing they could do

The city sows me. But my

Anger is adoctrinaire

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Porpoises dying on sun-bleached sand

Burning in the sun

Lying in gleaming, shuddering rows

I know they are innocent

They sigh they have nothing to say

I am spent I have no more to give

Together we lie in red sunset

Peacefully shriveling

Egos draining from or pores

In tears of sweat

The tide will cover us by twilight

The cool sea will lend us strength

We will feed on protozoa

And silently cohabit

My chosen porpoise and I

Tail stirring the surf to foam

Rising to the stinging air

And spouting

Profanities and mingled regrets

Toward the shore immutable

Empty and achy and sated

I will drift with night currents

Pulled by the moon to the earth’s edge

Plunging endlessly into space

Revolving in the moony blackness

Weaving through the porpoise corpses

And living fire stars

Eternally tasting of salt

My lips

Will be smiling tidbits for the gods

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The news this morning

Is bland-washed rhetoric

I hurl my mind against

Politics with flippancy

It is such a safe identity

Such a definable passion

We have all become preachers

Our words propaganda

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Goddess of the river

The waterfall roars with your laughter

Bright eyes flash with sunbeams

The waves of your flesh are a somba rhythm. I am your bastard child

Alien explorer from lost jungle homelands

Blue eyed boomerang

Pagan Snow White born to

Voodooize women’s liberation

Bewitch every hamburger in America

Virgin whore mother

My blood pounds magic tales

My heart

My mind produces prehistoric movies

I hear the thunder of creation in passion

Watching the evening news and applying

Million Dollar Red nail polish

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I walked in

The other day with mold

Hanging from my eyebrows

And the back of my knees –

Green and blue and purple-speckled mold

I felt as if I had come of age –

I certainly felt different

Not guilty or anything, very

Elated and relieved

I told my friends

“Look, I’ve mildewed”

I thought they’d be happy for me –

Funny, most didn’t believe me

Even though I was green to the

Ankle by this time

Or they misconstrued the

Meaning and thought I’d

Contracted a social disease

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

HOW I, IN THE MIDST OF AN ORGY, EMERGED FROM

MY COCOON AND BECAME AT LAST A SOCIAL MOTH:

CONSEQUENTLY A BURDEN AND A TRIAL TO A SAGE.

Venturing from my tower one summer, in a binge

Of curiosity (for I truly loved the earth) I

Bumped into a sage; he stood conversing

On the green and I accosted him

Heartily. “Sage! Sage!” I cried

But he glanced coolly from his heights; for

I was very young and had not learned

The ways of the wise. Sauntering at last

He came, and took me by the hand, he

He wished to talk to me; “Of course,” I said

And smiled but he darkened somewhat.

“You know,” he said “you’ve now come

of an age; a time when you must promise not

to make a move without consulting me.”

“Naturally,” I pouted, “children

Must not play with matches; and

Curiosity killed the cat. What other

Pertinent facts must I know?”

“That’s all for now,” he said, “you may

Continue your cavorting; I will come

For you at the crack of dawn.”

And so he did:

The gathering indeed was unfamiliar;

And trailing my instructor through a crowd

Of strange but arresting beings

I mulled my orders over in my mind;

I was to observe, but could not touch,

An axiom I could not see, but was

Content for follow for the present. For

There was much to observe! An

Entire party of sages, so perceptive

Of life that they did not notice it at all,

A nonchalance which thrilled me;

And I was presented to them,

I saw that I in turn generated interest.

Presently my sage excused himself, for

He had Important Matters to pursue;

“Take care,” he warned his peers, “she

“Does not know our ways,” and he disappeared.

Shy at first to join in the revel

I attempted to talk with those on the fringe;

And found them wise, was as

My sage, but with a difference –

My sage talked down to me as would a

Teacher, molding my potential;

Here I was treated as an equal and soon

I could communicate and gambol with

The best of them. Knowledgeable, these

People were, yet of common roots! For

Hours and hours I reveled with them,

Though occasionally things occurred

Which I did not understand; and I

Was glad to be free of my sage,

For here I was regarded with

An interest and intensity of glance

I had not known before.

My sage eventually did return, but

At a most inopportune moment;

For I was about to learn something

Of life from one of a most

Interesting philosophy. He had asked

Me if I had found answers to

My life. “At times,” I sighed, “but

They are so transient, if only I

Could be amidst such wisdom

That is here.” “Ah, but you are

Wrong,” he said, “such wisdom

Is not found within a collective crowd

But with one of one’s caliber.”

“That is what my sage told me,”

I smiled, “but you see I have

Not acquired it yet.” “I suggest,”

He whispered, “that you sample

Another brand of wisdom.” And just

As I would perhaps have complied,

My sage appeared with a virtual pounce.

“Come,” he said in blackest tones

and dragged me off. “What, are you angry?”

I asked, surprised. “You brought me

Here to learn of life;

And now you will not let me.”

“You do not understand, or know what

You are doing,” he said, you will

Only waste yourself,

And I shall be to blame; I think

I have brought you here prematurely.”

And brooding on this he stared at

The sun; I in the meantime stared at

Him, and ruffled at his words;

For with my new experience, I

Saw him in a different light; and

Thought myself his equal, independent

Of his deigning advice. “Well,”

I Began for lack of better, “You

Needn’t burden yourself with me

More; for I have learned there

Are many who would teach me of the

World,” and would have flounced away,

But strangely seemed to be nailed

To the spot; for there was something

In his weary eyes I had not seen before.

“You stupid girl,” he said and he shook me.

“You see only exteriors, and cannot see

The turbulence beneath the surface.

Painstakingly I did cultivate your mind

And now you would destroy it

All, for momentary pleasures.” And

Tightening his grip he looked

Down wrathfully in my face.

Seeing him thus agitated, I

Tried my best to be penitent;

But only succeeded in giggling.

“Why, if this be baseness,” I laughed,

“I must say it is pleasant;

And do not see why you struggle so

To keep me from it.” “god in hell!”

He cried, “I’ve created a monster;

For all my careful teachings merely

Cloaked a hedonist!” and wringing

His hands he paced up and down,

Avoiding my blatant and hungry glance.

“Perhaps,” I mused, “it is abstinence

In itself which has changed me; for you

Could not bring me to mental

Cognizance and still keep me innocent.”

“Ah,” he despaired, “is this the price

Of short-sightedness? To b pursued

By my own creation?” “Yes,”

I said, “for what I shall

Learn now is far beyond

Your realm of expertise;

But I am determined to have you as well –

The pattern cannot be changed.”

At this he raised an eyebrow and shifted

His glance from the revel back to me.

“If it has taken but the

Conquest of a minor sage

To fill your head with illusions,”

He said, “I have failed

To eradicate your bourgeoisie.

You have self destructive habits – and

Having victored over me it is only a

Matter of time until you, too, must fall.

GO,” he ordered in sudden roughness,

“And see how long you will last

By yourself.” In mind I wavered, but

Stood very still and watched

The expanse of sunrisen sky. “I

Need no one; I am a free being,” I

Whispered, and turned on my heel.

The crowd before me was awesome and

Strange – my limbs felt shrunken and oddly

Weak – his laughter

Loomed loud

And claimed the world.

I ran from him; he was matchless.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Wanting art

And deco-dence

I’m sitting here in this

Hole of an apartment room

Waiting for my hair to grow

My phone to ring

And for the whole goddamn world

To regain its composure.

Call me, call me, call me

I amuse myself

By my romantic depths

I should have grabbed

What I wanted

Before it got buried in all these

Social duties and identities

And finding oneself

Liberated, shit.

My soul trickles from me

Like processed bread crumbs.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

What is it I’ve written in this notebook, all

This half-finished stuff about reality and

Sex and all, but I’m bored with writing, I’ve

Squeezed every last bit of experience out of me

Onto paper bags and letterheads and

Earnest conversations

 With people I’m the

Least bit interested in having a conversation with.

Communication is only reached through a

Mock put-down fight or sometimes by accidental

Mutual crisis, that’s the trouble with people

On my frequency, their egos are too brittle

To risk overpowering –

If there is one thing I cannot take is for

Anyone to see through to my ultimate

Naiveté and mushiness, I can only show this

To someone more stupid, which is something

Of a paradox –

Someday I will have to make a supreme sacrifice

And admit, yeah wow, you’re great and superior

And mold my mind, which is kind of admitting a

Dispensable ego, and isn’t that being a human

Leech? I need to go up to some cloud and ask

For a tablet with my identity on it, and

I’ll hang it in my room and every morning I can

Stand there and say yeah you exist, look,

And walk away confident. Maybe a star map will

Do. Hang it right there, Sharon Bellush, Cancerous

Moon Child. I’ve got to stop hanging on minds

Even less secure than my own, that’s for sure.

** ** ** **

The one anachronous poem from the ‘80s, the Boomers’ thirtysomething years:

TOO YOUNG TO RETIRE 

(1988)

I’m just lying around thinking.

There’s no one I want to call.

Sometimes I just go out cruising

but I don’t see a thing I like at all.

I’ve just got no motivation,

no way to break my fall.

I get so bored with the losers

but man those winners are worse!

I don’t want no disco action

with a gigolo eyeing my purse.

No, now I just want a dark moon rider

without any conversation first.

I don’t like anyone to drive me

like I was a souped up car.

Don’t want anyone to shake me

like a mixer in a cocktail bar.

I want to find a lone ranger

from Atlantis or a two-toned star.

I want an extraterrestrial

with a black leather software machine.

A true desolation row angel

sporting a laser gun, you know what I mean?

I want to turn it on to intense

like the kick of an espresso bean.

You know when I break loose

I leave all the jockeys behind.

I own the speed that I need

but there’s no one I can find.

I’d rather run Kamikaze

than slow down to a low-grade grind.

Anytime I get tied down

it’s never as good as I’d thought.

Now all the Don Juans are faded.

They can’t deliver on the lines I bought.

He looks too young to be jaded

but I know for certain he’s been caught.

I guess the thing that I look for

is the hell and back look in his eyes

the black light aura

from the face that asks no reasons why.

I’ve gotten confused explanations

that make me crazy when I try.

Tonight I’m staring at the ceiling.

There’s no one I want to call.

So I go out driving in my car

but there’s nothing going down at all.

The roadhouse isn’t appealing

and there’s no one at the shopping mall.