Lightfooted

when i close my eyes to the cold
it is nice. it is red. and it is burgundy.
and i’m all warm

and i’m all fuzzyheaded
inside,


and i think of you my dear inside
this warm fuzzyheadedness,

and i think that if we fear

inside
of what others may decide,
and what others may, or may, or may
not do,


then we would become slaves to that fear
of mays and does and may not does,
and slaves who gave up control of our lives
in surrender - 


to the mays of some abstract rheumatic invention,
of some dead inventor’s dumb design,
who doesn’t even breathe anymore,
who doesn’t even exist anymore,

 

if ever he did exist,


but we exist my dear, my sweet,


outside of lines on a crumpled page somewhere,
who knows where?
maybe on a computer file in some software
script,

leftover electron excretions
from some primate dictator in a history book perhaps, as old
as old thunderbeard himself,
and as dead and as gone - 

but still felt as ubiquitously as concrete underfoot

 

to be seen

by the eye,

 

 

and to the eye,
shimmering like cadillacs in the thoughts of men,
and women, plugged into penile erection sockets beneath
Texaco’s T-cross designed

signs,


but there’s no government my dear,
no fat controller we should fear,
no nothing -


outside of our minds,
and the matrix of our mind’s systematized and created
island illusions,


there’s only us, my dear, my sweet,


and we are gods,
fuzzyheaded gods who love,
and we can walk on ice
as thin as ice may be, and it may be,


but it will not crack,
and we will not fall,


anywhere,


but into each others arms

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[...]

. that is so true ... i love love ... and i absolutely love this poem ... my gosh ... what a journey from start to finish ... it was like an aerial tour of the entire universe ... outside and inside our heads ... truly stunning work, monsieur ...

[Leslie Philibert]

Good poem,like the inventive use of language and the optimistic last lines.You have a good style, a bit like the beat poets..