Another Way to Play Read online

  she probably is already in love with at least one person, and

  I’m already in love with about fourteen on a regular basis, and

  that keeps causing all kinds of problems because people who are

  attracted to my style don’t like my ways—that sounded like

  a pretentious folk singing prodigy’s idea of an early Dylan line,

  but what I meant would never be explained right in a poem like this,

  or one like Anne Waldman’s either though I like to read hers

  because they make me want to write, and in my world that’s what

  “great” writers are supposed to do—make everyone else, or

  at least me, feel like I can write too, and then make me feel,

  like I will, and then I do.

  *

  After dinner we’ll eat the cake Atticus made for my birthday

  there’ll be some presents from some of the people in the house, and

  maybe Annie will stop over, or Matthew might call from work, or we

  might all go down to watch him make salads at

  FOOD FOR THOUGHT,

  and maybe eat some too, all along getting stoned on the house doobie,

  which goes too fast these days but never fast enough, which is

  about the way I feel on my birthday about my life, either that or

  the way I’m easily satisfied but never feel I can get too much—

  sometimes everything is enough, you know?

  *

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME,

  I THINK I JUST HEARD CHUCK COME IN, CAITLIN’S

  ANGRY WITH ME AND THROWING A TANTRUM IN

  HER ROOM, IT’S RAINING BUT I HEAR THE DISHES

  BEING DONE FINALLY BY SOMEONE ELSE

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

  *

  Resolution: No more guilt trips

  from outside or inside

  going either direction

  —is everybody happy?

  QUEEN JANE

  for Suzanne Burgess

  She comes out of the dark,

  well, it’s never really “dark” . . .

  She comes out of the near dark

  her pale body moving like . . . what?

  Like an old silent movie on the wall!

  Oh! I love her pale body, me! who for

  too long turned my head only for “dark”

  and the near dark bodies. Now I turn

  my whole body, my own pale body, to

  greet hers coming toward me in the

  near dark, and already my cells are

  exploding like tiny rain drops

  meeting the windshield of the Toyota

  that carried my pale body back to Iowa

  and hers.

  TODAY WHAT IF EVERYTHING REVERSED

  right eye vision blurred

  left handed masturbation

  grey streak over left temple

  you aren’t on my mind at all

  I’m on yours this morning

  life does not go on until

  we touch each other once more

  my imagination works in this humidity

  because this humidity is gone and DC is

  dry, cool, constantly pleasant and not

  the capital of anything but our smiles

  the music comes out my ears

  the kids remain quiet all day

  I feel fresher around supper time

  than I did at breakfast or lunch

  on the streets this evening

  we smile at each other with no fear

  everyone is vulnerably nice

  those of us who fall in love quickly

  find those of us who fall in love

  quickly

  going to bed together demands no games

  going to bed alone demands no loneliness

  going to bed in groups demands no guilt

  going to bed we dream of tomorrow

  waking up we find everything reversed

  FILE

  luxury eyes

  Touch me here!

  tiny quick eruptions in limp wrists

  limp coal colored hair to chew on

  kiss me kiss me

  o pretty people

  I take off one damp Tuesday morning

  wish me well

  the dark shy wheat of my asshole

  the giraffe tender soles of my pale feet

  rock quarries between my fingers

  laser beam holographs shining from my eyes

  everything green & standing up as I pass by

  There is a sign in the mountains for

  LOVER, Pennsylvania

  one of the first things a child learns

  that sing & sign have the same letters

  that evil is live spelled backwards

  there is an eel in feel

  & in between your lips I slip

  wet & loving you

  there is an our in your that frightens me

  I turn around

  What a gorgeous back seat!

  stale Ritz crackers & a portable fridge

  two bottles of champagne

  stereo tape deck

  wall to wall carpet & a

  decorative Persian rug on top of that

  patterned wall paper with embossed

  velvety designs & antiqued dinner furniture

  several classic photographs of

  your lover, his fantasies, his mother, etc.

  a canopy over the bed &

  a sunken bathtub with lavender tile

  we’re so tired of lavender

  take my eyelids beautiful boy

  I’ll never use them now

  YOU WALK IN

  my tongue curls

  my house expands

  your neck glows

  your smile chews away my distraction

  I can’t move my toes they want to dream so much

  why don’t your clothes fit me with you in them?

