a lot more knowing how it turns out decades later
maybe been a bit bolder instead of hoping
been Brasher wore tighter pants sent out longing stares with
all the confidence  Elvis would'a
I would have instead of walking by the Jackson sister's house
stayed and threw pebbles into their bedroom windows
or  boldly walked up knocked on their door and faced their dad
his six five tallness and said I think I love your daughters
and stood toe to toe and face to belt buckle with
confidence knowing you have to try to shine
have to light a fire to burn
have to live to die
instead of just fading away
the decades it took me to wisen up
I thought I was trying
it was so timid
I'd a bent the rules more
had I just known

almond fronds for  visions
spidered eyes black a wink kisses
the cheeks   a sunrise nose spry
lips of tangerine peels left after eating  the heart
calmest flowing rivers shoulders of
the places bream nip
for joy under a water slip
she is jungled
shy as the panther in the shadows
sleuthing blending in and standing out
when your eyes do meet a sudden
reality
by god she is  beauty
the forest the green lush
thickets impenetrable dark illusive
illusory a dream a destroyer saviour a wild thing
a nerve fiber a coiled up  bindle  
of masks and hard sharpnesses and soft fur
purr

a little noise from Alabam'er
the whole night long had
a rebel darlin'
a whole bottle of Jack

after puking I put the moves  
on her, she just laughed grabbed the bottle
rough and tumble like
and got naked

it was a whole lotta
stumbling as  we
banged against the stove
the refridge'

slurring our concurrent
hell's yes's
into dizzy hails yaisesses!!

as soon as the  bottle turned upside
down the last time, I blacked
out.

woke up to a headache I seen before
and a tv I owned gone
along with my John Deere gator.

women here are unforgettable

I often rode my bike there
the closest store
in Nankin Mills, Michigan,
a staple for penny candy and
whiffle *****.

A  month into the summer me
and my best friend, Craig Hewitt,
who lived four doors down
mounted  our one-speed Schwinn's
and decided to pull our first heist.

The ride was a turn right then left around
a curve out to the four-lane Joy Road,
and we rode determinedly. Four blocks on the right
was the small shopping place
a grocery store and
a Ben Franklin's Five and Dime.

We hitched our Schwinn's in the bike rack,
located near the entrance and studied. Thought of possible quick escape routes.  Excitement flowed, I wanted a quarter piece of chocolate and Craig had his lust on a Matchbox car his unfeeling parents refused to purchase.

I checked my holster the Roy Rogers shiny six-shooter
was at the ready. We sauntered in. Walking tall but shaking in my pretend boots, which were actually Ked's.
My friend was so brave he barely looked nervous.
I followed his lead.

We were in there two minutes pocketed the loot and walked out sure we had made a clean escape. Our Schwinn's had barely moved when two arms grabbed us. "Hey boys!" We were apprehended.
We gave full confessions to the Principal looking
old lady interrogating us. They called our moms.

They let us go.Craig had wet his pants and I had squished
hell out of the chocolate candy. We left not wanting to go home.
Pondering what state might take two refugees with records.
I imagined walking the rails with a stick and a handkerchief
tied on its end full of my marbles a pair of socks
the remains of my Halloween candy in.

We went to a field near our school playground and fidgeted and talked and rued and scratched the dirt with the toes of our Ked's
and tried to think how we could explain or make an excuse or
go back a day. It was getting dark.  The night on the run was more scary to both of us than our moms.

When I entered the house there at 8587 Blackburn, a white brick
normal house, now so scary with danger pain foreboding out every window and door, it was my bravest act to this day, expecting screaming a scene a beating my mother towering over
asking "what were you thinking?"

Yet nothing happened. my oldest sister, 14 at the time sat grinning
on the couch watching tv. And Mom was in her apron by the stove like every other day. As I walked by my sister said "I was the mom today.
You owe me a kiss". I hated to but I nearly kissed her every day for a
week.

