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The Fun is Just Beginning
Might as well relax
because the world
has become undone.
Regis Philbin and Kelly
fight on the telly --
the smelly under belly
of toxic assets in zombie banks --
Tyra Banks, Jessica Simpson,
Oprah and Britney Spears
defending their weight gains
as Lindsay Lohan defends her loses
as adroitly as General Motors
“does in” Detroit.
We must anoint ourselves
our own bosses,
fly on private jets
and secure
necessary fame
on the back page of the tabloids
to feed the fast food dreams
of the hoi polloi.
So, relax. Take a vicodin.
Swim some laps
and take a hit from your bong.
Its OK. Really.
We’re all sinners singing
the same Youtube song.
Blondes smiling from the cover
of every magazine firing shrapnel
killing the innocent in all of us.
As tanks move from Iraq
to Afghanistan.
-- the man on the street
so slim, so metro sexual
in sleek monochromatic Calvin Kleins --
as big bail outs
define
a new design for living.
Who cares? Its all about sex anyway.
So, relax.
It will be OK.
Just save your money
for yesterday
because tomorrow
may never come.
The world has become undone
and the fun is just beginning.
FD. 2.19.09
A One Way Conversation with the Arbiter of Taste
James, if you please, show the gentleman in
For he obviously wants something.
I must at least give him
the opportunity to hear what I have to say.
Good day, sir. Please do sit down.
Now, Sir, I have read your materials
And I must say that the problem, Sir
Is that you have no royalty in your blood.
Your face has that ruddy
Tragic mask of the perpetual
That very coarseness of ambition
So characteristic of most Americans,
That people of my birth
Find so distasteful.
Your vulgarity offends me.
I have empathy for the plight
That one faces in your position.
But, I have no patience
For your beggarly face
So, lace Irish red
Or for your inherent dread
Of anything resembling hard work.
We of my class
Did not achieve this status
Merely through grace.
It took almost Machiavellian
Strategies to overcome obstacles
That would have made you
Wet your pants at the mere mention
Of but one.
You are the son
Of illiterates
And while you have attended
To your reading
There is no possible way
That you can overcome
Your lack of breeding.
Therefore, do not visit me again.
Do not request support
For artistic activities
That have no art
Nor for art that has no heart.
Your empty gestures
Upon the canvas –
Your feeble movements
Upon the stage –
Your forced motifs
In the rock based classical music
You purportedly compose –
Your vacuous music videos –
The way you shake your ass –
Oh, lord, I could go on.
But, please do forgive me
If I now request that you leave
My presence once and for all.
You are an unfortunate fellow.
I value kindness above all,
But I do not suffer fools gladly.
And my tolerance for bad art
Is null.
Your own work does not offend me -
It merely bores me
And that is the greater offence.
So, please sir, take your leave.
Or, I shall have you removed
By James henceforth.
Good day, Sir.
I bid you well –
Even as I secretly wish
That you and all your kind
Would rot in hell.
James, please come into the room!
Be gone, sir from my sight.
Yes, now. Be gone.
Be gone. Be gone. Be gone.
Now, James, could you remind me please
About what my wife told me about
Our dinner plans for this evening?
FD.2.7.08
Avocado Mon Ami
What does a Hass Avocado
do at night?
Does it seek refuge
in some dark
refrigerated space?
Or does it reside in its
crowded store display
to soften in spite of its
tenuous grasp upon life?
When still dark and hard
held in the palm of the hand
it reminds one of a grenade --
Iwo Jima, WWII,
the Greatest Generation
and Frank Sinatra
singing at the Paramount --
a knife, a fork, a bottle and a cork --
that’s New York.
Or is it mashed like Mexico
into green mush
with Tabasco sauce and salsa
dancing a meringue
in the grocery store aisles
while rats lurk about
seeking more pungent odors?
Mine sits simply
on my table top
ripening in the scintillating
Texas summer sun
shining through my kitchen window.
When it is ready
I will eat it with delight --
peeled, sliced and drenched
in olive oil alongside
a good French bread,
Provolone cheese
and Law & Order on TV
be it day or night.
FD. 6.22.08
Silent Bells
In the night wind
there are not so distant bells
alarming one
to a presence
that just eludes a sense
of normal hearing --
a quiet so profound
as to be beyond silence.
A mind at peace --
a being whole,
complete attention focused
in great effort to hear
the echo of those bells
that rhyme and resonate with each other
leaving harmony
in place of a discord --
where anxious desire
rode hard like the devil
beating his horse --
riding, riding, riding
toward something
that could never be reached
and the clatter of hooves
made true hearing
all but impossible.
FD. 12.20.08
Gently Down the Stream
Needing affection
they move
close to me
seeking my
sympathetic body warmth.
I am perplexed
by the action
but, give way
needing the self same
thing myself.
Then, they retreat
once more
into cold indifference --
needs met
now desiring more than God
to be independent,
no strings attached, God forbid.
I bid the warm moment
adieu --
knowing that I myself
seek no attachment
other than that momentary
affirmation of self
that assures me
that I do indeed exist.
And so it goes on
day to day
the inward and the outward
taking of breath --
first hot, then cold --
seeking, then not seeking,
knowing, then not knowing.
Unlearning as we go
merrily, merrily
gently down the stream
and deeper and deeper
into a dream
we have never
dreamed before.
FD. 10.22.08
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