for you, Ms. Roth - Part 2

So I wrote you letters

mapped the space in between
did my best to bend
my words into pictures

to shape
time
into plans

I will see you,
when?


I wrote you letters
I wrote you recklessly
I wrote to the pain in me

though I
don't think
that's how you saw it

my longing full up like a storm coming

changed the color made the drawing seem one of incessant
burning rather than that of an everpresent lacking
tear-drop shaped eyes

you were
weathering a storm of your own
and i was lucky.


In the distance

I built us a home
I layed down the grass seed
grew up the trees
put mattress on top of mattress
made the whole thing sunkissed and smell
of fallen leaves
baking bread and chocolate and coffee.

In the distance

like a locket with a loved one's photograph

I put your mark on me.

I have been writing to you

in there

the you I cannot name

painting pictures for you

staging photographs for you

for a lifetime

perverse
in my vulnerability

when in the space of you

I called you art

you were my

little secret

I was
embarassed

but you felt good
the trance

and no it didn't make sense

but it didn't have to

although

in the space of you
I was lacking

calling out over the canyon
I was not answered
by an echo

there were no lilly pads
to wrap around my ankles
at the bottom of the pond

falling hurt
but there was no blood
there was danger

but nothing at stake

just unanswered letters
almost there paintings
and something missing photographs

my indulgence
sad

as
indulgences usually are

but

I have seen you now

of this earth
and I have your name

don't worry
I will stay away

but when you can

you should come to me

I promise to be

disguisting
covered in
and leaking
my humanity.

Robots have it better than I do.

They get to be in music videos.
They get to meet the Beastie Boys.
They get to hang out with the Beastie Boys.
And the Flaming Lips.
And I'm sure they get to party with them both.

I would party on weeknights if I could party with the Flaming Lips.

I would still only party on the weekends with the Beastie Boys.

If I was a robot I would spend all my time in the garage with scrap metal and a soldering iron making useful extension tools for my metal arms. And my metal legs.

I could probably fashion guitar strings in my left armpit, one end attached to the inside of my forearm, the other end to my hip.

And that way when I held my arm out straight, the strings would tighten up (like webbing between the toes on a frog's foot.) Then I would have a built in musical instrument, like a secret super power.
And I could fashion a bow holder on my back. Not "bow" like bow and arrow, but "bow" like bow for a cello - and I could use it to play my armpit guitar.

And also I could carry arrows back there and use my tightened guitar strings like a built in bow (the launching kind) and that way my secret power would not only be of the heart (music) but also of justice (violence).

But, you know robots - they don't have hearts.
It would be hard to make music without a heart,
but then I guess plenty of people do it.

So why shouldn't robots?

Robots have it better then I do.
They can use oil and glue and soldering irons. They don't have to feel themselves getting old and they can always improve with extra parts.
Plus, they get to hang out with the Flaming Lips and at NASA and they are more likely to go to the moon and I think they've been on Mars, and also very deep in the ocean.

Robots have it better than I do.

Oh woe!

I am wearing your favorite shirt
the one you wore in high school
and the underwear
you gave me
ruminating
eyes at half mast
over cereal bowl
and coffee

I woke up again
in the bed without you love

have the whole day ahead
to fantasize
about taking my wrench
to the gear box

I won't

because I fear
when the dust settles
and the gear box is still there
and you are still far away



no, love, I will wait here

I will keep
making pots of coffee
watching the black turn lighter
shades of gray

as the world wakes.

Patience your breath is hot
on the back of my neck
patience please patience stop
I am not

the one you thought me to be

on the hilltop
silhouetted
against the glow
of a city burning
faithful to the fact that the fire will go out

and we will be standing still
with hands
ready to rebuild


but
it is not a city burning is it
it is not any kind of armageddon
it is just a woman
with a lover
who is far away
and has been and will be so for some time to come

perhaps I would do better with a fire
(though I wish it not)

patience still I beg you
pleaseI am tired.
patience stop
I am not

the one you thought me to be.

for you, Ms. Roth

It began with a parade
of palm fronds
fashioned like peacock feathers
in an homage
to a higher power
moving through the park
around the little league field
and the monkey bars

we were across the street
walking towards the mountains
in the distance
they did not seem so far
but then
that illusion just a demonstration
of the mountains' size
like you a stranger I knew

I already loved

the sun was high but lazy
and the air was thin
you talked about race cars
and boxtops
and life in Tennessee

and I knew then I could forgive you
of anything you had done
or of anything you might ever do

I flew

out of Denver
dutifully compliant

to patience.