Craig got his *** whipped.

gotta see you someday I been  playing country songs all night
from dwight to John anderson all the cute girls
linda ronstadt to patty loveless
thinking about you
how you can't sing a lick  but
I still love to hear you try

when did all the coroners go on strike?
bodies are piling up
and no one knows
why or when
they met their fate
or even if they are
really dead
they may be sleeping

she walked along the avenue of Park
and Fifth street alone
with her parasol
a wool skirt down to her
ankles
past the Astor
past the Innocence
of her aspiring expensive tastes
her watching the others
buying happiness
she just visited
the showcases
walked slower in Greenwich Village
remembering the review
she read in Forbe's magazine
feeling so close
yet alone

become embellished part of lore in

an old souls eye

but where Pam was concerned

it was more a play

set in the cinema

the last row

while the credits

rolled ,

and we played



it was more than

that

she gave me life

her young self

a star in my eyes

popcorn and cold mints

coca-cola clutches

seats separating two young souls
discovering

stardom

immortality

almost

not listening to

the usher

yelling

calm down
I forgot

who was the star?


John Wayne?


or me and her

bless the weakest those who feel the very souls
who suffer if far near unknown
bless those who speak in truths
whether or  not  it furthers their causes
bruises their hearts
takes that toll
bless the meek as the bible said
would inherit this earth
as prophecies spoken
mere worded phrases speak the god
talk the angels wing flutter upon
here
there are angels
there are demons
there is sufferings
and plagues
hardnesses seen how each being each
flowered ****
goes through these  stages
like our blindnesses
we feel how the hurts surround us
and few those gifted
those who deserve blessings
have this new sense this soul
that lifts the spirits of the eagles wings
to soar above the tallest
mountains and me
who tries so hard to suffer
self flaggelate and  shudder
harm myself when others need
take off now
trying to be winged
to be an angel
with time left to utter
a word
a prayer
a hope

I am leaving.  Have to see if real life is reality.

tough night, and  I know the trees grow
not for me always, aren't always waiting around the
left corner of the orchard in blooming blossoms
all with fertile flowered seriousness and sudden
speck the wind with fragrance when i decide to
roam under lowest  limbs again combing my hair
bristling my fiber
just I assume they have recollections of me  once
again a day a night I spent weeping
beauty a being not leaving planted solid
touched their bark their leaves saw the underside
the veins the sap flowing for everything
knowing when I returned
one day hence whenever
I needed to again
feel connected to this orb this streak
of  green the yellow sun the fleeting white
unassuming clouds
an intuition brought by hormones
or callous winds and rainfall and tears like rain like sleet
a mad week a day nothing but the trees can I relate to
on the left side of the orchard
they stand still and
will always be there for me
tall and unassailably calm and
pretty

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.

Her blacks crackle and drag.


Sylvia Plath

for which theirs is no liturgical everyday urge
in the cycles we moon flow tides desire
then escape the meanings the influences
while the blood rushes  in periods
can we make haste
or deny the seasons and seances
and the ****** a destination urges
the first day comes like a  sunrise
new bold nature all natural

subconscious

asexually normal

a day any other
tall warm

with what draft of me emerges from the steamy bath
all cleansed naked the sure one
the daft the absolved pure
one the glimmer of confessionals  the
bare necessary  genitals
as the animals find me no different clothed
just mad
and a man's nakedness is bold a woman's vulnerable
my genitalia a weapon
a nature hiroshima that just is
and I want to apologize to women
how they can not display like Whitman
or Ginsberg that same sense

First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wear
A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber ******* or a rubber crotch,

Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? Then
How can we give you a thing?
Stop crying.
Open your hand.
Empty? Empty. Here is a hand

To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed

To thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit——

Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof
Against fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe me, they'll bury you in it.

Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that?
Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk, talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

Sylvia Plath, "The Applicant" from The Collected Poems. Copyright © 2008 by Sylvia Plath.  Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Source: The Collected Poems (Faber and Faber, 1989)
Related

Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now.

Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.

-sylvia plath

Now they want to make a film
For anyone lacking the ability
To imagine the body, head in oven,
Orphaning children

[...] they think
I should give them my mother's words
To fill the mouth of their monster,
Their Sylvia Suicide Doll [87]

on tragedym on deep conspiracies on the blackest electrocutions.
make whole the spaces of time the blank whitenesses
the severe calamities of a life in genius
a poem seeking mistress of desire and pain
one soul alone in  it
hard  to face the reality
condemned to make her best of it
and her death a mark of perserverence
shamedly
her lecturn a warning a tall colossus of
a statue of paper and fear
a surreal landscape  of looming death
her legacy was gone, and I loved her
do to this day

only a someday can compare to now
on a good day with the best
of company

knocked on my door you did at dawn
needing consolance and reasurring words
and I most happy to  abjure
on how we are all alone

must deal with things we forage up
said no worries dear
we all scream alone

it didn't make  you smile
nor did I intend it to
I will lie
for nobody

not the brightest smile or a play be
it Shakespeare even
no Juliet can make me
injure my conscience

