Sunday, January 13, 2008

Want To Hear A Joke?

Knock, knock…

 

Here’s where you ask, Who’s there?

 

So who’s there?

 

Me.

 

I’m not sure I understand.

 

You’re supposed to say, Me who?

                   Then laugh as I say something

     witty and endearing

even if it isn’t funny,

           which it probably

       won’t be anyway.

 

Stop looking around you,

            I promise the clock doesn’t care for the joke,

                                                               nor does the door,

           nor the frayed hem at your wrist,

                        nor the scar on the back of my hand.

The laugh is for me and me alone.

        So, if you would,

        please,

        do it for me…

 

Me who?

 

Me meaning me.

Meaning no one except myself.

Alone and fragile,

I need your laugh,

your oral stamp of approval,

or at least acknowledgement

of my splendid sense of humor.

Tell me, please,

     that I am a ray of sunshine,

             a shining star,

                a pretty little flower,

                   the barbed hook in your open eye,

                          or some other cliché.

                      warm and fuzzy

                                               like a freshly-killed bear,

                                          its claws and teeth yanked hard

                                                            from their roots.

That is what I need from you.

        So, if you would,

        please,

        do it for me…

 

I don’t get it.

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Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Dreamer’s Mourn

Good night.

 

I once had a dream.

It was a dark night in Russia,

bitter, reeking with moldy dreams

that hung like pasty tapestries from the surrounding trees.

I saw every one of them.

The air was so cold

that it froze the ash to dirt

before it could grow back into another life.

The sun was dead by noon.

You were looking towards the heavens,

A smile chiseled between pale marble cheeks.

I tried to get you to look at me,

but you kept on staring at god.

Come dance around the fire with me.

So I left and walked around the world,

until I could see the sun again.

And it was Sunday.

Oh, Henry’s losing his faith again.

I’ve never been fond of Time,

so I killed him while I was out.

The people clapped for me,

and then filed into a theater.

I saw every one of them.

I swear, sir, I had my ticket just a minute ago.

It was right here. Or there.

Somewhere, in any case.

The sun was dead by noon.

So I had to walk all the way back

and cross the street near my house,

only looking both ways afterwards.

There’s no place to die like home.

Come dance around the fire with me.

Now I’m back in my bed,

lighting an already-melted candle,

watching the match twist into one thick, black hair.

Oh, Henry’s losing his faith again.

If you could be anyone for one day

who would you not be?

I feel like wondering,

but then the rooster crows.

Good morning.

 

 

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