  what do you see in that

  evacuated city I built

  for us to live in behind your knees

  can I call my friend Terry & ask him to tell you

  how even the Bronx doesn’t feel as good as your

  quiet movements in

  o drive the car of your hair into my waking up alone no more

  & let me park there for the Hollywood premiere of

  “Hello, Goodby, I Love You”

  9.13.73

  kiss me—lay down with me—forget my fucked up

  fantasies—theyre not with me tonight—just kiss me—

  gently—touch my hair and eyelids—let me

  put my lips against your shoulder—hip—temple—

  life’s a need—let me need you for a few hours—

  o Michael Buddy Bacall Bambi Penny beautiful boys &

  ladies let me life you—you know—lots of slow

  & serious energy—not too serious—that flows one way

  but never gets there without you—just tonight—

  just not alone right now when I’m here—all alone

  again—tons of it—life—right here between us—

  why not let it out—close our eyes and be

  ourselves!—yeah too late now aint it—all the

  tough young women I went to bed with back then—

  I “went to bed” or beach or backseat with— I went

  to eyes and thighs and pubic hair and soft skin with

  I went to bed so many times lonely with—all

  the people I’ve touched and held it all for just that

  while with—all the empty holes where stars had been—

  o lots of life here on this planet late at night—

  I can hear the cop cars from here and not you—

  (“I STAND . . .”)

  for Karen Allen

  I stand

  “awe”

  I, uh

  Listen:

  I am “small”

  I mean inside my hands
/>
  I mean we talk this way

  always “meaning”

  Does John Ashbery ever say

  O you make me dream

  while I stand

  that time beside you

  walking away from

  going back in my brain files

  slow replay over and over

  in “the street”

  your house has a “porch”

  mine had a “stoop” but

  we called it a porch

  because it had a roof goddamnit

  like my mouth

  and the tongue inside which

  I am “small” and “in awe” of

  your Lauren Bacall

  and your my-niece

  I have a daughter

  without freckles like I had

  like you have

  like I might have been

  without this smallness in my stomach

  I never grow, you know

  that’s why you placed your hand

  with so much care because you knew

  it would stay there for a long time

  And I swear on your eyes

  in which the games I learned

  do me no good, I swear on your eyes

  and the light that shines from them

  that it has, and it will

  like a tattoo that didn’t hurt

  and only we can see

  and it talks for me about “awe”

  and the way I stand when I am beside you

  We always said “I mean” when we meant

  Do you believe me

  IN AMERICA

  for Olga Nola

  I just called to say

  you looked beautiful today

  and yesterday

  the way your smile walks away

  from your life into mine

  while your hands pause in flight

  like a film of two birds

  on their way to each other

  when the camera stopped

  the way I stopped

  when I should have gone on

  carrying your smile back to you

  YOU ARE HERE

  for Jeramie R.

  in my stories youre colder

  in my prose you sound cold

  in my attempts at novel writing

  you come across as less sincere

  in my life you are the sun

  in my memories you are the ocean that soothes me

  in my heart you are the one

  don’t read my fiction

  don’t see yourself there

  you are here

  in my poems

  where you would belong

  if we belonged places

  and I could determine your place

  no

  if that were the case

  I’d have you in my building

  where you could be in my arms in a minute

  only I might see you going out

  when I longed to have you in

  and that would distress me

  or if I saw others going to visit you

  I’d worry

  not that I wouldn’t want you loving others

  sharing what you share with me with them

  I’d worry that they’d make me seem ordinary

  too ordinary for you

  so that wouldn’t do

  maybe I’d have you in my room

  like the radio or my typewriter

  only I can turn them on or off when I want to

  but you might want to be on when I’d be off

  or maybe I’d just get confused

  about loving someone so close so much and soon

  grow tired

  o shit

  where would you fit in my work or my thoughts

  when I’d need to be alone

  I was right

  you belong in a poem tonight

  A LITTLE LISZT FOR OLGA

  Hair, yours, shiny and black

  A record, romantic music

  “Eres Tu” and it is you

  It has been me and others

  Growing up and then, growing up again

  The clichés we frauds fall back on

  The first time someone knocked us out

  Almost getting high through the tunnel in your look

  My lips on your hand and velvet wrist

  Nothing on the walls but books

  A head with no memories

  We love to see too much and will

  No matter who we love or who loves us

  Those who see only vulnerability

  An open wound for them to cauterize

  The doctors they’d love to be

  We see what is vulnerable glowing

  Strength in a defense that needs no walls

  Fences to keep others out that only keep others in

  The faces of others’ fears

  Our years—overused batteries

  Make them full my heart

  Thinking of that day

  A crystal of something blue and pure

  The perfect image in which you and me

  A subtle detail made complete some idea

  What it might be to love beyond all walls surrounding

  Our unique attempt at touching

  Like two hesitant, beautiful animals

  Away from the humans at last

  VALENTINE

  for Karen A.

