Seven Songs

Here are seven poems I discovered tonight in an old abandoned Word document called “Songs.”

The House

Pamela says that’s cheating

You can’t be closing your eyes

You’ve got to go inside with your eyes real wide

If you want to say you’ve been here

Richie says he’s sorry

For coming here with a camera

Some things are sacred when your soul is naked

This is no documentary

The house is old and sits behind

The Burger King on 409

It’s been for sale since ‘81

So you know that’s been a long time

Pamela says she hears them

Shuffling in the attic

Those can’t be bats and those can’t be rats

It’s the sound of retribution

Richie says let’s leave here

While we still can walk away

We’re much too young, let’s turn and run

Before it gets too late

I Feel Like Dancing

The cartilage has a history

The candied yam does too

The death of reason took too long

Now I feel like dancing

But oh the places I’ve seen

Days I wore nothing but green

Singing sea shanties with aliens and DJs

Those were the times, the rooftop days

The calendar skipped two nights

Tomorrow should be Monday

Negotiations feel like labor

Now I feel like dancing

But ooh the mornings I’ve slept

While women coughed and children wept

Mopping the floors of fleas and flowers

Those were the times, the rooftop hours

But it was only a minute

Or two or maybe ten

The man told a story of Steven Spielberg

And then we went downstairs

Hollywood in our hairs

The cookie jar is cracking

The chocolate chips have eyes

The bride wore blue with yellow shoes

Now I feel like dancing

But dang the songs I have ruined

With piano keys dead and untuned

Children screamed and plugged their ears

Those were the times, the rooftop years

I have nothing left

That’s the way I want it

Double Gold

There is a difference

It was explained to me

Between the gold

And the platinum

And the double platinum

There are numbers

Weights and measures

There is no double gold

I read every figure

I seek every refuge

As the car rolls out of Philadelphia

Into the chalky hills of the county

Where people grow art in backyard sheds

That smell like lime and pretzels

There is a difference

It was explained to me

Between the gold

And the platinum

And the double platinum

There are fives

Ones and zeroes

There is no double gold

The strobe is set to twinkle

The night is winding down

The children scream for Lionel Richie

“Still” and “Truly” and it’s time to go

I find my father’s Volvo

His first one, the red one, the best one

There is a difference

It was explained to me

Between the gold

And the platinum

And the double platinum

Domestic sales

And giant gorillas

There is no double gold

(There is no double gold

Not anymore, no double gold)

I read every page

I watch every program

As my sister turns brown in the August sun

And my mother makes fences with strings

And my father works in the steel building

Near the restaurant that’s also a train

There is a difference

It was explained to me

Between the gold

And the platinum

And the double platinum

Domestic songs

About giant gorillas

There is no double gold

Two Bracelets

Two bracelets

One more than one

You’d expect one

You’d believe one

But two bracelets

Is like three eyes

A big surprise

One pure titanium

One purer black

We grasp what’s alone

We follow it home

But two bracelets

We leave on the street

Beneath our broken feet

She threw herself a birthday party

And told us what to bring

Though she lost her job for loving

The party eased the sting

We brought her songs of trouble

Songs of rage, songs of joy

We brought her songs for sleeping

She slept until she couldn’t anymore

Two bracelets

On one hand

On the other, none

Skin and scars

Found impressions

See two bracelets

Believe nothing

But a big surprise

One from childhood

One from last year

She calls one beautiful

But not the other one

One can be beautiful

But two bracelets

We cover our eyes

And run for the light

In the Low Light

He asked that they leave the door

To his dressing room closed, locked

From the outside

He asked for a bucket of ice

And a bottle of wine no younger

Than 1979

The last year he was famous enough

To make such demands

In bigger towns than this one

He asked that they keep the lights low

These haven’t been his best days

Not even close

He asked for a tray of vegetables

And a working sink to rinse them

Just in case

His enemies poisoned him

The way he deserved

In better days than these

He remembered to thank the crowd

And the man from the radio station

And the girl who brought him dinner

But not his wife who left him

Or his manager in jail

Or his record label

If he had one, he didn’t have one

Then he played

Then he sang

About horses and winter and wives who’ve left him

In the low light

He asked that they let the fans in

After the show, with flowers and gifts

And phone numbers

Written on saved ticket stubs

From the last time he came

To this town

When he filled up the amphitheater

On a Tuesday night in the rain

He asked again to let the fans in

But the manager shrugged and the girl

Who brought him dinner

Said let’s see what I can do

She came back with a bottle of wine

1981

Last year was a bad year she said

But tomorrow’s another night

Canadia

We’ve come from Canadia

With shovels and diaries

With “no ma’am” and “yes please”

