should I leave Erebus
to his own device?
what Chaos when the curtains rises
and the houselights dim
with whitecake
on my face
the actress backstage
contemplates
laying a Universal egg
still a broken heart
is a broken heart
and illumination
is in fact
Performance
in the dark
in the cold
in the sky
i can fly
i am old
but i can see
for miles
and miles
i am silver
i am gold
i am white
i am blue
i am rock
i am chaste
i am time
i am truth
when twilight falls
among the stars
i sit and tinker
with your moods
i hear your thoughts
i move the tides
i am your God
i am your Muse
i can be fire
i can be war
i am the daughter
of Zeus
but tonight
there won’t be light
cause I can’t shine
without you
but tonight
there won’t be light
cause I can’t shine
without you
where is the green in the leaf?
where is the movement in the molecules?
where is the up in the beat?
where is the thrill in the chill of the night?
where is the bee in the sting?
when did the earth lose circumference?
when did the map lose relief?
where is the salt in the tear in my eye?
where is the gold in the pot?
where is the sense in the common?
where is the time in the rag?
where is the play in the vein of the game?
where is the soul in the food?
where did the second hand slacken?
when did the burn lose the sun?
where is the dawn in the break if the day?
i’m lost in this love
where is the ring in the truth?
where is the pearl in the oyster?
where is the pillow in the talk?
where is the friend in the girl and the boy?
where is the heart in the ache?
where is the snap in the dragon?
when did the dust lose the star?
when did the mind lose the peace and the frame?
where is the cream in the ice?
where is the sky in the scraper?
where is the home in the run?
where is the wind and the town and the down?
where is the grand in the slam?
where is the sweet in the bitter?
when did the tap lose the dance?
when did the night lose the good and the gown?
i’m lost in this love
i’m lost in this love
i’m lost, lost, lost in this love
the moment slips by in silence
like dying in your sleep
peripheral vision could save you if
the movement weren’t so fleet
like the burning smell of flesh
before the brain records the heat
the flash of an explosion
the second before defeat
if Truth could sound a warning
instead of stealing in the night
if blunder would blaze like neon
or a Christmas tree with lights
if words spoken in certain sequence
were outlined in black and white
would these clues forecast
disaster within the ordinary life?
the shadow before the stranger
the yellow tint before the storm
the lighting before the thunder
the quiet harbingers that warn
if Time had a sense of Justice
could we go back and make it right?
if vigilance would protect us
could we sleep another night?
the edge of the blade
the black of the night
the sharp of the point
the twist of the knife
the gray of the cloud
the numb of the cold
the growl of the dog
the turn of the road
the howl of the wind
the weight of the train
the flip of the switch
the crack of the ice
the depth of the sea
the fuse of the bomb
the tick of the clock
the click of the lock
the slam of the door
the blunt of the blow
the end of the day
the shift of an eye
the pitch of the ship
the screech of the wheel
the slip of the tongue
the roll of the dice
the knot of the rope
the drop of the shoe
the hint of a lie
there’s a piece on the chair
a piece in the hall
a nice piece of me
stuck to the wall
divide and conquer
the jigsaw in you
has left me asunder
all over the room
there’s a piece by the clock
clinging awkwardly to time
there’s a piece at the piano
clinging stubbornly to rhyme
there’s a fun piece of me
in a crack in the floor
an innocent piece
who walked out the door
BRIDGE:
call me a doctor
or a structural engineer
draft me a past and a future
that consent to adhere
give me a pill that makes cohesion
a pharmacological thing
bring me the tape and the twine
the blueprint design
to fit the scraps and the threads
to the feet and the legs
there’s a piece that was pretty
for a moment or two
but my mouth and my lips
are somehow askew
a piece of a hero is
behind the tv
the piece with the glue
is looking for pieces of me
theres a piece in Detroit
a piece in LA
New York is a critic
she’s funny that way
there’s a piece prone to panic
a big piece is blue
all the pieces agree
the best piece went with you
BRIDGE:
In fragments and tatters, scattered
all over the road
each piece has the other
but no piece is a whole
little maps in their pockets, reflections
of possibility
the pieces pick themselves up
dust themselves off
and start all over
again
verse
philosophy engenders a Rational man
Descartes would be the first to agree
syllogistically speaking if ‘A’ is you
and ‘B’ is me
logical proposition will lead us to’C’
Aristotle conditioned the Greeks to indulge
the brain and the body agree
psychologically speaking if the student can teach,
the teacher can learn,
lets leave the thinking to me
simplicity can charm the intellectual beast
a three-word phrase will suffice
hedonistically speaking if ‘food is for thought’
then ‘thought is or food,’ and
teacher, “I want you” tonight
i could eat your words
suck the salt from your ‘erudition’
light a fire under ‘inhibition’
season ‘reason’ with a transitive verb
i could eat your mind
sweeten ‘no’ with ‘equivocation’
blend your phrases with ‘provocation’
sip the spit from your bittersweet rhyme
poets need a holiday
professors need adulation
you can talk and talk
the right away
and make no case for ‘moderation’
i’ll drink ‘remorse’ like a cabernet
champagne with ‘indecision’
‘guilt’ like garlic
needs to sauté with cream, butter
and wine
I could eat your words
melt ‘objection’ with ‘stimulation’
simmer ‘truth’ with ‘prevarication’
taste your ‘virtue’ and ‘honor’ and ‘time’
baby teach me tonight
when i smile do my eyes scramble and scan
off center as the question direct?