I tell the truth even sure of
my lies or reasons no more
in the presence of the saddest eyes

it is the hardest thing
my dear

in reality, Kierkegaard
was right, it is up to each
of us to look back and define ourselves
in the bright lights of reality,
were we cruel, self centered,
lost waylaid , we must take credit
no man made me think
or do or cuss or believe,
not a woman's fantastickness
beauty caused me a thing,
I chose, it was me,
who was weak or strong or cruel,
I had choices and all the clues
the answers though  i may have refused to believe.
But essentially i am neither of those things,
not wise or cruel or brutally honest,
everyday I changed evolved stumbled saw ignored
struggled thrived.
Each sun was anew.
Another chance to right wrongs I ignored
too weak. too unwilling, too afraid.
Absurd how I tend to define
being here, now I have lived, the past just a dream.
described fully by my actions I rationalize away.
I did not choose parents situations, were I a
rich man I might view different the
actions as warranted.
The future is my only action possible.

it's plain to see, economy is meant for us
the working poor now,
gonna have to grab our own bootstraps
and pull the leather up to our necks
in this new society
gonna have to take care of each other
walk with the old lady down the street to
the church giving out baskets of food
find the ****** addict  under the bridge
and leave him a box
full of warm dry socks and underwear
because
it is in the interests  of the ruling class
that promised no cuts to health care or
Medicaid
no one's  gonna do without health care
and like all
the promises before
by the politicians it
all comes to naught
except for the rich who
have their taxes cut
chumps come and go
and  it has always been us
against them
I thought FDR changed that.
I guess not.

mania a day dream panickness
sick I tremor wave at passing cars peopled
outside in the rain the wind and nothing matters
not the stares not the beeping horns screeching of the tires
as they swerve

am I more crazy then ever insane finally or
have I awakened to the
mornings hearing children cry
seen the rich say we are lazy
I have this desire
you see

to see hunger disappear truth become more
important than propaganda
homeless people be fed and warm
the only way in this society
I am poor myself
is to go crazy

I sacrifice myself
stand on the side of the highway crying
rush up to stopped cars
wanting to hug the people within
and they look scared
I maybe see why

i  don't care if I go crazy
anymore
this world is crazy
lie upon lie
makes for mad people

I sit now
at the intersection wanting
to entertain
dancing to the music
in my head

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”


Source: Emma Lazarus: Selected Poems and Other Writings (2002)

all odor
my couch the dogs splay
their wares and the kittens crouch
and spray

I sit on a wood bench
away away
away I stay
loving their
disobedience

I gave my home to them
and they are taking over
and truly real
I wouldn't have it
any other way

war is ****

a tiny traversed vertical
noise a chatter
space a time thing
I go down to the cellar

cellular and wifi not here
to interfere
any more with
my deep seated rhythms

rhyme an ancient paradigm
with the oil burner by my side
the darkness mold and
mystery brewing

calm satisfied  cruel radar alone
in the cold dankness near I feel
a comfort bold almost
mystical

speak to me the altered states
the after day and nights became
a different dream
the awesomeness of letting loose

in a cellar a long lost muse
spoke and sung danced and
used my spirit my obtuseness
obvious

my sway to her tune my
feebleness all caught between
her haunting voice her croon
away I went to

dark alone but for her doom
an island there
in the middle of nowhere

so, tonight, I have all my words out,
splayed out in wondrous array
on the table before me.
Wonder is my taste, my horizon,
I sit in awe.
So many to choose from. The universe of
combinations; it gets too much.
I look at the words in their glorious
celebrations just waiting, and I don't
plan to pick favorites.
I want to use each one effectively, fairly.
Words have feelings.
Can one be jealous of another, or harbor
ill, if disuse becomes her stable.
I want to throw darts, use a random generator.
Relieve myself of the awesome godlike responsibility.
There it  is.
Poetry is my world. I am God here in
stresses and syllables, in forms in choicing.
I set the boundaries and  ethics, the thematics the
rules.
I used to question God.
An apple?  A snake?
Now I have empathy.

