Slurp, Gulp and Start on Sounds

Once we had a time together –
I made you laugh and I pinched you hard.
The wonder of love was never there.

You were always taller, like in this picture.
Your gold ruffles out-shined this old t-shirt.
I never had your sense of style.

Christmas morning and we were all dressed up?
Did mom make us get it together
or was it just one of her cocktail parties?

Your gold ruffles were fancy like a horse.
You danced and spoke like time was yours.
Your height and build made me seem small
when you wore those jean coveralls.

Your done-up hair had trounced my pumps-
no matter how much air I'd release.
I'd never been able to run or jump
like you could during volleyball season.

Just one more year would mean a world
of difference when we'd be set side-by-side.
I'd have been way shorter
or you'd have been way smarter
instead of this side-by-side.

Now look at us...
a silly maze of misunderstanding.
The wonder of love is all that's here.

I'm much bigger
and it makes me wonder
which one of us has it together.

Now I can wake up early. (you always had that on me)
But you make good decisions.
Let's get together for a cocktail party.

Your fuzzy mane looks like a mohawk.
Your funny face is what I expect, now.
Your skinny legs make me wonder
which one of us has it together.

You don't have to push me nowadays.
I'll do the silly things you say.
But if I could do the things you do
It'd just be like I'm being you.

Let's go another year and see
what difference it makes with us.
Will I finally be taller?
Will you finally be more hip
like me? Is it in the cards for us?

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Sliding in our distant space?
What makes us think it's ours?-
Driving- distanced in our cars.

No, reason never reached me there- it was here,
at The Main Street Fair-
it was at the Carnival's commons..
they got all the attention that first belonged to you.

Our hearts were not ready to.

Kissing in the telephone booths, hidden by forests of canvasy shelter.
Mostly midnight blues about us...

Mostly blue with flash-photography.

We were much too busy talking eye-jive times and making it happen-
reading the lines off the church wall in faux paisley.
-fake everything.

Even the sets we saw on the rides were fake.
And we'd cheer eachother on with our brilliant ignorance!-
as if we didn't know of all the horror behind those sets;
with red-sprayed carpets and fenceposts bent.
Raping our minds when we were invited to watch it;
and then charging us for the nice view, they'd marred our hearts one toward another.

Every now and then we call their bluff-
all it took was a little love.
Over the phone, with a bolder voice than before,
I started talking about all the fake sets:
'Why did it take us all so long‽'
'You're just like the rest- all meaningless talk...'
'-but I didn't know there were any more of us..'
'Yesterday, someone asked one of us why we give them a parents' gift again...
I said I would but He wouldn't appreciate it- he couldn't- because he didn't know where we had gotten our overall funds...'
'You've all worked hard, but it's all just a game...'
' -of moral beliefs and market-based gain!'
'one of my friends was stoked on your ride.'
'He should have found his own fuckin' slide...'
'One thing I have found is your total lack of care...'
'One thing I'd say is I'm working out here at Main Street Fair... with kids upon kids crawling and sucking the life out of me- I once had a son who was just seventeen. I taught him to save his own life and to hate. I showed him a little 'bout fighting for fame while he was in school learning market-based gain. Then at the fair he was lost in a crowd; but turned up dead due to rodeo cows. Now I sit and visit the kids in hopes of some miracle of seeing my son. No one in California knows what I've done.'

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We could be depraved any minute of the day,
laid down like Cayman Islands' habitual silence.

laid down like flaming wicker, flames and flicker.

There's peace in absence – and I'm left wanting

We balance atop a playful STAND [who]
promises to support us [and]
oath like no one else can do.
help lay down my head, upon a pillow on my bed

We could be engaged any minute of the day
wand'ring about why, or
wond'ring about why

But we stay — straight.

We discuss the ways to stay up late:
Cappuccino, látte, Betty Page.
Wilford Brimley, Bonnie Raitt.

We construct a waiting game –
playing each-others' turns away.

Keep our feet on the ground,
our heads are in the clouds,
stop the discussion & get us down,
with oath like no one else can do– promise to support me.

We stay
on display
any minute of
the day.

Fingers twitching, let us speak.
We're needy kids so leave us be.
Hit me with that Windex, kid –
and clear a way for us to leave.

laid down

We go down, and sleep on our knees.
Time slows by, and then rewinds.
We arise, still hear breathing like too much reverb...

exhaling wet breath on our jeans. un-do-ing our seams unravelling exposing our knees

Asleep when things aren't always as they seem, reluctant,
to expose anything, like, say, ourselves

ever again

There's enough of that in the world, but people keep on giving
Such generosity mends itself like a soldier in the bush
tending to press-on rather than dress his wounds.

Such exposition's like endless direction...
Concentration as time, sadly ends.

Clamber... up and be on the right or left side to begin.
It's all so messy, but we must begin.

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I can play word games, they're all just mind games. Once a year.
Where I was raised we put our words where our tiles are.

We could communicate by our tiles, layout being context
and turns being yours or mine.

Orientation would say what I really mean
while your choice of diction's what's in your eyes.

I won't miss you all year [ E1 N2 V4 I1 O2 U4 S3 ] total= 17 pts.

But I meant to call [ Z10 Y8 G3 O2 T1 E1 ] total= 25 pts.

Play like we don’t know [ L2 I1 K3 E1 N2 ] total= 9 pts.

How much we know [ C2 O2 L2 T1 ] total= 7 pts.

There’s a lot to be said
And ‘we all want to know’ –
and to hang out

So we just play word games. Once a year, we play word games.
We’ll spell out our souls worst fears, and talk about God.

I am in such a rut [ L2 O2 V4 E1 L2 I1 N2 E1 S3 S3 ] total= 21 pts.

Will you pray for me? [ G3 R2 A1 F3 F3 I1 T1 I1 ] total= 15 pts.

I forgive you [ L2 A1 Y8 E1 R2 E1 D2 ] total= 17 pts.

Thanks [ C2 O2 N2 T1 R2 O2 L2 ] total= 13 pts.

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In my recorded diary,

Duplications react to preserve their integrity –
these tapes won't see me through a whole year.

After each season there's reason to archive;
posting each note as individual lives.
In winter, I archive my diary library.

Files intact will display contents.
Copies react, creating chemical burns.

If an item merged into a note to tell you
of something that happened a few months ago,
That chocolate cake'd prob'ly slide around.

Dip this stick in paste post-haste!
and smear that stuff on-to that tape.

The paste's my remedy for fame: these tapes can't ever be erased.

In spring, I'll archive that shit away –
sometimes I love & sometimes I hate.

Reality refuses to be shut at the gate.
These tapes'll record themselves on the way.
Take this torch and melt all those tapes.

Pop-in-cassettes make me not have to wait.
But speed's an invoice for letting me rest.

If an item merged into a note to tell you
that you've been merging events from your past...
(It took me some time to see how I'd react.)

Spark that torch to touch this whole bunch!
and liquify mem'ries of'archiving in love.

The torch is my remedy for fame: these tapes can't ever be replaced.

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