  It was a gorgeous day to wander around Georgetown.

  I didn’t. I got up early, “wrote” a “book,”

  listened to some “classical” music like Liszt and Couperin

  Buchanan and Dylan, read about a marriage that

  by not being a real marriage at all turned out to be

  a beautiful true marriage—what has “true”

  got to do with “real” anyway—like today,

  what has today got to do with me and you

  besides the way it makes me feel full

  the way you can do, brings the good things

  people say the country offers right here to the city

  for a countryphobe like me, so I leave my music and words

  and catch the street. Everyone’s out today!

  Claudia! Ed! Terry! Henry! Ralph! I wish I was

  as bright as the day, so after a while of being dazzled

  I go home and take a shower with all the windows open

  and I shave and jump around to the good sounds—

  I remember to take the huge heart shaped box of candy,

  I bought it for the kids, out of the bag and put it

  somewhere where it won’t melt. I drink some milk

  and eat some cheese, think about all the people

  I should write a poem to for “Valentine’s Day,”

  for “Washington’s Birthday,” for this wonderful weather

  the world gives us despite our arrogance and

  belligerence toward it, but I notice the time and

  there is no time! Got to run, so I do,

  in some new shoes that hurt my toes, but the rest of

  my clothes feel fine, and I know I am, on the street again

  paying homage to the sun with my grin. I feel like

  Ted Berrigan walking with my head held high, jaunty

  like Hollywood English types, and a little mischievous too,

  thinking about how I can do something fun and funny for you

  like the sun is doing for me as I strut. There’s

  my car! I haven’t seen it in almost 24 hours

  so I throw it a kiss because I’m not a good owner

  but I love it and that seems to keep something going.

  I get in ready to cruise these canals to your veranda

  or something Eddie Arnold and ’30s Hollywood like that,

  only the corner of my eye catches the bank clock and

  surprise! (Spencer Tracy in A Man’s Castle with

  Loretta Young I think, swimming nude!) It’s 4:15 PM!

  I can’t believe it! I go into
Discount Books to look

  for Terry to check. He’s not there but someone

  I don’t know says “Hi Mike!” so I say “Hi. Do you know

  what time it is?” and he looks at his watch and says

  “Well, the government says it’s four twenty but

  it’s really three twenty . . .” and some more words.

  I don’t hear them thinking about you and ”true” and

  “real” and wondering what he meant the “real” time

  and what was “mine” . . . You should be there because

  it’s almost 5:30 in my life, but in the bank’s and

  the guy who knows my name it’s only 4:30 and somewhere

  out in abstract city it’s “really” only 3:30. Maybe

  that’s why it’s so warm. I back up, back home, back

  to back Dylan charms me to the typewriter where

  I write to you to kill the time and to say

  “Wontchu be my valentine?”

  DARK NIGHT

  o let me “hi” how you doin baby

  never come back front wise asses

  so soft

  say fade in nice and easy mister frantic

  cool off your motor’s sides like

  don’t know what everybody else knows

  dare me one time be very “interesting”

  I read a lot of history you know and go

  delirious when left alone with it

  like theology in the dirty book store movies

  in the back room with all the beside you inside you

  up on its hind legs begging but don’t ever beg

  one time a very sexy lady come on down the

  cruel to herself in all the familiar ways

  stands up in the mirror recognizes

  all we do in the o you got it

  your own way cause it’s your bright lady

  no one wants to take away from you now

  nothing looks like it did does it

  it’s the light does it

  makes you want to push your face into

  all my lips and the sides of my tongue running on

  so displaced in the face of your body we don’t

  ever want to sacrifice for only “possibilities”

  PEAKING

  I’m crazy right now.

  I thought I was just “crazy about you” or

  “crazy for you” but I’m really crazy now.

  It’s 1:20PM, June 10th in the year 1974, or

  if we remember years the way the Gypsies do

  it is the year Candy Darling died of cancer

  and I met you, love

  I wanted it to be always something special.

  All of a sudden it was so special I can’t work