amazingly scurrilous
that little rascal made me jump
on the bathtub
I was barefoot early one morning
woke up at three-thirty a ******* full of beer
half opened eyes I saw him dive
behind the toilet
******
I was trying to do my business
without fully waking up
so one by one i took each cat
to set them about to slay to at least maim
the intruder
and each one yawned said meow is it breakfast time yet
I don't work for you as  they each one did the same
all three licked a paw and yawned like
hey
you woke me up for this?
not afraid of teacup  sized rodents, usually
just a wharf rat and possum ****** them
I got on shoes and grabbed a broom and went
still  needing to ****
to shoo his little fast *** away
and couldn't find him
until a month after I wanted to shower
and when
I walked in the bathroom he was using my toothbrush
and deoderant all up on the cabinet kinda posing in the mirror
so we have reconciled somewhat
I bought a new toothbrush and told
him he is welcome  in this menagerie
just don't ever use my toothbrush again

she called me poet
as I took her hand
with thoughts of Romeo
and Juliet
how grand
the title seems
an honorable
obscure profession
to dream
with her my obsession
as we strolled
our way through
a moonlit scenario
of olive trees  
low willow branches
with all the time
a night allows
with  sonnet
stanzas
and her
on my mind

awake me with your shadow the cast of grey mortality
fright me  into a day nothing I take for granted
shock my heart to pump rich blue earthy blood
say a poem to me  make rhyme a reason
for me  to take with me and gather if you may
a dandelion place it in my hand wish me well
a forever destination.

some have their reality
their biases their preconceptions
and I was once a fool
who convinced himself
of certainties
when it came calm and the thunder
a sky blue    
screamed to me
from
the sides
the hidden
inside flowers
and the puffy clouds
sang a chorus
and the flat ground I hovered over saw
that it was round
and on the other side this sphere
I used my power
to consider
my concepts metamorphised
and  up was no more certain
and I opened  
the Bible the Tao
and rearranged
the priorities
of my fears
closed my arms around a vision
hugged and no more feared
my ego having
to be perfect
i sang with
animals among the clouds
just wandering free
and clear
I am barefoot now

is just a
day an oasis
in eternity

tensile strong the steel
feminine softness the real
picture first a garden
row upon row
green and fertile
making new
say with colors like the
people holding hands
in the city brown the heavens
looking down
judge
as they do
paint as any Picasso
a soft brush letting
it be real

wisdom is there like the sky the tree's limbs
a flower a bud to open upon your smile
then take a whirl tilt
and spin like children
find in all the ordinary  
a thing you missed
before

the saying quaint is memory
I am surprised i remembered it
six almost long decades
since I tried to tell myself to never forget
how the  day is wonderfilled
we have sandboxes
beloved pets
steel toy cars and backyards
we explore like jungles
swings and naps
when life gets tiresome
amongst the sunrises and hours spent
getting acquainted
to this life
a sister who is nice
at times
and moms and dads
peaches and
cream
longings to grow up and see
everything
sidewalks leading to
we do not know where
just dream
they have sights unseen
deep down in the
grey of now the
hard to read story of those years
all are written down
archived
like bubblegum on a bedpost
sweetness of that first kiss
that recall
of  days
that are so malleable
just don't forget
or get all old

