Some Like It Hot

My regular readers know that I often wake from dreams and turn them into poems. Well, this time I can't come up with a poem about what I dreamt, so I'll just tell about it, like a normal blogger would!

I am not particularly a fan of Marilyn Monroe, though of course, I find her story poignant. I'm not even someone who especially likes blondes, though Beatrice would dispute this. And yet, I dreamt last night that Marilyn Monroe made love to me. (It was, um...spectacular!)

Not only that, but in my dream I didn't have to be the physical equivalent of a (cash for) clunker. I was me, but young and beautiful. Did I mention that this was a really good dream? I did? Are you sure?

After the second time of being made love to by Marilyn, I woke up. I still had four hours to sleep! Life is good.

__________

Dog Days

Hi, I am Bosco! I am Shay's dog! We are having a wonderful weekend! Mommy went out and bought me my busybones, which I get every morning and afternoon! Aunt Rachel started that, so thanks, Auntie Rach! Then we watched the baseball men for an inning until Mom got annoyed with their wet noodle bats, and so she read her book and I guarded her!

Later, Mom got all mushy and insisted on kissing me on my head. I went, "Help! Murder!" because I am a boy and don't go in for all that girly love junk. But I let her kiss me, cos it's my job to make her happy and stuff.

Mommy says that I am the handsomest, smartest, bravest, most wonderful boy ever! Well, DUH, Mom. She sings "My Guy" to me. I like that, even though her are a crappy singer! Me used to have a neat-o sister named Molly. Molly lives in Heaven now. Me needed to stay here and take care of Shay, cos she is all over the place without someone to point her the right direction, which I usually think is the kitchen! I just pretend she is a big two legged sheep and herd her! I love my Mom, and I am glad she is so loony over me, even though she gets all embarrassingly smoochy kissy at times.

I have to go now! Bye everybody!

Love,

Bosco!

The Night School

In the night school,

lessons are available in

English grammar,

vivisection,

and the supernatural.

All classes are self-taught.

Ague,

sex,

and substance abuse of all kinds are strictly prohibited,

if nonetheless ubiquitous.

Come down this hallway.

Leave your little candle with the matron.

Leave everything you hold precious crammed inside your cubby;

the night janitor will get rid of it.

Learn to scream silently.

Learn to live without skin.

Learn poetry.

Learn poetry.

Learn poetry.

Such practices

do not belong above ground

among crowds,

in the commonplace glare of simple respectable daylight.

_______

Ten Dreams

My skin is keen to dream ten dreams--

One for each of your fingers.

I want to count each one

With my heartbeat,

Sweet One of mine.

I feel like a dangled strawberry.

I feel like a clever crime, gotten away with.

I feel like an ocean wave--

Slide into me,

Be moon to my tide.

I feel as if I were a new jar of peanut butter, smooth and

Just begging to be disturbed.

My arms are like the strands of a ribbon untied.

My hair is falling darkly over my right eye,

And my left is looking for trouble.

When you hold anything, I dream of the stems of lilies for weeks.

I am a wet vase.

Quick,

Kiss me now, before the stars move.

Make my bed your garden.

Tend my love with yours through the night.

______

Ooh baby I'm a star!

I got profiled in the current issue of the local whats-going-on-around-town free rag. Woohoo!

Cat And Leaf

Rain

touches the skin of a leaf,

trickles down the stem like finger tips,

or falls like the feeling of a kiss--

and that same rain

in time becomes the leaf,

and faces God again

like this:

They say

a cat may look at a queen,

and so I look at you

even if from the depths of dreams;

and when I do,

I have to touch you with amazed and grateful lips--

in time, we will be together,

but until then,

there is this:

No matter from how far away the rain must come,

it will always find the leaf--

and she will be there waiting in a late afternoon of grace,

the small and shining desirer

of a perfect

and stormy

embrace.

_______

Friday 55: Conundrum

The students gather around the

Zen master. Worldly events and

Passions do not disturb him.

He raises his hand to

No man, and similarly, is

Never controlled by desire for

A woman. He practices non-

Attachment in all things. He

Is splendid and has achieved

A state of bliss. Or,

He is simply comatose. Who

Can say? This is awkward!

________

Protectors

As the wise man said,

Losing love can fuck you up bad--

And if you lose it suddenly,

All that lovely froth in the blood

Will give you the bends

If your good thing ends

Too fast.

You've got to come up slowly, Sugar Pea.

