Valentine Song

My heart's stuffed in my cranium
But it hasn't missed a beat
I need to buy a bus pass
Downtown to get a by-pass

I need a new address
Before I have a relapse
Eat me with knife and forklift
Pick me up with golden toothpicks

My calls are sopping up gravy
I use to wave in the Navy
Standing on the wings of a ship
I can do a double-flip

Suppose seesaws are maybes
Rocking on a four-lane highway
and you're shouting that you love me
and I can't hear a damned thing?

So what were we doing there?
Without carrying a spare?
A car came along and nicked us
I think it was a lime Prius.

So much for energy efficient
If only that were sufficient
To infuse what we give away
Here's hoping you'll always stay

January 21, 2009

I did not go to Washington, D.C. for the inauguration of Barack Obama, but went there to watch the 44th President take his oath of office with my friend of forever who knows an aircraft carrier does not turn at right angles and how to spell out words backwards in the clouds. We knew about each other's magic. To move through her kingdom, she fashioned garnets for my eyes, and I, her, a velvet cloak, but even with those charms we were knocked about in the finishing pool of sand and glass, and so here we are now, scarred brown and white russets who grew up in the Bronx near Hunts Point Avenue eating yes-i-canapes predicting that none of the pimps and gang members would trouble the Mall unless they wished to rouse the ire of the community, sitting in front of a television set on a morning when any sentence could begin with an infinitive as 5,000 portapotties and millions of people lined Pennsylania Avenue in freezing January at ground truth, which is more exceptional than the president's proposed stimulus package, his latest appointment, and his acceptance speech, for it is unending love that carries us across the river.

Under Clown Cover

A yearly pre scription of buying poinsettias for the front porch, a touch of winter bright red blood for a condo complex, the tree, decorations, and I am so ready to post a toasty deal sifting through salt tablets and discounted bric-a-brac running down the door hugger with empty shopping bags and pulling out a plastic piece getting it done early and saving big while at the next off ramp, careful not to get mauled or borrow myself silly unless it's at 4 percent with a bank I can trust because the sack doesn't hurt as much as the tumble, so say can you, "Me, me, me" for whom the bell tolls since it's tolling for all-night suckers gone to investment bankers recounting money, and when everything is said and done it will never be said and done, from the time I placed my pants on the counter as a person in good standing which allows me to compute off the turnpike of whatever is expected and under wearing clown cover, I see the first fringe of spring