ain't wrote no haiku
in like an eternity
the paper is white

when that woman who struck your eye
one day pirouettes
around the lettuce to the red ripe tomatoes
several spectators their carts
separate your
purchase  from your desire
a big woman loading potatoes
and carrots her steel cage overflowing with chickens
*** pies and saggy ****\donuts and little debbies chocolate
sugar pills
and then the two year old in her mother's shadow
wary of the tall signs declaring bargain
harbors amid the frenzy
of all the selections offered freely
fears to loose the hem of the plaid skirt
her mother threw on carelessly showing her
pale thighs
thinking of
a dinner she prepared
for a tall guy handsome and young
a lifetime ago (she thinks where
is he now)
as crisp as new
as the asparugus arranged in rows
before she got married
and your desire
a new aisle has gone
to the flour sacks and sugar yeast powdery
wares aisle number three
and your imagination flows from the staples you came to
make the hunger again refrain from
idling your days nights your everything
to her ankles how they are so feminine
and how cat like quick her long red nails
flick the gravy in a packet to the bottom
of her basket she
concentrates on only one task
which pancake mix to buy
and your ego flips and sizzles like that sacrificial first
crepe the dogs fight over
your mind a mess you follow now
unconcious
your cart wobbling
always seem to get the noisiest one
unbalanced one wheel wobbling
back and forth
unsure of itself
as she lingers near
the cake mixes hoping she takes the strawberry one
and cream cheese frosting in a can
pretend you do that you are interested perusing studying
the shake and bake varieties BBQ and Classic ******* the boxes
one  eye on her choicest picks
while all the time preoccupied with
calves  and the back of her knee  her green cape
her eyes her red nails long fingers
the way she shops
like a goddess near her
tenderness a gourmet's dream
the choicest cut of market new
still the people nod and push through
most not heeding you
on a supermarket quest a game to win
puzzle stacks of cereal on special
arranged like pyramids
almost mid-aisle
careful you return to
reality and just miss toppling the Raisin Bran
monument
she has turned the corner
aisle four now
her with the calfs and that hollow  
back of a leg behind her petite knee
a sash
gay green in perfect contrast
draped over her bare shoulders
to her auburn hair
her legs longer
and more agile and god
you have bad thoughts
imagining
wait you say, thinking to your sotted self
this cart is empty it may be obvious my aims
so you gather two bags of instant grits
one box of starch you will throw out
and salt enough to last you to eternity
faster now walk push the loud wobbly out of balance cart
the box of starch bouncing among the torn grits pouring
now a path Hansel and Gretel would be proud of
you turn the corner your heart sank when she had
gotten out of sight
and faster now your urge is known trying to think of an
opening line
what brings you here   hell no
are you a Sagitarius  *** you fumble
again she is in your sight and her neck as she looks up to select
paper towels from the top shelf
is like a bird one of those egrets long svelte white
her chin a perfect cliff
and she has this way
you can only dream of
then
**** she spies you looks sly smiling
think of something to say idiot
fast take that bottom lip out from between your teeth
look confident give her back some of that I don't care
attitude be debonair
which you suddenly ponder is hard to do in here
in aisle four when
her green eyes are burning holes
like lasers in your cheeks your nose
wipe the wetness off your lips
you look into your cart
spying the half empty grits and the trail you left behind
but now is not the time to stutter or worry or defer
it's now or never
and you trip
over your two left feet
and push as you fall down
your cart
takes flight
annoying wheel calling
into her side
as you die
she laughs and says in angel's purr
I saw you there when I came in
I wondered were you ever going to catch up
and suddenly the speaker loud screamed in a dark
omniscient voice clean up on aisle four
on your knees now looking up
the embarrasment a price tag flashing
red  
as any apple cheeks
all that came out your mouth was
so sorry Madam
so you bellied up
a chance you manly took
took her hand and gently kissed it
thinking how by god
have I been blessed
and the story did not end there
you both had grits for dinner
and strawberry cake with cream cheese icing
and you can find your way back to aisle four
to reminisce every time you need to smile
just follow that trail of grits

what shall be the counting theme
of songs about a tree
a million more and there in forests
of spreading limbs
I countenance
one more
one that has deep roots and sustenance
enough to make seeds spread forth
on the wind tarry forth the longevity
the brute force
of time immemorial
against the wrath of
roiling thunder's madness
I went back one year forty after
I first met her
grand girth and soaring majesty
to visit
and she unlike my wistful
energy my thrill
just stood there
and that said so much

I used to see in white puffy clouds
Mickey mouse
sometimes imagined
the view of a dog or
a reflection of
the map of Grenada
I was so stupid
but something happens when it turns darker
up there in the sky
it now becomes *******
which seems more often
and so
I see Thor and Poseidon
tag teaming Athena
climaxing in
lightning and a loud roar
and the sweat from their adventures and writhing pours
all down the side of my face
my shirt gets wet
and goosebumps shiver
all over
my breast
I seem to have lost
all innocence

here not now
the was was when
where have all
those yesterdays
been
and is today
the next to
become
a someday once
I'd love to know
the first
one hence
the morrow next
the day anon
the present tense
the answer poses
in never land
in dimness fraught
and clever knows
but clever left
with memory once
on a day of fate
the date
i don't remember now
so now I sit and google it
and Cortana
answers only
What??

I stand convicted of emptiness.
I claim no pardon,  no accomplice,  no alibi.
I am executed slowly.

