dmseay

and the soul longs to wander…again…go out into a land that promises nothing…no home nor clothing…no food…only water from a public piss-house…yet the soul longs to wander…to leave this safe-haven behind…this small room i call home…for what…to do nothing more than journey from town to town writing of misfortunes in life…impurities of this american life…just wander…wander…

so go…pack your bag and walk out into the wilds of america…take place among junkies…whores…soulless salesmen…bribes…brides…the sick and the lame…sit beside a kid with a black eye and tell him…,i remember when…,if he’ll listen…if he’ll listen…

do not plan the next day…the day after that…nor any days beyond…a life of soul searching…seeking out something to cling to…the hem of a garment…a touch of a lover…a thought…prayer…whatever livens the heart…grab on to it…and wander…wander…wander no-more…

tis a restless soul…a restless soul…

he used to stay-up all night talkin’ on the phone with complete strangers…someplace in Iowa…big call-in service for the lonely and desperate…young …old…men…women…cross dressers…transexuals…folks that drink piss…daughters in search of daddies…young boys and their wayward ways…every freak in the nation converging on one phone line…waiting to be picked…wanting someone to talk to in the purple hours of the night when the soul gets lonely…when you just don’t care anymore…just a voice on the other line to let you know you’re not alone…

talked with people ’round the country…’bout various things…he didn’t care…talked with a girl in New York that ran away from home and a born-again step mom who’d sexually shamed her…spoke to an old man in Washington state that sold used cars during the daytime…wore dresses at night and a big blonde wig as he rode his bike through town…carried-on conversations with an older woman in New Jersey whose husband left her for a secretary…they took off to a condo in Florida and left her behind without a dime…had to get a job at the local Walmart…she was heart broken…he tried to heal her…

every night he called that 1-800 number…listenin’…just listenin’…he got real good at listenin’…came to the realization that nobody wanted to hear his thoughts…passions…nothin’ ’bout him…just wanted someone who’d listen…

so…he became this listener…the nation’s listener…all confessions of a country went through him…he’d listen to the sickness of child molesters…haunting calls of sexual victims…people running away from something in their lives…many who had been running since they was born…he listened…he listened…he listened…

and one night he stopped…didn’t pick up the phone…didn’t dial out…laid there in bed staring at blank walls readin’ old letters he’d saved from high school…back when he could get a date…back when he weighed a buck fifty instead of the 400 pounds he had ballooned up to in his later years…

these letters meant somethin’ to him…they meant somethin’…written back in a time when people listened to him…when people listened to him…

funny how things change…

he used to spend all night lookin’ for her…would drive by the house to see if any lights were on… any signs of life…porchlight was always out…front room would be dark…not even a blue glow from a television set…just black…no car in the driveway…

drove up and down Dupont Road in search of signs…old bars they used to go to…diners where they had Sunday breakfast…the strip mall with the Salvation Army store in it…thrift shoppin’ on Saturday afternoons…he’d just drive and drive…hopin’ she’d show-up in some parkin’ lot by herself…unattached…would’ve broken his heart to see her havin’ a door opened for her the way he used to do it…men no-longer opened doors for women…they opened ’em on their own…

one night he thought he saw her…maybe it was a trace of her over on Blufton…denim jacket…white tee-shirt…big blonde hair…thought it was her…thought it was…she was by herself outside a Kroger’s store…lightin’ a cigarette…drinkin’ from a flask…he slowed down to take a closer look…her body waved in the cool night…she was holdin’ onto herself like she was cold…like she wanted to be held by him just one more time…just one more time…

he drove by again…looked closer out the rolled down passenger window…

she was gone…

tis fall…
let romance begin…
Coltrane’s, Autumn in New York…
orange days…purple nights…
tis fall…

tis fall…
stout tastes good…
whiskey warms the soul…
a fire for a hundred days…
tis fall…

tis fall…
leaf filled sidewalks…
rainy afternoons…
pumpkins on porches…
tis fall…

tis fall…
passionate kisses come…
love begins…
another chance with you…
tis fall…

let the season begin…

a slice was 75 cents…
graffiti was drawn on subway cars…
health club on the corner used to be a Mexican joint…music blared into night…
rent was $50 a week…sleeping room with a toilet down the hall…dead rats in walls… junkies next door…crackheads ‘crossin’ streets in search of pipes and vials…pipes and vials…i never questioned…
walks everynight throughout the city…from 24th to 72nd…Needle Park at midnight…The Village used to be The Village…and Chelsea was dear old Chelsea…trips to the Y…Bicycle Club…hustlin’ for scratch…hopin’ somethin’ would turn up…
Times Square whores sellin’ their souls…drag queens lookin’ for tourists and businessmen…tourists and businessmen…
neon flashed and quarter movie booths filled with fags and poppers…fags and poppers…one person at a time please…one person at a time…
foriegners sellin’ tickets for the double decker busses…Hell’s Kitchen was still Hell…and a $100 would last you two nights…if you played your cards right…if you played your cards right…
a slice was 75 cents…
graffiti was drawn on subway cars…