We’ve come to work the land

Build the homes and plant the trees

Write our little histories

We’ve come with grand ideas

I imagine over there

A room of red, bright and spare

We’ve come to help you live

Silver platter carts on wheels

Fancy meats in fleshy sleeves

Don’t send us back to Canadia

We won’t go back to Canadia

We promise we’ll be good to you

We have English names, just like you

And some of us have killed, like you

Don’t send us back to Canadia

We won’t go back to Canadia

We’ve come from Canadia

With children and white horses

With men in hats and armed forces

We’ve come to settle here

We’ll build big houses on hills

Bilingual utility bills

We’ve come with grand ideas

I imagine there will be

A festive feast of soil and sea

We’ve come to save your soul

Mounds of dough with sugared beans

Jellyfish and seaweed green

Don’t send us back to Canadia

We won’t go back to Canadia

We promise we’ll be good to you

We’ve left the French ones, just like you

And some of us have killed, like you

Don’t send us back to Canadia

We won’t go back to Canadia

Limbs

If arms were merely limbs

We wouldn’t love with them

But we do and where were you

When half the world was half awake?

Sleeping, with your left arm holding your right

If skin were merely skin

We wouldn’t feel a thing

But we do and how can you

Pretend it doesn’t hurt when it does?

As we drive by the house at the top of the hill

With its scales and its warts and its sevens and its twos

With its overgrown grass and its elevator shoes

The Santa Ana Winds are high, it’ll be a scream

You’ve got some matches and I’ve got gasoline

But wait

I’ll slow down

I think the thing to do

Is take a breath or two

And drive by the house at the top of the hill

If we don’t look back it’s invisible

If we look ahead it’s dead

But ifs are ten cents for ten

And we gave all our change to the fountain at the mall

So let’s turn this car around and go in for the kill

Let’s drive to the house at the top of the hill

With its pus and its blood and its sixes and its nines

With its dead orange lilies and its trailer park vines

The neighborhood’s deserted and we’ve got the time

Let’s not kill for his sins. Let’s kill for his crime

If arms were merely limbs

We wouldn’t love with them

But we do and where were you

When half the world was half awake?

Sleeping, with your left arm holding your right

(all poems written around the turn of the century - 1999-2001 in Minneapolis, MN)

Honor in a Misnomer

Like stars in September
And airports in October
She's halfway there and then she remembers
There is honor in a misnomer said well
And she chose the wrong words
She chose the wrong names

The night before, they held hands
Made no demands, made plans, took stands
Then they sat down curbside, knees at neck level
He said he cared; she said she always did
As if a distinction were necessary
The clouds were extraordinary
But they never looked up, all wrapped up in it as they were

She had no urge
To cross April into May again
With him in debt to dictionary writers
And baseball insiders, radar guns set on men's hearts racing
When she entered a room
Or exited a party in ruins
With hair a mess of spirits
Each hand full of flower stems from God knows where

He had no regrets
About the big ideas or the green T-shirts
Or the full disclosure that love love hurts
Or the time he disappeared for a day and a half
And explained it in a blog paragraph
Seen only by some HTML, a server, and a museum curator in Cambridge, Massachusetts

So there is an impasse; it's the next day
The sun is unseen and the quiet is bigger than her big brother
Who loomed loud and large until he died
And in death he became the mountains beyond the eastern city limits
She couldn't look at the mountains beyond the eastern city limits
Not yet, not ever, not yet

They entered the house together
He held her arm in his hand
She held a book about love love hurts
Upon entering, he lifted a curtain to make sure a window was closed
She pulled him toward the love seat
The cats jumped off and they got on

September 19, 2009