please . . .

. . . someone help me feel like a decent human being again.

Knot

My fingers, draped like sinuous strands of string
across your small but brilliant breasts,
my thick thigh fit neatly
between your two
We lay curled, a silent pair
of quotation marks.

In the half darkness we look at each other.
Normally I would say
something,
drink a drink, smoke a smoke,
or simply roll over to rest.

But after entangling myself
in your snare I hope to remain
caught in this carnal knot.

why i dig fidel castro

of all of america's wooly-faced archvillains, fidel castro has got to be my favorite. my mother raised me to have a deep respect for the man, the revolutionary. i know what you're thinking: castro is a horrible dictator, responsible for the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands. i cannot deny this to be the case, but i think i can offer a reasonable defense.

first off, compared to other dictators, castro hasn't really killed that many people. i mean, look at your hitlers, stalins, pol pots -- these guys murdered in the hundreds of thousands and millions. castro himself probably hasn't even killed more than a thousand people. having led a country through a revolutionary war and the ensuing power shift, it is reasonable to assume that a man might kill a thousand people. shit, bush has killed over a hundred thousand in just two years.

second, let's face it, some of those guys probably deserved the fate they got. don't forget that castro was responsible for overthrowing an even worse dictator (fulgencio batista) and his gang of bourgeois cronies. motherfuckers got shot, yes, but some of them just had to go.

third, cuba has done pretty well under castro. their economy has thrived (thanks to tourism and cigars) even in spite of over forty years of hypocritical, us economic oppression. they have some of the toughest environmental regulations of any nation, and the government is extremely supportive of the arts.

finally, castro just seems like he'd be a nice guy. he's always smiling and jovial when they show him on tv. i think he'd make a good grandpa. i'd like to sit down with him, have a nice glass of rum and a fine cuban cigar and say to him, "you know fidel, i dig your style man."

Wiggle

In junior high it's hard
To hide it when you're dancing
With a skinny girl
In a mini skirt

She doesn't mind, says so, smiling
But you are embarrassed by this
Betrayal

You told your friends
Who laughed and slapped
Your back but behind
Your back they bitched
And spit, and wished
It was them dancing

(Any suggestions as to where this should go?)

ch-ch-ch-changes . . .

thingsareturningover.

Gordon Chamberlain Goes Home

Dearest Sally, The sun is shining –
it is good to be back home in the land of my birth
It was a tiring trip, north from Tokyo,
west over Russia and Finland, my flight
landing finally in familiar London
My mother looks to me healthy,
looks at me strangely, notices
my grey eyes buried deep in my gray face
She says I’m no longer her son, like I’m Jesus
asking, Who is my mother?
After we had seen enough of the world
neither of us could muster the courage
to tell them what we’d seen

Visited Aunt Betty and Uncle Dennis yesterday
She’s doing fine, active and chatty for ninety-three –
she sends her love, I’ve got it captured on tape
It snowed all the way there and
I don’t expect I’ll see them ever again,
the last of my father’s generation

I awoke early today, 5 am,
went for a walk down Memory Lane
Mother wanted me to take the motorized scooter,
but I told her someone might see me
who knows me and how I’d like
to give them some time

Spent an hour at the church in Clifton –
not sure my memory will hold it all
Reflected on how we all started
at home and then one day you find
you’re farther than ever before
and it doesn't matter what bus you take -
each house you find is strange
Sorry I didn’t ring, but you know how it is
when you get to talking about eternal things

The snow has now given way to rain
I’ll love you always, Gordon

learn to be human:

1) start breathing.

2) open your eyes.

3) ask for what you need.

4) walk when you can.

5) master your hands.

6) 0+1=1+1=2+1=3 . . .

7) good and evil, girls and boys, left and right.

8) give generously, receive graciously.

9) love so hard.

10) die if you're ready.

The Living

We sat, the living
room suddenly transformed
into a warm back porch,
with wine and a silver platter
of various cheeses
we bought. We spent
about twenty bucks
for our makeshift fête
We passed
the time and a jug
of cheap cabernet
One gallon
later, drunker
than Goddamned pirates
we laughed and plotted
The alcohol was strong –
our memories blurred, blended
into one another’s,
became less factual
more organic
And suddenly I was
too drunk to stay awake,
so I passed out
When I awoke, the sky
a blend of yellow and gray,
I thought,
“The world is on fire,”
because everyone had fled.

Squeeze

She was picking
out peaches,
I needed soap
and a reason to leave
the house.

She bemoaned the difficulty
of choosing good fruit
and the lack of ripe mangos.

"Help me squeeze these,"
she ordered and I obliged,
grabbed a small ruddy fruit
and squeezed, sniffed
its fragrant skin.

"No use," I said.
"Fruit is a gamble
just like love."

And really, love is
like a piece of fruit --
you never quite know
what you're biting into.

"You're silly
when you flirt,
philosophizing about fruit,"
she shot,
laughed with a lilt.

I blushed,
my face a ripe mango.
She squeezed my cheek,
turned toward the tomatoes.