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We’re just crooners

We’re just crooners—
we sing of our loves as the
sun gleams into the rain

He was a generous man
This didn’t make him a man
of feeling or empathy
or a pleasant man
or a scrupulous man
or a truthful man or even
a good man

Experiences that seemed mundane
can, in memory, flash signals,
be guideposts, or enflame 

“That chair was broken
before you sat on it
I can see you’re embarrassed
because you think you broke it”
Dude, if I thought I broke your damn
chair, I’d have told you so—
I’m not stupid, unaware, or dishonest

What about the neighbors, husbands,
mothers and others hell bent on consuming
those they profess to care for? 

Nicole (please call me
“Nicolette” but never “Nicky”)
wanted Phil to love her and she
decided to wait on him, get him a drink
That Phil was an adamant type
who didn’t think anyone
should wait on him or anyone,

The world is not created once
and for all—we recreate it
for ourselves many times

certainly not his lover,
and certainly not for free
The look of disgust on his face
as she literally ran for that drink
was something quite miserable to see
When it’s good it’s never so good
as to make up for what turns bad

It was a time when
the calm of happiness
left my depths undisturbed

That child on the plane
didn’t stop talking once
Really, she never shut up
But if you listen to her high-pitched
happy chatter and let her words go
she seems to say just one thing alone
“Look at me, love me, I matter” 

Each time they met 
she’d prove it again—
Hatred retaliates to excess

On her bad days she was confused,
an uncomprehending bundle
of feelings unshielded by intelligence
Is this the price of her former brilliance?
She’s a bit daft some would
callously say and they didn’t
seem to care if she heard them

The ecstasies, the triumphs,
welcome as they are, never
quite make up for our losses 

The one-eyed man of myths
can’t see in, he can only see out
He’s a man of brutal, earthly powers
He doesn’t need or perceive his inner swirls
and rifts, and he’s vain, cunning, and tricky
What he means isn’t clear in his mind—
so he lies

Like an exhausted swimmer she
painfully keeps her head above the waves
of time that threaten to consume her

So the years go by
We know that old age gives way
to youth, that the most solid fortunes
and thrones vanish and that
celebrity is a passing thing
We accept this onto our
mental retinas and nevertheless we sing

Hardy, strong and set as the light
photographed against a glass building,
like a fiery cacophony of splendor

 

 

 

-November 5, 2016-