The Right Column
Big Sur

Drinking,
Singing, and
Dancing
off the cuff
Gorsh this giant ego that
    no professor would allow
   to gallop forward the fray
      take over the class
    loud mouth with too much to say.

   So I'm reading Psalms
      that say to temper one's words 
         because the fool has many
           while the wise man is mum.
  
     But I'm that dumb
       that I keep typing
           these blogsnot poems
        day by day, 
          week to week,
            hour to hour,
          second hand is on the twelve.
       over under through.

    I picture the ski lodge lobby
       it's 1967 and alone
          and learning to tell time.

    And I never stopped telling time
       everything that time never wanted to hear
    my channelling of the paranoid fear into story
       my heartbreak breakdown cateloged and 
          available live on the net.
 
   Syndicated on twenty-seven worlds.
     Numerological breakup of opposing truths
         which anhillate each other.

   Burn it, burn it and send that rocket
       once to the moon . . .just once to the moon.
      Make a Hydrogen Derigible,
         burn nothing
       and go there over and over.

  That giant ballon will float ten miles high
    collect the light from the sun
      and never be in shadow.
      And from these will hang
       the space gondolas.


  No wine on a Wednesday afternoon in May
   The only thing that might be lost
        is the purpose of my last three novels.
   
   Too many songs?
     How could there ever have been 
      too many songs or too much dancing?
    Well, when the record player arm was left up
       and the same 45 would play over and over
          at full blast.
            I did this to someone once
               when I was young and mean.

  If your professor makes you read this poem
   Tell him I said you oughta instead read the full texts
        of Hamlet.

  "I'm just pretending to be crazy."


May 26, 2010