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Walking

Und noch einmal Heimgarten - Heimgarten revisited 38,5 x 48,5 cm

RISK MANAGEMENT

If you walk over from Camogli

to Portofino you will see people there

you won’t like and who will not like you.

Sweaty in muggy heat, wearing

cut-offs, hiking shoes, a day-pack

full of provisions(cheaper)you look

across the miniscule piazza at the rich

and their yachts the thing about

the rich you point out to your girlfriend

who’s struggling to suppress a yawn

a struggle which is

turning her face into a sort of quivering jello or pudding 

the thing about the rich 

is that they will always be with us.

A very private chorus of angels

cries out, “Bravo, bello, bravissimo!”

                                               I have bad hair,

you say, I carry my lunch around in Tupperware.

And they will always despise me for that. Use conditioner,

she advises, yawning thickly, and let them

eat off gold plate or paper plate,

who cares?

Later that evening

you are having dinner at a trattoria in Sestri Levante. She

chooses the “surprise” menu, and you, something

tasty but unchallenging. Her Primo is pasta pimped

with primary hues, her Secondo a sumptuous piece of lemon

nudging grilled sea bass. Fruit, grappa, then coffee.

The waiter looks at you with pity,

looks at your girlfriend with

substantially more of the same.

Well past midnight and back at your hotel in

Monterosso you listen to her breathe. Slow, even,

unconscious breaths. There’s a nightingale outside

the window. Deeper, further into the night

a couple is groaning, urging each other on

to greater performance, inspiring you

to reach across, wake her up, touch her into life. 

But you hesitate, wondering how she’d react, and as uncertainty

hardens, takes over, a thousand crickets reclaim the night. 

 Imogen Heap and Jeff Beck

Blanket

Born to be wild

Van Gogh - Weizenfeld mit Raben - Wheatfield with Crows

TRUE CRIME (volume one)

Throwing apples at passing cars

was just one of many enormities, plus

shoplifting for the fun of it, that’s right,

with cash in my pocket, only to be caught

with one foot out the door, “You’re under

arrest,” said the foaming-at-the-mouth grocery clerk

in red apron to an 11 year old boy, climbing through

unscreened windows looking for petty cash,

barbecued potato chips, any amusing fire-arms

that might be gathering dust, jumping from Joe

Rolondone’s rooftop onto his front lawn before

during and after splitting a six of Colt 44 Talls

because we wanted to be stunt-men or cat burglars

on the French Riviera when we grew up, French

kissing an eighth grader when I was like in the 9^th

and feeling kind of shitty about it afterwards, taking

advantage that is of a younger woman whose heart

wasn’t really in it or not as much as her tongue was

in my mouth, although she started it, running naked

across Sun Valley shopping mall and “mooning” anybody

who might actually think my pimpled ass was worth

a look, watching Myra Breedlove

taking a shower through a pair of stolen binoculars, ripping

off lines from T.S. Eliot and using them any way I please,

smoking a joint at lunch time with my future wife

on the rooftop of a San Francisco office building

then making out on company time, and doing

that a lot, lifting a bottle of obviously expensive

Bordeaux from the executive dining room of a

Major Corporation in East Lancing, Michigan, filling in

the gaps of our library with permanently over-due books

from other libraries, not caring what time it was

and not knowing the difference between late, early and punctual,

forging the birth certificates of presidents, taking

an oath of office myself on a Gideon’s Bible swiped from

a Tupelo, Mississippi (birth place of Elvis) motel room in 1983. 

Born to be Wild

Excerpt from the movie 

Music by Steppenwolf