Get your bearings

A little at a time.

I know that losing her kiss

Can leave you junkie sick

And for a while,

You will not sleep.

You will not eat.

You will not recognise yourself or that posturing foreigner at your door--

The world without her in it.

But as you're able,

Fix a meal.

Go to the zoo.

Read a good book.

These will not give you that sense of having left the ordinary world behind,

And they will not provide the sweet smack-rush that hearing her voice always did,

But believe me, Honey Bee,

Right now,

Calm can be your cure.

Peace can be your protector,

So, just for now, give yourself up to their offered arms

And let them love you.

________

Plaidbeard

It is my pleasure to once again feature guest poet AnneEllen Foster, a woman of considerable and very original talent. Back on February first of this year, I featured her poem "The Rules", and this time I'm pleased to present her poem "Plaidbeard." Just follow the crowd of swooning women...

Plaidbeard

by AnneEllen Foster

I go to the circus in plaid taffeta

Pink and orange and turquoise blue

Against a fuscia field atop

A purple skirt and orange shoes

But nothing whatever underneath

Because there's a fine line between

Colorful and crackpot

And I like teetering

And she's out there somewhere

Anxious and hungry

The one who doesn't know

What hit her or what's coming next

Only that I claim everything

But want nothing

So I stick flags into her like DeSoto

And then sail away

The fact is I am less colonizer

Than merely a rank pirate

Come to claim the booty

Of all that was untouched

How do I get away with such pillage?

They don't expect a swashbuckler in taffeta

And never take arms against

A conquistador in orange shoes

____________

For K.

There was some

event

downtown,

and

in front of me

at the light,

was

a golf cart,

of all things.

There were four people in it.

Did I say four?

There was

one

person

in it.

We were waiting

to turn

left,

just as I have been waiting

to know,

oh,

do you ache for me as I ache for you?

and do you

ever feel

that you cannot breathe

for the thought

of me?

There was one

person

in the golf cart

in the back

on the left

and her back

and shoulders

were bare

except for

two

lucky straps;

I wished

they were

my fingers--

I wished

to kiss

her shoulders

endlessly

by candle light.

I noticed

that her ear

was sweet and perfect.

Her dark hair

was tied back

and it made me

wild

for wanting

to touch it.

She was not

a small girl.

She was

so beautiful

and so very much

like you,

and then

the driver turned

against the red signal

and was gone

through a narrow gap

in the traffic,

and I

went on waiting,

lonelier even

than before.

___________

Kali Kaddish

you are some bitchin virus girl

a tiki queen

slipping in unseen

and i,

in my delirium,

set the curtains on fire simply by exhaling

as my arm falls limp towards the dazed plank floor;

no more

hey,

where are you going?

in my fever dream, you stepped out of the ganga

dripping wet

i know until now

until yet

you haven't quite infected the me you haven't met...

i keep a little chinese box

with my secret name inside,

behind seventeen locks

and a thimble full of pride--

your ivory earrings sway

when you're kissing me that way,

oh,

not there.

not that.

please,

come back.

__________

The Queen Of The Zombies

The Queen of the Zombies experiences difficulty with her love life.

Oh, guys call,

There is a date or two,

But then,

She eats their brains.

She can't help herself.

Guys' brains do not have the most wonderful flavor--

They taste like

Oily rags from service stations,

Or

Football players' cleated shoes.

Still,

She is the Queen of the Zombies,

And so,

She must do what she must do.

However, it isn't as if she doesn't try.

With Manuel, she held off and held off;

She held his hand.

She listened to him talk about his job, and his interests.

She wore her nicest clothes, and tried to do something about her complexion,

But then one night,

He said, "Why do you walk like that? You sort of...shamble. I can't be walkin' down the boulevard with no woman that shambles."

She ate his brain.

Then she meets Carla.

Well why not?

Why not try a woman?

And so the Queen of the Zombies starts seeing Carla.

She goes from feeling half dead to feeling regal.

"See? I knew you had it in you all the time," says Carla with a smile.

But there is a problem.

Carla's family does not understand.

"How can you date a zombie?" they ask, worry lines deepening beyond the reach of botox.

"How can you date a woman?" they ask, nearly ill with horror.

"How can you date someone who isn't from around here?" they demand, turning their backs once and for all.

The Queen of the Zombies shows up to meet Carla, as usual, at seven o'clock at Pepe's.

Carla does not come,

Though the Zombie Queen waits and waits.

