How many times do I have to learn
That my self isn’t solid?
.
In all my delusional excursions
Onto a throne in my mind
To
.
Chase a sleazy victory
Of separation and finality
I missed what I really wanted -.
The bone-gristle-cerrating
.
Ardor of fast-paced interaction
Which would yield
The inclination
.
To walk around on the golf course
By the river
With all the geese.
Nobody has an ego
Today
As mother nature has taught us what we are…
Mortal.
.
Today,
We are all identical nodes of spirit
On our own, separate fractions
And it feels ok
.
As the world has turned and
Subsumed itself in volcanic light works
And
Nothing seems the same.
My former boss
At the bar
Unfriended me on Facebook
And won’t let me follow her on
Instagram.
.
The last time I talked to her,
She gave me a hug.
.
I’m not sure why,
But her bust has like doubled in size
Since I worked for her six years ago.
.
And now I’m left to think of this video
Of her twirling these flags
In a bathing suit on the beach,
Twisting,
Bending and swaying,
.
With various heavenly
Swatches of copper flesh
Wiggling with inertiatic zeal
Revealing themselves
Scantily or partially, at
Variant times.
.
And now I walk
Down a block downtown
And there’s this dusty feel to
Everything,
.
But the women all seem to have
.
Huger breasts than ever,
Hence, hopefully,
Justifying my nervy quest to
Observe my former boss on social media.
.
I think back to the days of rock concerts,
At the Rum Village Inn, at the Anchor Inn,
And the Wander Inn
(Yes, all these bars are really called “inns”),
.
Of the phenomenon of
Observing music
And really sinking into it,
Like
.
Incurring that phenomenon
Where it feels like you’re travelling spatially,
Listening to gripping music,
And where it hurts a little bit.
.
I think of Wilco
.
And I think of Sharon Van Etten.
.
When I go to this one part of town
I think of Pearl Jam and
I administer my pedestrian facial expression
At any number of punctiliously rendered
Locales around town,
.
All the while,
Carrying what I perceive as
My own sense of meaning,
Inside my head.
I pass the
Derelict candy shop
On West Washington.
.
The shop has been
Closed, from
The
.
Looks of it,
.
For
About 40 years.
.
It is, however,
Secured with an
Armored door,
.
Which looks
Brand spanking new,
Vital, effective,
Impenetrable and non-
Negotiable, toward
.
A paradigm of
Total control.
The art museum in South Bend
Stands right downtown
On Michigan St.,
Down the block from a 10-story hotel
And the event center
That stages musicals, plays and concerts.
.
I take a sidewalk
Offset from the street 20 feet
To get in.
.
Stooped at the entrance
Is a boy of about 14
Looking moderately ornery.
.
I walk in and see three women —
Two grown, standing,
And one, younger, sitting at the front desk
And greeting me with a smile.
.
I wander over to one of the exhibits,
Then to another one,
And another one,
Thinking,
It’s incredibly stuffy in here.
.
I think,
I am in a woman’s habitat.
.
Over in another room,
Out the window,
I see a delivery dude,
Scowling with a hurried,
Stressed look and disposition.
.
So inside the museum
I see nothing but women
And outside the museum
I see nothing but men.
.
But it feels right going into that museum
And I don’t take any pictures
And I don’t post anything on social media
.
And I walk out of there,
Getting a professional smile
From the pretty girl who avoids my stare,
To forever be known as
That weird dude who went into
The art museum in South Bend.
It is with a sly poker face
That I drive by the overpriced apartments
Downtown,
The ones I can’t afford,
.
And throughout my day
In the emotional desert
I will look for color
In the eyes of others
.
And find it when I’m least prepared
And most poised to temper my frustration
With the humor of water on wood,
The nonsense of light fired
.
As hurling through space,
In blaze
Impressions, sometimes,
Are derelict,
As the gay dude initially thinks
I’m coming on to him
To then sit listlessly
A couple nights later
As I ignore him,
Talking to the gorgeous female bartender
With the spectacular body,
Articulating, expressing and,
Generally,
Embodying everything
I’d initially wanted to see in the gay dude
The other night
When
I smiled at him.
It’s your pride
That stinks up the room
When you’re so sure
That you’re reaching a plateau,
A platform that’s going to jettison you
From your former life
Of squalor, of insecurity and lack of meaning,
And people
.
Have every
Right
To feel compunction
When they sense that flight in you
And
.
When they knock you down to size
Maybe you’re just giving them
What you hadn’t, before,
And is rightfully theirs all along and
This is the human experience you chose
With body needy, flawed and
Doomed for collapse.
She was talking to me about something
And I didn’t really care anyway
I was just happy to have the company
And conversation
Like a movie that would be impossible to make now
And somewhere a plane was taking off
And she trailed off,
Left off,
Manufactured a stoppage to her rhetoric and
Withheld the remainder of
What she thought she’d say
And she smiled at me and walked away
And I’d never realized it before
But she was conferring with her God
And she wanted to keep that story to herself
Like the folklore that defines us and
Makes us who we are
When nothing else is working and
I didn’t know it but I still had
A lot more sinews to grind,
More blood to give and more
Love to waste on the way to this
Rainy, cool August night
At my respite two miles out of town
Were you blessed with
Resiliency or
.
Did you just
Get through
The sh**
You had to get through?
.
It depends
Who you ask.