dmseay

messages coming-in after midnight…long after reading pieces of Mailer..An American Dream…how I loved that Southern songstress…

neither lover wanting to call the other out…a showing of the hand dealt…keep-it lite boy….keep-it lite…don’t let her see ya sweat…

and alone in a dimmed lamp room words are placed on a page to be sent…in a matter of seconds…the truest of thoughts…or…concealed ideas…

to wear a disguise or not…to be seen as the persued…not the persuer…but wanting a catch on the end of the line…always waiting ashore….

I have no bait to throw…just words…mere words and the ability to play it cool when cool is called-for….and…it is always called-for….

the heart on the sleeve is a dangerous target…never moving…never hiding…never unseen….how could one miss?

multi-layers are required…love is not for the weary….it never was..

satelite dishes lined the back yards..
rows of them where corn..
sunflowers…and greens once grew…bringing in signals while inside the old man watched Sunday morning television shows….

he just kept flipping through channels….nothing catching his eye…an occasional comment, Boy that Trump sure is a nutjob…
and who does she think she’s foolin,’ he’d say…continuing to flip…

outside the sun and the warmth began…the wet grass shined…there was a smell of alfalfa…but the old man stayed inside….away from nature…

Bernie Sanders, pop said, Well…we got a black guy in there….why not a New York Jew….uh?…..

then dad poured his Pepsi…was quiet…flipped some more on the remote…said, Uh….progress…

let me live among the Gypsies…peasants in the streets of Paris…sitting on park benches babbling incoherently to no-one..I’d feel right at home…

give us today our daily bread…Sartre..
Beckett..Camus….it’s all that is needed…no other nourishment required….

just simplicity…seeking my own truth…a truth that does not hinder thought…expression…idealism..we who seek this truth….punished…yet our pay is greater than any merchant’s…

to walk the streets of Paris…far away from the commerce of New York…L.A….or ….Tuscaloosa…just seek truth…and let your gates be open….

in following the paths of dreamers…of dreams…our riches will unfold…

and so I long for the Gypsy life…the poet…the dancer…not the pawn

get me to Paris…

the wind caresses trees in pop’s backyard…leaves flutter and clouds roll grey through an early June comfort….the old man sleeps…he’s finally sleeping…

awake all night in dreams…out of nightmares….ghosts visiting…souls lounging…but…the heart keeps beating….though he wished it would stop…

I’m just tired of it all, dad said…placing Visine in eyes worn out, Tired of everything…she was my everything..

and I hand him a blanket…wrap it over a pot belly…and tell him goodnight…

Let’s leave here tomorrow, he said, Go far…far away….an escape, half in a sleep, Wouldn’t that be nice..
wouldn’t it?….

yes dad…yes it would…

the wind caresses trees in pop’s backyard…

a six year sentence….of movement from place to place…town to town…never wanting to be in the here and now….always looking down the road….

subways…busses…parked cars..making beds in church basements…park benches….metal chairs….finding corners in libraries…all is fair in the finding of sleep….

and always watching over the shoulder….one eye always open…a constant apraisal…of mugs…thugs…drugs….mental cases…junkies stealing sugar packets at Starbucks….bathrooms in disarray….

not knowing the next step…or….where I will land…could be anywhere…

maybe….next to you…

American men walk around all day….troll bars at night with cocks in hand and hearts on sleeves…too scared to take the chance….make a stand…state their piece…living in fear of not getting laid….not winning the prize…waking-up alone on Sunday mornings without French toast and an obligatory embrace….

cowards…Men jumping through hoops…standing on hind legs…begging…

America commits these vile acts…wanting to be loved…we don’t understand why Parisians tell us to fuck-off…

old glory…America…the young…hep guy on a Friday night scene who goes to the gym…shows off pecs and guns…agreeing with every ridiculous word from the mouths of babes….

what is gained in this circus act?…respect…prestige… new frontiers…one would hope for a reward…

too high a price at being number one…too much pressure…too much at stake….

however…if this piece is read a hundred years from now…the same question will emerge…

what the fuck happened?

there is nothing but words, he said…staring down at his plate of beans…

these words get in the way, she listened…she always listened, everytime I want somethin’ I have to muster up a word, they laughed…

what do you want, the elderly lady said with a ring on her finger…

just you…just you, the old man said…, that’s all I ever wanted was you…

she put her hand to his cheek…rubbed his lined face softly…he purred like an old cat waiting long for a reward…

and then she disappeared…took-off in the night…or was it early morning…gone

damn I miss her, the old man said, I surely do miss her…, he lifted a fork and placed it back down…

the old man kept looking out the side window…driving south on 69…high-beam headlights…glowing blues…split tires off the road….a sun going down…

your brother said tonight I couldn’t take anymore trips by myself….didn’t he?, pop stated…asked….continuing to look away as I drove…

that’s right dad…he said that…

so am I incapable of taking care of myself….is that what yall think?…I’ll do what I damn well feel like doin’, pulling out a small brown bottle…popping tiny tablets…

that pop…that right there…you’re taking nitros like they were in a Pez dispenser…

a what….you’re lucky I’m not behind the wheel…we’d be in Dallas by mornin’…..

pop….we’re just concerned…that’s all…

you two worry ’bout yourselves…you’re all out to get me…

not true pop, I glanced over at him,….not true…

what’s not? what’re you talkin’ bout…Sunday’s the fourth…holiday weekend…everybody’s on the road….

dad….it’s June…

oh….that’s right….

cars….suv’s…pick-ups…all cruising Lafayette, Barretto…Hunts Point at four in the morning….rolling down windows to listen to propositions from the buffet…. black, white, caramel colored ladies in the wee small hours…..

some young….heavy…others old and thin from riding the horse too long…
teeth missing…slightly bruised…
once a ripe piece of fruit now rotted from inside out…

the girls run to catch the slow-moving cars…
a game of cat and mouse….wanting cash…warmth from a heater while windows steam-up in a quick thirty seconds of an all out groan….his hand wrapped around the back of her skull….a forced-feeding…forgive us of these sins…

paid in twentys…johns speed away…and girls laugh…cry…howel…..at the midnight moon….waitin’ on the man….soon baby girl….soon…

there is no honor among theives….just ask corporate America…Board members…vice presidents….addicts junkies…Hunts Point whores…and the rest of us in metropolis…wandering the streets…panhandlers…pick-pockets….Port Authority pimps…..

we’re all waitin’ on the man….

when the kid was little…I’d take him out to the airport in the mornin’….around five…we ate doughnuts…drank chocolate milk, said the old man…adjusting a hearing aid….

tell him…look…look…big ole’ birds flyin’ in…green lights…blues…reds…flashin’…he’d laugh…just laugh….,kept talking…about a boy…a son…the old man looked out the window as a United flew over….

And that sound, he laughed, The boy just howled when those big engines let off noises….I told him the birds were havin’ tummy problems, he popped open a Pepsi can…

I don’t know what happened to that boy….where’d he go?….can you tell me?….he just took off one day…

yeah pop..he just took off, grabbed a doughnut…opened a Yoohoo…..,Things change pop…

my word….would you look at that one…..

I’m lookin’ pop…I’m lookin’