Some guy driving an Escalade with stupid-looking spinning hubcaps tries to pick her up.

She eats his brain, but takes no pleasure in it.

"I'm the Queen

I'm the Queen

I'm the Queen

Of nothing," sings the Queen of the Zombies to herself, as if she were a Muppet.

Have you ever seen a zombie cry?

Breaking somebody's heart,

Even if she is a zombie,

Is not a very fine thing to do.

Anyone who had a heart--

Anyone with half a brain--

Can tell you that.

_________

The Puppet Theater

Gingerbread-Man Puppet and Pretty-Horse Puppet get married in the puppet theater.

Pretty-Horse Puppet has a mane like you wouldn't believe--

Don't think she doesn't know it, too,

Always tossing her head like that.

Fluffy-Tail Fox Puppet joins the puppet show.

Fluffy-Tail Fox Puppet and Pretty-Horse Puppet sleep together one afternoon.

In the evening, Gingerbread-Man Puppet spreads his soft, fingerless hands and wants to know,

"How could you sleep with Fluffy-Tail Fox Puppet? She's a girl!"

"She's a fox," points out Pretty-Horse Puppet.

They look at each other across the puppet theater, bouncing slightly as puppets will.

"I'm sorry, Gingerbread-Man Puppet, but our marriage is crumbling," says Pretty-Horse Puppet with a toss of her head.

"Bite me!" says Gingerbread-Man Puppet, which is a mistake.

In the next act, Pretty-Horse Puppet and Fluffy-Tail Fox Puppet are married and living in the puppet theater.

God doesn't mind.

They're puppets.

__________

When I was a child, I had a pair of puppets that my maternal grandmother had made. They were horses, Pretty-Horse Puppet and Barn-Boy Puppet. I also had a little puppet theater. I think that all of them were hand-me-downs...I know the theater was. Anyway, I was extremely partial to Pretty-Horse Puppet. I liked getting to be the girl. This is a surprise?

Transubstantiation

A little asphyxiation doesn't have to be end of the world.

A little cyanosis can bring a change of perspective.

But oh,

It's hard to hold a meaningful conversation,

Hard to kiss worth shit,

Hard to see very clearly

Through a fucking shrink-wrap caul

And you say

And you say

"Do your best"

"Don't disappoint us"

While holding the hemp rope tight.

So, I shed my skin.

I let my clawed and cattish heart out of its blue cage,

And you say

And you say

--eyes jesus-wet--

That I will burn.

Well, it takes air to make a fire,

And I will sing hard before I go down--

Like Alanis.

Like Janis.

Nobody likes dykes or poets, do they, but I am

Your daughter.

Your sister.

I am being all that I can be:

Me.

______

Waiting For Tristessa

There is a restaurant where they serve me your voice on a china plate.

No matter what time I go there,

It is always dusk

And the waitress has fireflies in her hair.

There is a garden from which the lilies have all been stolen.

No matter what time I arrive,

I am always too late for the wedding;

Too early for the wake.

I'm telling you,

I have stuffed my shoulder bag with moonlight.

I wear a locket

Which is like two halves of a broken heart.

Every passing body on the street tells me something different to do;

But never mind their words.

Come tonight at seven--

I will turn your linen napkin to a bird.

I will request a second setting

And a vase of pale white blooms.

If it grows late, and you haven't come,I will stay

--no matter how long it takes--

I will wait for you.

________

Snow In San Diego, And A Message-Bearing Tiger

I dreamt that a tiger came out of the ocean.

I dreamt that a tiger stepped out of the surf--

And the beach welcomed him like a geisha.

The beach said, "Welcome, sir."

I dreamt that I was alone.

So alone.

I dreamt that I was freezing,

And as fragile as a bell.

I rang myself, and it started to snow.

I rang myself, and it snowed like hell.

Tigers are so strong, there is no arguing with them--

On the beach, in the sleet.

His shoulders were massive as he stood before me

Inviting my heart to dance with his teeth.

He told me, "Your love is drowning, out there, with the ships."

I asked,

"Does she drown

With my name

On her lips?"

And then it was silent--

So silent,

And the tiger had nothing further to tell.

I woke up alone.

I woke up and knew--

Her touch was the tongue,

My body the bell.

I woke up alone

On waves of white,

Feeling surf and my heart

Recede with the night.

________

Aviatrix

The succubus is not herself.

Chloe is doing a nickel for burning down the Mulberry Place Mall,

As if one less Dollar Store makes any difference.

