Telepathic Lines

Swerve of high tech roller blades―
Not those antediluvian metal Edsels
So incapable of transcending gravel―
But those sugar-coated rollers:

Gliding waltz, ballet grace,
Lifting knee pads high, figure eight,
Touching toes, guffawing in reverse.
Count down…3... 2... 1....

Cartwheel and lift off into
The stratosphere, eardrums wired into
Inter-stellar muse within
The crash helmet of astronauts.

Weaving through pedestrian wayfare,
She sweeps by plenipotentiary
And pariah alike, leaps sidewalk curbs
As if dodging asteroids.

Watch her spacecraft streak by:
She opens telepathic lines to
Earthlings or whatever creatures (???)
Are presently orbiting 51 Pegasus!!!

Elysian Haven Sonnet

Utter, unutterable subliminal, seek I, O Lord!
After each dreary cruise to/ from the office―
When I sail to Byzantium through traffic fiords
And scent the Myrrh of restaurants―I dream thy kiss

Of bliss whilst I linger before the T.V. the nights,
My soul desirous of thine Elysian Haven to rest,
Thine Alpha Waves reveal to me such Beatific Sights...
Thou know'st well what Ideal Stimulation in best!

Thine ecstatic lips manifest like warming French fries,
Moist, saline; and like the Sirens thy headphone lulls
Me with Eternal Harmonies from thy Divine Stereo;

Yet it's the plastic Flame that embers in thine eyes
That reels me mute (when plugged in) and then pulls
Me beneath thy slips into thy Sublime below!!!

So Much Depends Upon

Firmly tied by the feet,
Upside down they dangle
Upon handle bars…

I see them…

Trapped between the steel jaws
Of back wheel bicycle clamps…

Or carted in wire cages by motor-ped…

Sometimes I see them
Squawking like erhu strings
In 12-tone chords
Pluck! Pluck!!... Pluck!!! Pluck!!!!
Inside red/white/blue
Plastic zip bags.

And once in a while
I see old men and women
Squawking
Unable to control
Their own toddlers
Out of control
In split white diapers,
The bright sunlight
Revealing the flash
Of speckled goji berries
As they chase
White chickens
Across farm yards…

On the surface
It does not seem to be
That much different
Than sub-urban kids
Chasing dogs and cats
Except for the fact
That it’s not at all like
A Saturday afternoon
Barbeque…

Unlike there,
So much here
Really does
Depend
Upon
A scrawny
White hen
Beside
A rusty
Red
Wheel barrow
Swamped
In flood water:
The legs
Writhing,
The flimsy neck
Held
In firm hands
Over
The gutter...

Woman in Red Neon

In your rocking chair (knitting),
You look up, expectantly,
Smile-photo pose-
Lay your patchwork down.

The herd groans and chortles
Like students at a museum.
Instant cameras...flash...flash...flash...
Out for a midnight?!?!?!

(So aesthetic) the docent
Praises your poise, your curvilinear
Symmetricality, the texture
Of your make-up.

The hordes appear; disappear.
Noses press like putty on newspaper.
Don't you want their blood
For stealing that graven image???

Terrifying. Wearisome.
Waiting for [?!?!?!]
You/they stare―a postcard
Framed [red neon].

Postscript

Our Mindelo street guide
Tells us proudly
He's got one daughter
In the army;

The other, he adds,
Sends back the cash:
"Works in Amsterdam
Chez Madame."

NO(se) Nothing

What happened to you,
Lurking in the shadows
Of your Panama
Lawn mower hat???

Translation:
Qu'est arrivé à votre nez
Tricote, fripe, raye,
Et enveloppé dans la gaze???

Concerned:
—Open invitation to a closing door?

Or:
—A switchblade slash from your average daily carjacking?

Vindictive:
—An excavation from the Dead Sea?

Or:
—A tubular worm burrowing deep into irradiated smudge?

Sardonic:
—The pimple Ronnie Ray-Gun couldn’t pop???

Or:
—Three Mile Island fallout from your nearby open poetry reading???

Extraneous:
—Pinocchio’s snozz trapped in the whale belly
Of procrastinating self-delusion?

Or:
—The warts of your teacher, Mrs. Duffy, come to haunt you
From your elementary school years?

Explanation:

It’s really nothing
But an ulcerated scab
That once sprouted
Leaves like those
Of a marijuana plant
Before the tips
Were carefully pruned
So the green fingers
Would sprout
Even deeper, taller
And longer…

That is,
Until the
Rotten roots
Of the pest
Were finally
Eradicated…

O ! Basocelluraire
Ulcere classique
Fait fricassée
Par laser!!!

Translation:

No big deal:
Just a typical
Sun-soaked
Basal cell carcinoma
Fricasseed
By laser!

Invalids

Indeed, they are invalids; you must cater to their every whim. Their rooms must always be straightened, the sheets changed, the beds made, the floors vacuumed, the toilets sponged.

Many are so distraught that they cannot put coins into the soda or cigarette machines without being assisted.

Fortunately, most are toilet trained, so this will not be one of your duties; yet at all times you must be pleasant and gracious, and not the least bit condescending or rude―even if one of them should engage in some rather bizarre behavior.

It is you who must engage them in clever and witty conversation for they generally lack spontaneity and warmth. And because they are lonely creatures, and are so often too afraid to speak to others of their kind, they will go to extreme extremes to seek out your company.

Because they suffer greatly, you may have to seek out diverse odds and ends for them, such as aspirin and bottles of booze, late at night, or perhaps other favors, for they certainly cannot obtain these items on their own.

It is thus up to you to make their stay here successful and rewarding―even if it means spoon-feeding them at times.

How rewarding you make it for them can be judged in proportion to your tips.