(no subject)
regicide
The drive began
with a gas-stove sunset
and would have lasted
the length of a short audiobook,
had things not gotten so political
so quickly. The cat roamed,
not understanding the voyage,
believing she was on an island
and had been appointed the queen,
and henceforth believing she’d better
make some laws, resolved that she,
the queen, was to sleep in any manner of
uncomfortable sleep she so chose,
first like a gorilla,
and then like a starfish,
and in addition, was chiefly
responsible for the acceleration of the car.
She was behaving like a child
or a bad king, which is only slightly better
than a bad queen.
We passed no judgement. Hell,
Wass with his criminal hair,
and me who is very bad with cats, and
a little bit of kid or bad king or bat cave or king sized bed
in all of us.
A few hours later,
my bedroom still exists
in Brooklyn, no disappearing act there,
still bodega coffee, still fences built by human birds, still get low.
Get low. It begins to rain and my baby elephant plant
is still on the brink of death.
I don’t know what to do.
The Desiderata’s got no answers on that;
with all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it says, the world is a place of dead plants.
I’ll have to live with that, I guess.
I wish I could invite you over,
not to save my baby elephant plant,
or to disappear my Brooklyn,
but just because,
to be bad kings together
in my bat cave where we
can get low get low.
11/25/07
The drive began
with a gas-stove sunset
and would have lasted
the length of a short audiobook,
had things not gotten so political
so quickly. The cat roamed,
not understanding the voyage,
believing she was on an island
and had been appointed the queen,
and henceforth believing she’d better
make some laws, resolved that she,
the queen, was to sleep in any manner of
uncomfortable sleep she so chose,
first like a gorilla,
and then like a starfish,
and in addition, was chiefly
responsible for the acceleration of the car.
She was behaving like a child
or a bad king, which is only slightly better
than a bad queen.
We passed no judgement. Hell,
Wass with his criminal hair,
and me who is very bad with cats, and
a little bit of kid or bad king or bat cave or king sized bed
in all of us.
A few hours later,
my bedroom still exists
in Brooklyn, no disappearing act there,
still bodega coffee, still fences built by human birds, still get low.
Get low. It begins to rain and my baby elephant plant
is still on the brink of death.
I don’t know what to do.
The Desiderata’s got no answers on that;
with all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it says, the world is a place of dead plants.
I’ll have to live with that, I guess.
I wish I could invite you over,
not to save my baby elephant plant,
or to disappear my Brooklyn,
but just because,
to be bad kings together
in my bat cave where we
can get low get low.
11/25/07