My Reason has judged me guilty:
of searching for love and finding hate;
of searching for peace and finding turmoil;
of searching for truth and finding lies;
of searching for comfort and finding pain.

I am condemned to the agonizing maze of crowded loneliness
rushing headlong into oblivion-
There will be no reprieve.

Time is my executioner-
he taunts me with fleeting ideas and hopeless hopes
as I crawl forward towards the noose,
haunted always by my destiny,
that dawns ever slowly.

[ever get stymied]
afraid to move
<to breathe>
to try
{almost}
paralyzed(?)

it's time
time to load my most personal  things
taking only the most important

escape this apocalypse
you'll see me on the side
of the road
my cardboard box full of notepads

a lifetime of heart things
feelings tear stained yellow
page after page
pulling a Radio Flyer

on I-10
three  cats and an old faithful
black labrador dame
and one box

only she knows me those sounds like raptors wings
i make gasping for breath
coursing the avenues of
pain
like red stop signs where fast the
others walk
with no care in the world
sigh as the taxi horns blare
pistons throaty by near and I
halt fear the intersection
I stand back watching
all the other
pedestrians act like it is normal life
under the cross sign
saying her name every time I
chance to look up
ashamed
so I go down the sidewalk
not meeting eyes

people tend to come then fly away here, and we think we know them.
in memory of Busbar Dancer i had to look up James l. Dickey and he is all he said.

Falling Related Poem Content Details
BY JAMES L. DICKEY
A 29-year-old stewardess fell ... to her
death tonight when she was swept
through an emergency door that sud-
denly sprang open ... The body ...
was found ... three hours after the
accident.                                              
                              —New York Times
The states when they black out and lie there rolling    when they turn
To something transcontinental    move by    drawing moonlight out of the great
One-sided stone hung off the starboard wingtip    some sleeper next to
An engine is groaning for coffee    and there is faintly coming in
Somewhere the vast beast-whistle of space. In the galley with its racks
Of trays    she rummages for a blanket    and moves in her slim tailored
Uniform to pin it over the cry at the top of the door. As though she blew

The door down with a silent blast from her lungs    frozen    she is black
Out finding herself    with the plane nowhere and her body taken by the throat
The undying cry of the void    falling    living    beginning to be something
That no one has ever been and lived through    screaming without enough air
Still neat    lipsticked    stockinged    girdled by regulation    her hat
Still on    her arms and legs in no world    and yet spaced also strangely
With utter placid rightness on thin air    taking her time    she holds it
In many places    and now, still thousands of feet from her death she seems
To slow    she develops interest    she turns in her maneuverable body

To watch it. She is hung high up in the overwhelming middle of things in her
Self    in low body-whistling wrapped intensely    in all her dark dance-weight
Coming down from a marvellous leap    with the delaying, dumfounding ease
Of a dream of being drawn    like endless moonlight to the harvest soil
Of a central state of one’s country    with a great gradual warmth coming
Over her    floating    finding more and more breath in what she has been using
For breath    as the levels become more human    seeing clouds placed honestly
Below her left and right    riding slowly toward them    she clasps it all
To her and can hang her hands and feet in it in peculiar ways    and
Her eyes opened wide by wind, can open her mouth as wide    wider and ****
All the heat from the cornfields    can go down on her back with a feeling
Of stupendous pillows stacked under her    and can turn    turn as to someone
In bed    smile, understood in darkness    can go away    slant    slide
Off tumbling    into the emblem of a bird with its wings half-spread
Or whirl madly on herself    in endless gymnastics in the growing warmth
Of wheatfields rising toward the harvest moon.    There is time to live
In superhuman health    seeing mortal unreachable lights far down seeing
An ultimate highway with one late priceless car probing it    arriving
In a square town    and off her starboard arm the glitter of water catches
The moon by its one shaken side    scaled, roaming silver    My God it is good
And evil    lying in one after another of all the positions for love
Making    dancing    sleeping    and now cloud wisps at her no
Raincoat    no matter    all small towns brokenly brighter from inside
Cloud    she walks over them like rain    bursts out to behold a Greyhound
Bus shooting light through its sides    it is the signal to go straight
Down like a glorious diver    then feet first    her skirt stripped beautifully
Up    her face in fear-scented cloths    her legs deliriously bare    then
Arms out    she slow-rolls over    steadies out    waits for something great
To take control of her    trembles near feathers    planes head-down
The quick movements of bird-necks turning her head    gold eyes the insight-
eyesight of owls blazing into the hencoops    a taste for chicken overwhelming
Her    the long-range vision of hawks enlarging all human lights of cars
Freight trains    looped bridges    enlarging the moon racing slowly
Through all the curves of a river    all the darks of the midwest blazing
From above. A rabbit in a bush turns white    the smothering chickens
Huddle    for over them there is still time for something to live
With the streaming half-idea of a long stoop    a hurtling    a fall
That is controlled    that plummets as it wills    turns gravity
Into a new condition, showing its other side like a moon    shining
New Powers    there is still time to live on a breath made of nothing
But the whole night    time for her to remember to arrange her skirt
Like a diagram of a bat    tightly it guides her    she has this flying-skin
Made of garments    and there are also those sky-divers on tv    sailing
In sunlight    smiling under their goggles    swapping batons back and forth
And He who jumped without a chute and was handed one by a diving
Buddy. She looks for her grinning companion    white teeth    nowhere
She is screaming    singing hymns    her thin human wings spread out
From her neat shoulders    the air beast-crooning to her    warbling
And she can no longer behold the huge partial form of the world    now
She is watching her country lose its evoked master shape    watching it lose
And gain    get back its houses and peoples    watching it bring up
Its local lights    single homes    lamps on barn roofs    if she fell
Into water she might live    like a diver    cleaving    perfect    plunge

