Wednesday, August 13, 2008

An old poem for an old friend now gone (apologies and gratitiude to Allen G - you dirty old bean)


A World Series for Emily!

An answer for Emily, late October is coming

your birthdeath

Michael too, honking out the

last AIDSbreath while you what?

Drank a pale ale

              bad wine

a spandex girlfriend with AA medallions

reclining in your lap.


Schenectady mourns you.

Poughkeepsie mourns you.

The great counties of the Great State of New York

dim their headlights.

Everyone freezes in a game of statues -

then goes on shopping, sweating.


I shrug at the ceiling, Catholic me

would get great comfort if you were up there

watching me write.

Anarcobuddhistpothead sees you in every mote

in the sunlight

in the dyke sportif of Eighth Avenue-


                 Your birthdeath

                 Michael's first death day

He turned gray in Saint Vincent's

and it was over and we were thankful

but this, Emily, just confuses me

and all the time I say is it true

not seeing you for years

and then never being able to

see you again still with visions of

the platinum future you and me

driving high in the valley

and me killing myself to impress you

                  For love

                  and your highest opinion.

No comments: