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And
I haven’t words
Let alone verses,
Lost inside these memories
And all those unshouted curses
Over undelivered king cake
And distant disdaining lovers.
It’s terribly alone and cold,
Kibitzing with the cat under covers.
All I want to do
Is laugh, dance, and sing:
Without tissues
Or stirring issues
That don’t mean a thing.
I haven’t time
Nor seconds to spare
To at last convince you
That I just might really care:
Over unfulfilled promises,
My remonstrating old lover.
Might we picnic again
In Audubon Park’s clover?
All I need do
Is having married you instead:
Without pale issues
Needing nearby tissues
Next to the unmade bed.
I lack the K, S, and A’s
Let alone the brains
To make good this sad lyric
Who’s refrain sorely strains
Over past years and lies—
A poor shattered kite
That no longer flies,
As I savor the dreams
Of the joy twixt your crossed thighs.
All I want to do
Is laugh, dance, and sing:
Without issues
Reaching for tissues
Badabop Badabing.
Do You Mean Me?
Are those soft words meant for me?
Is it now safe to settle into tranquility?
Icy rains ahead on roads fog-wrapped
Fleeing a love wherein I was once trapped.
Twelfth Night revelers muster at the Carrollton barn
Their annual trek to recover their childhood yarn:
Hey, throw me something mister!
Hey, don’t look that way at my sister!
Meet me at The Avenue and Seventh
Of course! Bring your cousin Kenneth!
Doubloons, cups, beads, catch the daylight;
Oh baby, kiss me good; sweetie, hug me tight.
And so Hump Day with ashes full arrives
And recriminations cut with dull knives—
I only kissed her once on a day care forgot.
We’re done, that’s it, you’d rather not—
Why is life in the thirties so stupid?
Aren’t we adults, who killed Cupid?
Why do we think ourselves
Into such boxes of darkness,
Into that snare of wrong turns;
To put down hard roots
Into a newer unloved land;
Grasping, weak and missing—
Another lost kite string over the hedge;
Another lost thing we swore to keep;
Living a clueless life over the edge
As now I lay me down to sleep?
Are those soft words meant for me?
Is it now safe to settle into tranquility?
Diseases and ruin now arrive to drag us back home.
My armor was never silver but warehouse chrome.
O, to die in Ashland, intox’ed by her clackety-clack.
Just to home return, but you can never ever go back.
Kitt
pueriles 