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An Ode to RedTube

“Variety” is not Cumin, not Oregano
variety is Viagra, Salomé, it is
Categories,” the endless doors
to other worlds, to other’s visions
never dreamed of by St. John
of the Cross, Miester Eckhardt
— but, perhaps, by St. Teresa, her
convulsions like those videoed
in bedrooms, on bathroom counters
among laundry, or nude in mirrors
— women on dunes, in hotel lobbies
driving cars, on the toilet, everywhere
but where they drop off the kids, or
meet the Pastor to talk about divorce.

Under the Influence: dVerse Open Link Night #183

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Suzanne

(the waitress prompt)

Coffee grit wall of windows
“eyes” so last century, now
flat screen red-carpet Premiers
each window a stacked channel
kitchen light over kitchen lights
yellow bedroom constellations.

I’ve watched for years
a bank teller, school teacher
Summer barista in red apron
Winter kitchen windows in-
visible in Summer, midnight
lights flicker any time of year.

Can you see me?  Lights out
on my blank existence, my wall
weak tea bricks, windows as
nights smothered in clouds.

Women’s Insights – [the Haibun Version]

Last night while in a dreamy state of melancholy arousal I remembered dancing with Lisa one December evening on the birthday of William Blake.  She pushed her lush body against mine, said, “You will never have a satisfactory love life because for an artist, a poet, work is the only satisfactory relationship you can have since you seek your real friends, your lovers, from the dead & the unborn.”

I don’t recall my response, but she must’ve been right, I have not seen her in years, or know where she is.  My most satisfactory relationship in recent time was when I just happened to catch sight of Suzanne through her bedroom window changing her clothes.

Remembering one love
I remember them all
I dream & desire.
Another said so long ago
“Your job is to learn
how to submit to despair”
a woman’s wisdom in the fog
of remembered arousal.

(written to respond to http://dversepoets.com/2016/03/14/haibun-monday-9/)

Redwoods

The Sun sets West in the Orient
while behind me the trees rise
like the Future predicting what
we might believe.  These trees
are home for fish that swim in air
are keepers of the past in diaries
behind bark covers, lines written
in stripes, blank books as big as
arboreal elephants with green limbs
that won’t embrace us, or care, in Time.

Women’s Insights

Last night while in a dreamy state of melancholy arousal I remembered dancing with Lisa one December evening on the birthday of William Blake.  She pushed her lush body against mine, said, “You will never have a satisfactory love life because for an artist, a poet, work is the only satisfactory relationship you can have since you seek your real friends, your lovers, from the dead & the unborn.”

I don’t recall my response, but she must’ve been right, I have not seen her in years, or know where she is.  My most satisfactory relationship in recent years was the time I just happened to catch sight of Suzanne through her bedroom window changing her clothes.

And remembering Lisa’s remark made me think of what Clea once said even longer ago, “your job is to learn how to submit to your despair.”  Women have always figured me out while I get aroused & dream.

Fortune Cookie

Today I walked but then
I always do, no place to go
on the bus, or rather no bus
going anywhere I want to go
a flâneur on la dérive.

Stopped for a cappuccino, Suzanne’s
cleavage, at Up River Espresso
& stare at otherwise blank space.

At Wing Wah after lo mein
string beans & green tea
the stale fortune cookie shattered:
“Your shoes will make you happy.”

Check this out

INK – 2

There are sunflowers, roses
dragons, mythical beasts
in blue, black, some color
between shoulder blades

tendrils, snakes, vines
disappearing from waist lines
into panties — who
I wonder, can see them?

Certainly, she cannot, except
to twist between mirrors, or
be bent over the kitchen table
or face down on a bed, her lover

admiring the canvas of her skin
a hidden drawing she hopes
is the creature she desires.

#dversepoets