Monday, March 28, 2011

Donna Drive

It's been a long night.

A fucking long one!

As the boys would say
and we do
on the porch
our shirts flipping in the March breeze
and cigarettes blazing like flight paths to nowhere.

Cody cocks his eye and says
"Conundrum?
Does that mean Contradictory?"

No, I say
It just means mystery or question or puzzle.
Paradox or hypocrisy are the words you might be looking for.............................
Or perhaps dichotomy; but only so as the two things are
completely separate
and can never mingle on the dance floor.

What's an Oxymoron? Mike asks.
Cody answers
It's when you use two opposite words to describe something.
Like very little
or......

(he stalls)

Horrifically beautiful, I say.

and realize I'm the only man on the planet
who might turn such a phrase.

I hear my own voice in it
and realize
I should call a couple English professors I know
and let them know I've found it.

Finally.

A simile, I add,
compares two things..............
(Mike cuts me off)
Using the words like or as,
Bored with this shit.

While a metaphor, I press on,
takes an idea
or an object or
a thought
and transposes it as another.

Cody cocks an eye at me,
the expression
perfect skepticism.

"Her touch is fire, I say.
It's love made whole
the sun
in space
weeps
at the thought of another moon
another earth
or something in-between."

Cody nods his head.

The boys change the subject.

We talk about Patrick
ripping off luggage at the airport
while claiming to be at work.

We talk about Jeff who just got ten
years on a year old DUI case.

None of us are certain we've heard the whole story.

And shit goes back to normal
on Donna Drive.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

HaShem's Voice in the Garden

Hear it
boom

Hear it cry
out

It is seeking

I am naked
I am afraid
Marred with anger
Beset by self-delusion

Dance this waltz
so often
it is like
a recollected dream.

Or merely a dream?

Of hiding
naked
bleeding
in
vines
of
thorns.

Is it all
Samsara
on fire escape
on the greenest day
of greenest month
when we've all been drinking for days
and the lighter
won't flip
and the cup
can't stay full
long enough
to be
properly useless.

Why does it call for me
Why do I hide
this shame
so plainly worn.

Is it enough to
believe you've heard
a voice in your garden.

Is it insane
to think
you have.

Is it all
in all
alone
but seeking
still
that which
can only find you
if you answer.

Or is it hiding still
behind
ephemeral
barriers
crumbling
under the weight
of life's
madness.