songanddancegirl

"It's about words, and words are all I have…"

Archive for the month “December, 2017”

DREAM

MY DREAMS THEY RUN AWAY LIKE WILD HORSES OVER THE HILLS

Yesterday a good friend said: be careful what you ask for  

re: my dream career in advertising   They’ll give you toilet

paper ads   It won’t all be work with über cool fashionistas

That’s just fine with me   For who really knows what will

become of my poems  + the paper on which they are written

 

All flung daily into the re-cycle bin   Toilet paper  filled with

ghosts of poems   Hours  Days  Months  +Years    Dredging

Digging in the dirt  Reaching higher than the holy clouds over

Jerusalem   (Orange ape inciting race hate as i write)  

 

This conundrum is not unlike that of Tom Petty’s   Now pushing

up daisies  Still largely unmourned   Tom sightings on Ventura

highway  daily   Once when a horrified Thomas  gazed out onto a

boooo-ing crowd  he was told:  Don’t worry man!   They’re not 

boooo-ing you  They’re cheering for Bruuuuce Sprinsteen!

Same thing!   Tom intoned  in his characteristic nasal groan

 

Well this is exactly my feeling about writing copy for toilet paper

versus exploding vowels  +receiving shitty rejection letters   Or

fielding the soul marauding question: What exactly did you mean

when you wrote  —- ?    So  bring me your privies   Your porcelain

buses   And I will wipe away tears   +turn on multitudes!

__________

*(now how is that for a literary toilet paper ad?)

 

 

 

Winter  2017  ..missing   tom  david  leonard  lou   et al.

CHOSEN

THERE WERE CHILDREN CRYING AND COLOURS

FLYING ALL AROUND THE CHOSEN ONES

Neil Young  gorgeous hunk?  Or ape-ian?  Soundtrack to start of

hippiegirl era   14    After the Goldrush   Too cool for Beatles crazed

brother  in his striped stovepipes

 

He +Jew-fro’d friend  now a neurosurgeon  busy with Beatle business in

next bedroom   As I lay splayed   Window cracked  cig wafting   Poodle mellow

Soon to chew a hole in bed  searching for cool-girrrl’s stash

 

46 yrs. come+gone   Neil on computer screen Saturday eve   Lights out

Laptop +tequila balanced on good knee  Reefer no more  New pot sent poet

into ecstatic confessions  Giant spiders still leap onto body nightly  +snakes

in mind’s eye slither up vericosed legs

 

But what I will say is: None of this extraneous bullshit matters  to one’s spirit

To one’s life force   Even seeing Neil Young  hulking+broken  on the computer

screen   Slovenly+doddering    Blasphemy!

 

Execs who paid him BIG corporate bucks  knew he needed mega$$$ for alimony

after jilting the loyal Pegi (for the ho Darryl Hannah  after 34 yrs. of marriage)

Neil you bastard   You deserve to look like you do   Unwashed  Unloved  Unfucked

Though tattered souls still soar to your high-pitched groan:  4 dead in O-hi-O  

4 dead in O-hi-O    

 

Unlive the years!  Re-inhabit splayed girl  on mauve bedspread   Canned Heat poster

on the wall   Room where you slept for 15yrs.   Unaware of the fact that: once you left

(at 19 with young husband in tow)  the wind would kick up   The house razed by

bourgeois buyers  +your brothers flung into men’s bodies   Your parents: 1 dead +1

creeping

 

But you were there   The tributaries indelible  Right up until the day that: a heavyset

man in a brown coat   +a winsome whore with yellow flowers in her golden hair  walk

beside you  up through mountain passes   Until you end up back at that front door!

Bald grandfather Joseph is waiting   Black poodle howling at the harvest moon

 

Put the needle on the record

__

 

 

FALL  2017   For Rocco Rella  long may you run..

DAZZLED

RUINED   REMADE   & DAZZLED

 

Though on the surface it seemed every person was different,

this was not true.  At the core of each lay suffering; our eventual

end, the many losses we must experience on the way to that end.

(Lincoln in The Bardo  George Saunders  Booker Man Prize 2017)

 

Last night’s show  East Texas troubadour  Steve  married 8 or 9 times

Numbers 5+6 the same woman  Began seeing him some 25 yrs. ago  Heroin

chic hair to his waist   Prison would soon take the sheen   Bikers no longer

fill the seats  Or could these greyish old folks be old bikers?  Hard to know

 

Where do old Hell’s Angels go?  Does the road end at the Danforth Music Hall?

Some with canes  vacant eyed   Bird tattoo between scavenger shoulder blades

on one babe  Bouncers pat you on the shoulder ie.,  It’ll be ok dear   DO NOT  pat

you down  though I begged to be    He was burly  thick fingered  a bit dirty

 

Earlier in the day a very old man lay  on the floor  as nurses walked slowly toward

him  so as not to alarm the lunch crowd  Restaurants we frequent now full of the

aging population   But don’t let the bastards get you down  It is also true that while

we are all the same in our creaturestowarddeathness   We are all burled battered  +

dazzled in entirely unique ways

 

3 billion gaze at the stars nightly  +only 1 sees flashlights   Ditto old bikers with

sagging tattoos  Their greyish womenfolk looking out of hollow eyes  Some large

breasted amazons who in the midst of cellular degeneration  crack wizened smiles

that say: Underneath this Steve Earle t-shirt is strapped the gold of the alchemists

with which  you can barter for immortality  on your way across the Styx

 

The thick fingered bouncer  too thick to be slipped the answer  He sees only

innocence +ruin  on old chapped lips   Only 1 sees epiphany:  Those who know

the difference between being DEAD  +being ALIVE  shall enter the kingdom of

heaven    All others will be sent back to earth to practice  being alive

__

 

 

Fall 2017

 

 

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