Into another    heavy silver    unbreathable    slowing    saving
Element: there is water    there is time to perfect all the fine
Points of diving    feet together    toes pointed    hands shaped right
To insert her into water like a needle    to come out healthily dripping
And be handed a Coca-Cola    there they are    there are the waters
Of life    the moon packed and coiled in a reservoir    so let me begin
To plane across the night air of Kansas    opening my eyes superhumanly
Bright    to the ****** moon    opening the natural wings of my jacket
By Don Loper    moving like a hunting owl toward the glitter of water
One cannot just fall    just tumble screaming all that time    one must use
It    she is now through with all    through all    clouds    damp    hair
Straightened    the last wisp of fog pulled apart on her face like wool revealing
New darks    new progressions of headlights along dirt roads from chaos

And night    a gradual warming    a new-made, inevitable world of one’s own
Country    a great stone of light in its waiting waters    hold    hold out
For water: who knows when what correct young woman must take up her body
And fly    and head for the moon-crazed inner eye of midwest imprisoned
Water    stored up for her for years    the arms of her jacket slipping
Air up her sleeves to go    all over her? What final things can be said
Of one who starts her sheerly in her body in the high middle of night
Air    to track down water like a rabbit where it lies like life itself
Off to the right in Kansas? She goes toward    the blazing-bare lake
Her skirts neat    her hands and face warmed more and more by the air
Rising from pastures of beans    and under her    under chenille bedspreads
The farm girls are feeling the goddess in them struggle and rise brooding
On the scratch-shining posts of the bed    dreaming of female signs
Of the moon    male blood like iron    of what is really said by the moan
Of airliners passing over them at dead of midwest midnight    passing
Over brush fires    burning out in silence on little hills    and will wake
To see the woman they should be    struggling on the rooftree to become
Stars: for her the ground is closer    water is nearer    she passes
It    then banks    turns    her sleeves fluttering differently as she rolls
Out to face the east, where the sun shall come up from wheatfields she must
Do something with water    fly to it    fall in it    drink it    rise
From it    but there is none left upon earth    the clouds have drunk it back
The plants have ****** it down    there are standing toward her only
The common fields of death    she comes back from flying to falling
Returns to a powerful cry    the silent scream with which she blew down
The coupled door of the airliner    nearly    nearly losing hold
Of what she has done    remembers    remembers the shape at the heart
Of cloud    fashionably swirling    remembers she still has time to die
Beyond explanation. Let her now take off her hat in summer air the contour
Of cornfields    and have enough time to kick off her one remaining
Shoe with the toes    of the other foot    to unhook her stockings
With calm fingers, noting how fatally easy it is to undress in midair
Near death    when the body will assume without effort any position
Except the one that will sustain it    enable it to rise    live
Not die    nine farms hover close    widen    eight of them separate, leaving
One in the middle    then the fields of that farm do the same    there is no
Way to back off    from her chosen ground    but she sheds the jacket
With its silver sad impotent wings    sheds the bat’s guiding tailpiece
Of her skirt    the lightning-charged clinging of her blouse    the intimate
Inner flying-garment of her slip in which she rides like the holy ghost
Of a ******    sheds the long windsocks of her stockings    absurd
Brassiere    then feels the girdle required by regulations squirming
Off her: no longer monobuttocked    she feels the girdle flutter    shake
In her hand    and float    upward    her clothes rising off her ascending
Into cloud    and fights away from her head the last sharp dangerous shoe
Like a dumb bird    and now will drop in    soon    now will drop

