Lives Of The Saints

I'm actually pretty quiet.

Honest.

It's just my head keeps coming crashing down through the rest of me like a

Bowling ball down the front staircase;

And if that's not gauche enough,

It's got ma name on it.

It looks like

I won't get that part

In Swan Lake after all--

Never mind all the parts I was handed and spat upon

Cos I got no more manners

Than a pig at the State Fair.

My body has played dirty tricks

All my life,

But the better part of me

Floats like a lantern on a lily pad

Inside--

Just try getting in if I don't want you there.

The entrance is piled high with bones.

Last night I dreamt

That the hour was late

And I was far from home.

Well,

That's life.

I have my moments, though--

Mostly I flail

As if possessed by cats in a sack

And time is the river;

But in a moment of perfect bliss

When I am,

For example,

Egging my neighbor's mail box,

I am Athena with her bolts.

I am Artemis with her arrows.

I am hanging out with God at Danny's Coffee Shop,

And when the cops come in

Asking where have you been?

God vouches for me.

"She's been right here with me, boys," she tells them just as sweet as honey rolling off a warm biscuit,

And I whisper,

"Oh You

Are so cute

When You lie!"

_________

This poem is dedicated to Dulce and to Mama Zen. Danny's? Three-ish?