does the corner of my mouth freeze in place,
performance curtain lack of intent?
if i step in time can i design
a movement that feigns desire?
can the perfect wife fake one more night
can she joke and laugh and dance
without the fire?
can the blanket of gray at the end of the day
conceal a sigh of regret?
can the shadow of a form deign to affect or
disguise dearth of content?
if i wine and dine, if there’s rhythm and rhyme,
mandate and motion and will
if i follow the map, or outline the task
can i lip-synch or pantomime
the perfect script?
BRIDGE:
thursday day is scheduled precisely
friday night a dinner affair
by 6 o’clock hors d’oeurves from the market
the dress, the makeup, the hair
the doorbell rings, the cocktails clink
the conversation a smart, snappy din
with stone and lintel and steel and sheen
i’m architect and hostess
of a stylish scene
the party begins to dwindle and sputter
the room empty as the air is thin
with landscape and chatter
the heart of the matter
can defy all but peripheral vision
if i close my eyes, if i fantasize
a movement that feigns desire
can the perfect wife fake one more night
can she joke and laugh and dance
without the fire?
when i walk down the street
let each step that i take
be the rote repetition of the route yesterday
with a monotonous cadence and
a stultifying sameness
liberate me
sedate me
let the finest nuance of my day
absolutely not
resonate
in lieu of diamonds and mink
why not think commonplace
the shirt and shoes i wear tomorrow i wore today
with an alarm clock precision
and an unassuming grace
enlist me
conscript me
fix the patterns in simple gray
so i cannot
differentiate
the trees are green in the summer and red in the fall
i’d rather there be no variation at all
with the punctual procession
of the doppelganger days
blur me
obscure me
let a lifetime tick away
as i blissfully
somnambulate
chorus
the same cup of coffee
the same dog, the same wife
reliable revulsion
for sticky situations in life
mediocre aspirations
monochromatic and plain
humdrum complications
in the ordinary vein
typical tragedies
nothing new nor district
regular pleasures
that won’t disturb
the routine
take me for granted
as the honeymoon flags
jointly wallow
in a connubial nap
drag me softly
into existential ennui
do not surprise me
do not schedule a thing
lets be average
as we regale in this love and
leave me sweetly
stuck
in my rut
your vision isn’t splendid
your vocabulary’s weak
your passport’s been extended but
I’ve got some plans next week
you gotta go home
you gotta go home
you’ve overstayed your welcome
and the thrill is really gone
you just gotta go
the English have their pudding
the Haitians had their coup
the Parisians they have style so
how did they get you
you gotta go home
you gotta go home
it started out a picnic but
now its gonna rain
you just gotta go
your mouth caught my attention
French lips were made to kill
Baudelaire in my ear and a
city that broke my will
you gotta go home
you gotta go home
a sexy mouth or two
now I’m stuck with you
you just gotta go
a poet’s thing for drama
the charm of the insane
you’ve taken all my money now
just get on the plane
you gotta go home
you gotta go home
you’ve got a special flair for
broken love affairs
just go
it’s not that I don’t care
but its better over there
just go
from the start this wasn’t wise
no long drawn-out good byes
just go
from heaven into hell
good riddance and farewell
just go
if i were blue
like David Hockney’s pool
dive into me and glide
under a California sky
inside your mouth and nose and eyes and I
if i were blue
like Edward Hopper’s afternoon
lift the sash to air the breeze
left my summer flush your cheek
lie supine beneath the soft and gentle season
would that this were that
this is more like black
dark as darkest indigo
sickly sweet and ripe
like nothing
smothering light
bring on the pelting rain
palpable sensual pain
like Goya in his studio
in the thick of night
absence is
dull and silent
if i were blue
a pale Picasso blue
as beauty is to sorrow
let me cover you in sleep
and in your melancholy
i would give you peace
if i were blue