In like this    the greatest thing that ever came to Kansas    down from all
Heights    all levels of American breath    layered in the lungs from the frail
Chill of space to the loam where extinction slumbers in corn tassels thickly
And breathes like rich farmers counting: will come along them after
Her last superhuman act    the last slow careful passing of her hands
All over her unharmed body    desired by every sleeper in his dream:
Boys finding for the first time their ***** filled with heart’s blood
Widowed farmers whose hands float under light covers to find themselves
Arisen at sunrise    the splendid position of blood unearthly drawn
Toward clouds    all feel something    pass over them as she passes
Her palms over her long legs    her small *******    and deeply between
Her thighs    her hair shot loose from all pins    streaming in the wind
Of her body    let her come openly    trying at the last second to land
On her back    This is it    this
                                                          All those who find her impressed
In the soft loam    gone down    driven well into the image of her body
The furrows for miles flowing in upon her where she lies very deep
In her mortal outline    in the earth as it is in cloud    can tell n

Well I tried to make it sunday, but I got so **** depressed
That I set my sights on monday and I got myself undressed
I ain't ready for the altar but I do agree there's times
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine

Well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you, sister golden hair surprise
And I just can't live without you, can't you see it in my eyes?
I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle, will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little, just enough to show you care?
Well I tried to fake it, I don't mind sayin', I just can't make it

Well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you, sister golden hair surprise
And I just can't live without you, can't you see it in my eyes?
Now I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle, will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little, just enough to show you care?
Well I tried to fake it, I don't mind sayin', I just can't make it

Doo *** doo ***

Written by Gerry Beckley • Copyright © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

A long long time ago
I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
So

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Did you write the book of love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock and roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues

I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died
I started singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Now, for ten years we've been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rolling stone
But, that's not how it used to be

When the jester sang for the king and queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
And a voice that came from you and me

Oh and while the king was looking down
The jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned
No verdict was returned

And while Lennon read a book on Marx
The quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died
We were singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Helter skelter in a summer swelter
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast

It landed foul on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance
Oh, but we never got the chance

'Cause the players tried to take the field
The marching band refused to yield
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
We started singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again

So come on Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
'Cause fire is the devil's only friend

Oh and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell

And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
But the man there said the music wouldn't play

And in the streets the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died
And they were singing

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

They were singing
Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die

Written by Don Mclean • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group, Songtrust Ave

Well no one told me about her, the way she lied
Well no one told me about her, how many people cried
But it's too late to say you're sorry
How would I know, why should I care
Please don't bother tryin' to find her
She's not there
Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she'd act and the color of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there
Well no one told me about her, what could I do
Well no one told me about her, though they all knew
But it's too late to say you're sorry
How would I know, why should I care
Please don't bother tryin' to find her
She's not there
Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she'd act and the color of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there
But it's too late to say you're sorry
How would I know, why should I care
Please don't bother tryin' to find her
She's not there
Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she'd act and the color of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there


Songwriters: Rod Argent
She's Not There lyrics © Marquis Songs Usa

that god ****** river flowing so fast
the fish like limbs flounder
struggle against the tow
the wind's bluster is
no help at all
when the river calls you home
no arguments are possible
the eddies play no more
'cept the wind's melodies
low under water bass
the wallowing branch
recalls

I got three kitties worrying their mama.  Tonight they began  moving around  playing and climbing up couches and biting each others bellies and mama was so fretting. I told her , as I picked her up and put her on my keyboard , that was you once , she laid down and seemed to get calm. She heard me when I said that you were small once, just starting out, Babay. Then you grew up , and gave me these. It will all be ok. She purred and with her paw touched the keyboard, typing, an exclamation point!