dimanche 20 décembre 2009

lucid dreaming


it's deadline day
crunch time, 11th hour

don't fret, patronne
i have a list right

here in my palm
i've written it up

itemized each step
so i don't forget the

gist of the important
nor the parentheticals

summed up and spent
fiscally perfect

and not just one but
two proposals for

the same pot of gold
two more brilliant thoughts

from the blast furnace
of this perfected throat

yes, more than a list
the minutia written in my head

with maps and charts to
illustrate the idiot words

those phone calls
i always put off but

the numbers firmly fixed at
the ends of the neurotransmitters

i wake up in a sweat
i missed the train
took the wrong bus

met up with an indian couple
whom i worked with long ago
and they suggested the

tandoori chicken and dal
at the resto taj mahal
where the bus drops me off

but there's no time to eat
with this looming deadline
and this last night to do it in

and why do i put everything off
until the night before
again and again and again

as if i'm dead inside
as if i can accomplish nothing with
my god-given talent?

oh why am i such a fool?
how do i get lost in a city i've lived in
all my life and for the thousandth time?

walk and walk until i come upon
a bus stop filled with
conversing workers

every make and class and race
some punching tickets in a blue box
but the damn thing won't take my money

they each put on a yellow hard hat
and cross the torn-up road
as the break whistle blows

oh it's not a bus stop at all!
and i think i must call home on my
worthless piece-of-shit cell phone

my grandson answers with babytalk
daddy's not home, a woman
with a german accent picks up

i stroll down the highway
under overpasses into a spate of
luxury hotels

"quel est le pourcentage?
qu'est-ce que vous pensez?"
i look up at the sky
these africans think it's gonna rain
and they're right of course
testing me in french

a waitress appears
in a tight pink dress
she runs down the menu
in rapid français
"whatever you want
n'importe quoi sauf les boissons"

grace à dieu
i know this woman!
she's the lesbian lover
of la patronne
and she says she'll
save my ass
as she gives me her cell phone

i roll into a booth
as an asian man shouts
"je suis là!" holding his penis
whoops it's the men's room
the ladies' is across the hall
with its long line of empty pails

but her damn phone doesn't work
i'm walking in the pouring rain
when a turbaned man in a hotel van
stops to pick me up, opens the door
drives me far from my pink savior
into a deadzone of unfinished buildings

"i can change, i swear"
said bob dylan
and he went from folk
to garage band
and never looked back

i'm good at that
my sweat dries fast
i love to guess the
end of movies but
i hate the end of dreams

photo from "a snake in june"

3 commentaires:

Mary Stebbins Taitt a dit…

Ah, good words--welcome back Beautiful!


Mary Stebbins Taitt a dit…

I like your new picture--you look very French!

Moineau En France a dit…

thanks, Beautiful! :>>)) xoxooxxo