The succubus' work gets sloppy.

One asshole woke up and they wrestled like maniacs in the dark,

Slamming and banging their way down the hall and into the kitchen, where she brained him

With his own stupid Mr. Coffee.

Thinking a trip home might settle her,

The succubus follows the scent of brimstone until things start to look familiar.

The incubus is already there, smoking a big stogie.

He is taking his meds now,

And looks much better.

"Remember that aviatrix? She dreamed she was flying," says the incubus with a snort.

"Because she was," says the succubus, because she always does, and knows he expects it.

The succubus remembers Amelia and the little control panel, and that Fred guy, both of them dead asleep in the blue sky,

And the ocean seeming to invite them into itself,

Like a pillow.

"I dreamed I was flying, too," whispers the succubus,

And, impossibly,

She begins to cry.

Her tears hiss and steam as they fall to the floor,

Just like smoke over Mulberry Place Mall,

Just like the gasps her victims used to make at the very last moment,

When she was sharp, and right,

And just something to behold,

When she had Chloe to come home to,

Spiralling into her eyes like an aviatrix going down,

Never to be heard from again.

___________

Local History

One summer,

People began filling their bird feeders with french fries and rich desserts.

Pretty soon,

The birds grew enormous,

And just the weight of two or three would bring down the entire feeder,

Leaving overfed chickadees rolling dizzily on their backs in the grass.

Soon,

Corpulent sparrows could be seen bouncing along the lawns,

Unable to take to the air.

For cats,

Every day became Thanksgiving!

Kind-hearted Mabel Matuszyk

Tried to help.

She built little treadmills, and stayed up nights sewing birdy track suits.

And in fact,

It worked.

The waddling, flabby feathered friends began to slim down,

And PETA volunteers convinced people to stop jamming pastrami sandwiches into their feeders.

So, after an appearance on "Oprah" to share their story,

The birds returned to leading ordinary birdy lives.

But,

I don't know why I tell you these things.

I can see it in your eyes, that you disbelieve me.

Fine.

I won't tell you what happened the next summer,

When bible-quoting raccoons set up their ministry in my trash barrels.

I won't waste my breath

Talking to unbelievers.

____________

The Sad Washing Machine

The sad washing machine is like a priest hearing confession--

The unclean is made clean.

"So why

(wonders the washing machine)

Am I hidden away in the basement, or shoved against the wall of the mud room like some sort of suspect?"

Pretty and blameless white washing machine,

It is not you they are ashamed of--

It is their own dirty laundry.

The drunken palm tree leans uncertainly over the boulevard--

"I am slender,

(slurs the palm tree)

And my hair is never mussed,

But I am far too tall and my skin is rough and dry.

Won't someone buy me a mai tai?"

Inclined inebriated palm tree,

We each have our faults.

Still it only takes a single charming monkey scrambling up your body to sample your perfect coconuts

To make life seem promising again.

Mahatma Gandhi and Jesus sit next to each other on a bus stop bench--

The King of Kings' robe is fresh and clean.

The little bespectacled Mahatma feels revived by the cooling shade,

And the fragrance of rum and fruit in the air.

"Let's go get a sandwich," suggests Gandhi in Hindi.

"All right," agrees J. "I'll take care of the wine."

"There is beauty in everything," observes the small one, as the bus arrives.

"Indeed!" agrees the bearded one.

It will be a fine afternoon.

______________

Folie A Deux

Everyone deserves to be happy

Including you,

My peach.

So if you want to bring your Sweet Jane around,

That's fine.

That's jussssst

Fine.

In fact,

If you like her so much

Why don't you marry her?

Oh.

There is that.

I do try, you know--

To keep myself up...

To make myself attractive to you...

But,

When you padlock the door like that,

I can't get to the salon.

And oh,

Let one measly set of drapes catch fire

And everybody's twitchy for a week.

I was only trying

To let some daylight in.

I was only trying

To snap everybody out of their comas

And that tiresome English reserve.

Go ahead,

Have your little schoolmarm.

I could probably even do something with this attic;

I've begun by

Embossing your wedding invitations

On the wall

With my fingernails.

Can't we please be friends?

If I smile and extend my hand,

Would you waltz me just this once

For old time's sake again?

Oh, darling,

Look at me!

I don't know how I got here, on the roof!

Behold my charity,

My forgiveness, and my love--

The last you'll ever see.

____________