had this house with a woman…married…no kids…just two dogs and some furniture…used to let them out in the backyard at night ‘fore we went to bed without a worry ’bout their safety…fenced in yard made of cedar…real pretty to look at…real pretty…

the house was built in 1860…small two story with belly-windows up top…hardwood throughout…she loved hardwood…had bookshelves filled with books…books never read…just sat there…untouched…she was too busy watching television…,unwinding the mind, she used to say…she used to say a lot of things…like…,I love you…, she always used to say…,I love you…

and i’d stay down in the basement all night till it was time for bed…listening to Bill Evans Trio…Charles Mingus…John Coltrane…every night a different album…sometimes the same one’s…i’d stay down in the basement and just listen to jazz…dreading bedtime…dreaded bedtime…

she slept in her room…i slept in mine…said she couldn’t sleep with my snoring…used to not be that way…we’d sleep with each other throughout the night…arms ’round each other…make love once or twice ‘fore dreamland came…guess we loved each other…guess so…

but…one day we stopped loving each other…the little white house that sat on a red brick road was no-longer magical…we stopped kissing goodnight…stopped eating meals together…stopped talking…neither of us listened anymore…just roommates…room-mates…

so…i left Chagrin Falls…left a town that was a perfect picture post-card…drifted for years…she took-off for New York City…how do you unwind your mind there…how…

sure she’s fine…she’s fine…maybe she found a man that doesn’t snore…

i hear sounds…

noises…

sounds…

what kinda’ sounds…

train blowin’ in night…television without a signal…cars passin’ by…sirens of an ambulance carryin’ off the crucified…police cars markin’ territory…sounds…

just ‘nother night…

yes…and whiskey won’t drown them out…these sounds…hum of the refrigerator… running of a toilet…a baby crying down the hall…wind whisperin’ outside my window…not gentle…nothing is gentle…

i hear nothing…not a peep…nothing…

we’re in different places…

same…

no…different…

i am here beside you…i hear nothing…none of what you say…it’s all in your mind…your conjuring up these things…these noises…

do you believe…

in what…

do you believe there’s somethin’ besides us…

a greater power…

just somethin’…

don’t know…

and that’s why you cannot hear…you don’t believe…once you believe…you hear…see…things that no-one else can…

by believing…

yes…

what do you believe in…

stars…moon…white snow…staccato notes hit just right…a kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve…

i see…

do you…

your’s is the romantic life…the unreal is real to you…

very real…

well i’ll be damned…what i wouldn’t give…what i wouldn’t give…

whiskey in a dirty glass…
copper-cups with coffee grounds in the bottom of them…
a metal mug to piss-in…
stacks of manuscripts never sent-off…missed opportunities at rejection…
a brown leather wallet broken-in…where’s the money honey…long gone…long gone…
powdered coffee-creamer…French Vanilla flavor…
three quarters of a jar of Maxwell House Instant…just add hot water…
posters for a poetry reading wound tightly with a rubber-band…
my name on a book…
a hanging purple towel drying on a rod…
tee-shirts with holes under the arms…
a box of matches from that night we had cigars and bottles of beer…or was it wine…
the broken spine of Mailer’s, An American Dream…
Ulysses read once…only once…
half a bottle of orange colored Ajax…
overdue bills…
torn red leather Bible…
a sweat-soaked pillow from nights of Indian Summer…
Cathedral, by Raymond Carver, checked-out from the library…don’t forget to renue…
memories of past love…
a Rosary given by brothers at Padre Pio in the Bronx…
an old set of keys…
silver chain…
your lipstick stain on a white napkin…dabbed in the car on one of our fantastic trips…
a white Gardenia with flowers in bloom…i’ll save you one to keep in your pocket…
dirty plates from the last supper…
looking ’round my room…looking ’round my room…
these things we hold on to…these things…

and i wait…
old friends…
ex-wives…
former lovers…
enemies…
i wait…

wanting to make contact…
a touch…
voice…
an embrace…
perhaps a punch to the jaw…
i wait…

you can only sit in silence for so long…
wanting for a note to be struck…
soulful kisses…
a touch to the cheek…
to not be alone…
i wait…

this bottle of whiskey half gone…
drank by myself…
alone with the remnants of Ireland…
calling out to you…
come…come…please…
i wait…

won’t …

won’t what…

go back there…

to…

no…will not…

you will…

nay…

always say that…

yes…

then…

right…

there you go….

back in the mess…

right…

and do you think it will be better the next time…some type of wonderment will occur…from what…what…you will go back there…you know it…i know it…this is truth…you’re unaccepting of truth…

don’t say that…

it’s all one big lie…bunch of falsehoods rolled into one…if you’re done be done…but you know you’re not…got that stinger in your finger…just itchin’ to get out…so you squeeze and squeeze till all this clear liquid oozes…but you still scratch…no scab ever comes…no healing takes place…you’ll go back…

don’t want to…

nobody wants to…

not in my best interest…

never is…

so I fight it…

best to just let nature take course…

just go along…

yes…just go along…

be over soon…

always is…

how…

these things just peter-out…disolve…but you can’t force it…thats when you get in trouble…

forcing it…

right…let it die naturally…just one day be gone…you’ll see…

I’ll know…

yes…you’ll know…