I Have No
I have no lover to sing my praises;
My green eyes go sadly unadmired.
My lips jealously wish they did amaze.
My skin, no sonnets have inspired.
My hair does nothing but sit on my head -
A charcoal shock dusted with bare white wire
I’m no one’s dream as they lay in their bed:
I’m nightmare fuel – no one’s true heart’s desire.
My breath is not exotic perfumed breeze
My voice is deep; my sleeves are unraveled;
If you bring me flowers I only sneeze!
Hardened, I prefer the road untraveled.
You can find me where the wildest ones do roam:
A mermaid’s friend drowning sailors in the foam.
The Wildest Path
Violet path. Gold-paved. Sign reads ‘you meant well’!
Red sun burning in the deep valley’s song.
Ragweed and dank pools, sparrows sing but don’t tell.
Hawk dive-bombs. Goes hungry – missed a good one.
I stood panicked-eyed on the wildest path
My father’s gun pointed towards a crow
I needed to tell but he never asked.
Instead, he said ‘Child go where mad ones go,”
As he put a bullet in a rabbit,
And the screaming fell from the sky like hail.
Father was a man of brutal habits,
But I’m made of tender stuff and wailed.
I was set upon the wildest path I know:
I sit on city walls and drift with the snow.
Dear Sister,
That barroom in New York was dark as hell:
I waited for strange men by bathroom doors.
As jazz-men dropped beats and caught them as well.
I needed it all but wanted so much more.
I sat on rooftops; I bargained for pills,
I fed meters, martyrs, and my monkey
I banged on the drum, I got well and ill:
I was walking wild, I was walking free.
But it’s darker inside than on the street.
Manhattan’s dawn comes in storm and thunder
But the noise in my head had them both beat.
New York was tearing my soul asunder.
I dreamt I was floating bloated down the Bay:
California called: “I have golden bright days!”
