WHAT I DID FOR LABOR DAY
WEEKEND (or What Happened?)
I was walking along my street
With my dog, Boo
This morning of Labor Day
With my friend WAZ too.
Soon who did appear to us
But Princess Di
She promptly greeted us
And then began to cry:
"Aviva la berenjena!"
She began to pray.
I didn't understand,
But I didn't go away.
I listened to her story
As she explained to me
How the ground died
From the juvenescent pea.
It seems the ground
Had started a fight
With its viscous, spongy dampness
There was a terrible blight.
But somehow it survived,
The pea I mean,
And it continued to spread rumors
About a bad bean.
We all knew this story
Was going nowhere,
But a crowd gathered round
So all we could do is stare.
Princess Di continued her story
Explaining that the pea
Upset the ground so much
That it began its cyanide spree.
The pea had this rumor
And all the trees believed
That if the pea was strangled
Then the blight would be relieved.
So the trees started their singing
And the ground was quite impressed
So it became happy again
And the forest was redressed.
At this point the claque began to clap
And the crowd yelled,
"Praise Baby Jesus!"
For the story really smelled.
So Princess Di was relieved
And so was I
That she was done with her story
And WAZ began to cry.
He knew the moral
Was to eat canned beans
So I bought an electric can opener
And yelled, "Sweet Dreams!"
Back in the 80's... 1989 to be exact, when Star
Trek:The Next Generation was reaching new
heights of popularity, someone posted a rather
startling picture of a topless Marina Sirtis being
whipped by another woman to
rec.arts.pictures.erotica . The person who posted it
correctly identified the picture as being from a
very stupid mid-80's thriller called "The Wicked
Lady". This movie, while rated R for obvious rea-
sons, was hardly a porn movie, but rumors started
up that the posted picture was in fact from a
Orange Blossom Special
We have small ways to combat the unknown.
The Question. And although our answers
come close in blood neon waves above
Cadillac Hotels and thin
greasy pizza joints, we all miss the mother
boat to freedom. We stand on the edge of
graying harbors hands clasped together white
knuckles and bare toothpick smiles free
hands waving as she swiftly cruelly blessedly
flies towards a sinking red sun-our heaven.
One heaven one question one answer one
heaven. And what fruit entices us to tear
everything by turning on sharp heels to face
the salty bastard again?
What sweet fragrant tiny blossom takes our
faces in warm hands and leads us onward to
what we do not begin to fathom?
It could be the orange blossom special, com-
ing down the tracks bringing us bumpy ride
away on some journey ticketed just for us and
as we lift new legs and white hot feet we may
turn again-one last forgiven time-to catch our
treat as she meets and becomes one again
leaving us this time, but not forever. Our
train has round wheels.
well, as the president would say fdn,gie5hn968gufdpo8je9l;586tj9078-
A Few Stabs at A Similar Theme
1/8/98, the first Thursday after Epiphany
It's dark now, and
the moon is rising
She eats the sky
and it laughs. We
Join in singing
soul in sound and
exploding social secrets become
living beings who harmonize
eyes falling into eyes
songs becoming places becoming
lives, becoming us, all
becoming beings joining secrets,
being somewhere and alone
and yet all together.
finds them lonely to touch
tactile aural simple secrets explode
themselves tasting shyness and hiding
something not hidden, but
right there in front of you, alive
granted scent deceiving love means
everything is alright forever
and ever and ever
but it's not.
Taste the sweetness, watch
the dirt revolve, revolve
me, resolve me, absolve she,
Stop my time short
right in its tracks
look away now so we can
look back somehow, clearly
we can listen, remove and escalate to
a familiar yet new
loosen gathering skin, fear far
away, ridiculous and hopeless, yet
completely sane, echoes of innocence
screaming to you, Too close in dreams
are no less real than
making your life real, dream by dream
clue me into beyond schemes so
that I can remember, create
who I m once again.
Sip and think, drink again.
Her days and nights were full of self-recrimination
Her life was spent nursing regrets and now, at an
age close to fifty, she was weary with an
unidentifiable, hence unfulfilled, longing
She came into contact with a group of
women. Though she maintained her own res-
idence, these women took her in. At any
hour, at least two of them were available to
talk, sing, make tea, play cards
Her longing waned, understood. Then, one
morning, she awoke to the News: the women,
as a group, had killed themselves and finally,
there were no more regrets.