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Sunday, June 29, 2008



I‘ve never figured myself a jealous man.
Maybe when I was much younger,
During my teen years, I had a bit of a streak,
And, later, toward the end of my drinking,
Elements of my character became magnified,
True, especially for the worst parts.

Liquor always brought me to morbidity.

I became lost, crazy, think was upside down.
My bending of the elbow grew to obsession,
That was the mode, coloring my every move.

But you know the story, Honey. Hallelujah!

I was saved. For me, like Saint Paul’s,
A miraculous conversion, blinded by the light,
I had been born free, citizen, Roman, holding rank,
Armed upon steed, death squad commander,
Who served at pleasure of god, Caesar,
To whom I pitched incense, and swore
Allegiance, knowing to act otherwise
Would mean pain of exile,
To be banished from Rome forever.

What a story! Knocked from horse, and
When that saint rose up, up from that ground,
From the road outside Damascus,
He had not only raised himself,
But us up, too, making for us all seats together,
Heavenly places, in the church of Christ, Jesus.

Forgive me. I digress, and what I call miracle
In my case may exaggeration for more pedestrian,
Quotidian explanation be, my experience
Panic attack, seizure, psychotic, I went nuts!

Leibchen, Ich habe ganz verrueckt gegangen!

However the therapies label, it certainly stopped
My practice of daily imbibing,
And took from me the terrible habit
To set me on steps toward character improvement.

Allow me here more common fare,
Borrow ready, simple conceit,
To come to full circle, to explain
How today’s affection takes this all too zealous turn.
Oh by gosh, by golly! It has happened again.
Thinking about you and the things that adorn you
Has delivered me prey
to green-eyed monster.

When your stockings lay in bedroom bureau,
When you lived with me here in our home,
I would open the drawer and look upon them,
The pang I’d feel lay in what I could not…
For unlike them, I could not caress your entire leg!

Then I grew jealous of your buttons and zippers.

You might say, using strongest intonation, 'Stanley!
How can you be jealous of innocent items?
How can you be jealous of objects,
Please, like my own buttons and zippers?'

But I must retort, not so innocent at all!
For they hold you in so many intimate places,
And stay with you the whole day long, even now,
Now, when you are gone, utterly absent from my side!

The devil possesses me for my ardor so extreme,
I have become jealous of your shoes, because,
And you must have guessed the reason,

They hold your feet and take you away from me.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008



I miss you, honey.
I miss going to dinner with you.
Everywhere I look, up and down the streets,
I keep thinking I see you.
It’s the damnedest thing!

By the way, I’ve decided to discard,
Throw out some of the poetry.
Of course, you must know why.
It has me loving you too much.

Oh! Those notes I took,
The notes of all our telephone conversations,
Sister, that’s a painful lot!

I documented all your promises, your assurances.
I made you repeat them.
I hoped thereby you might remember
Just how many times you had given me your word.

I wrote them all down, my questions, your answers.

I can look back, should anyone have interest,
And figure the exact dates of those, your pledges.

But the exercise would require work,
Because in the record of those,
Our long-distance dialogues,
I reckoned time according to lunar calendar.
They read, for instance, first, Monday, December,

Across one sheet I noted significant,
You had telephoned me from Florida the day
Directly following the second Harvest Moon,
A moon whose rise the previous night
I had sighted over Forest Avenue.

Upon those papers I sometimes drew
Regular zodiac signs, pretending knowledge,
Like some sorcerer of old,
Who predicated life’s lot on planetary whirl,
Who posited fortune from abstract,
A conjunction of heavenly bodies within a starry belt,
I was dream-wishing. It was make-believe, pathetic.

Might your last satellite communication, I wondered,
Be housed on plane with moon in constellation, Leo?

It all gets very primitive when dealing with you.

When I concentrate,
Concentrate on my abandon, on my love,
Really examine the extent of my feelings,
My heart wells, fills up like a balloon.
It’s ready to burst,
Overwhelmed, stretched to utmost circumference,
Its membrane reaches thinnest extreme,
It helps to explain
Just how sensitive I am to your every desire.

If I remember to relax,
Should I try and stop holding on,
Just simply let you go,
Then I can not help but feel gratitude,
Give thanks for the time
I had opportunity to spend with you.

At other times I fall to absolute delusion,
And believe I write great poetry,
The words I pen have immortality,
Celebrate you and me for the ages,
Carry real prophecy and moment,
True vision when I reveal my dreams for you.

I guess I believe we are constantly being born.
I go through all these thoughts, again – again,
Hoping against hope,
Seeking a glimmer, some glimmer,
Fingers crossed for incredible stroke of luck,
Trust your return to my arms once more.

I have another problem;
It’s when I look about.
I see other couples, pairs, close,
Together for the afternoon, daylight upon their faces,
While they read their newspapers and books,
And sip from their bottles of water.

I am sorry to conclude, you’re a mean person.
You leave me alone with my work.

Am I making this up as I go along?

But you did leave me here alone.
You left me all by myself with my freedom.
I am afraid I’ve fallen prey to mine own emptiness.

Were you mine, I swear I wouldn’t,
I wouldn’t share you with anybody, with anything.
It would be just you and me.
You’d be the center of it all!
It would feel more like love, sweet love,
Than me left here home alone with my work.

Hope I haven’t upset you.

Maybe that’s the real difficulty,
The source of us being driven apart,
I am just too romantic
You seek something other
Than those things I have in mind.

I have the capability of living with my beliefs.

But, darling, you must take pity,
Open your heart -- for you say you still love me.
Mercy please! Forgive me, I lack resolve.
I am unable to start anew, to make life without you.

I am still not over this thing of ours.

I haven’t gotten over it, the beauty,
All the wondrous times,
I haven’t gotten over my being with you.

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