flocking SUV's
baaaas simmered nontremolo
unuttered barely sighed
from countless SUV's
all across red white and blueland
two years voiding ultimate nonpresidency
lifetimes beyond revolutions
sleepdrivers on roads unnoticed
feet pushing hurry to floor
just before ozzies wife died
live on MTV coast to freaking coast
bushes tapdancing on strings
couldn't touch her long slow fade
market lost its grip and slipped
isms raged to any who'd listen
reaganomics deregs've come home to roost
ENRON is where we've stayed the course to
son of "read my lips" steers stoic
sheepish silence on this ship of fools
rubber tired waves on concrete seas
silent flockings in SUV's
lost angel gypsies
L.A. sunsets spilled sepia roses.
bare footprint shadows patterned
south bay sand.
waves were broken pieces
of another never-ended background track;
freeways poured to dawn.
sunflowered stickered bubbles
were beetled steel and paisleyed glass;
wandered never far enough north on highway 1.
gate called, sometimes gilded
at both ends of gypsy days.
ah, the way our star lit iron oxide.
we answered with thumbs, followed yellow bricks;
traded veed fingers and smiles.
a magnet in the music pulled us all true north
for awhile.
sugarless smack aka hope toasties
sing your songs
of the stainless steel penis
inject details writhing sleazoid
romance stenched proof of self derision
tie off limbs of failure
shoot yourself way down
serial sonambulance flakes
an empty box waits
(inspired by Angela Armitage's Gil-Glorion sits down)
shelly just wanted things to be different
san francisco in 1974
was heaven after the USAF.
my wife the optometrist
held parties for the whole gang.
friends came up from LA and Santa Cruz,
down from Seattle and Medford.
friends came from san francisco
and san francisco and marin.
it was a mixed crowd of skywalkers;
the clouds were miles below.
shelly dressed like a man,
wore Brut and Oleg Cassini.
edward wore silk kimonos,
always put his hair up.
we all sniffed blizzards from peru,
chainsmoked no-name cigarettes.
I ran the 16mm projector and
the black and white silent films flickered
while the stereo system pounded
pink floyd, grateful dead, savoy brown.
we'd dance in the projections and all over
the room, on chairs, sofas and ceiling.
one night while shelly was cavorting
on the coffee table disrobing slowly,
edward was chopping snowflakes,
folding her clothes and draping them carefully
on a wicker loveseat bay windowed.
he danced in time to shelly and the chop
without missing a beat or a flake.
the clouds were everywhere far below.
suddenly shelly was crying and
her birthday suit became inanimate and slouched.
she yelled "stop", held her hands up
and spread them as if to gesture an important something.
shelly told us she only dressed like she did
and acted like this because she didn't like the rest.
she told us that inside she was very unhappy
and alone and doing things outrageous
made her feel better for a little while.
she told us she was so lonely it made her afraid.
edward started crying and then the rest of us.
he reached out and gathered her from the stage
and sat her in the thai bay window chair
with the view of lowell high school and slowly
knelt at her feet holding her knees.
he kissed her tears and whispered something.
they quietly left together soon after that.
the party went on and on and on.
a month later they came back wearing
each others clothes, edward in her Oleg and
shelly in his kimono. they were quiet and
laughed alot. no one asked any questions.
things were different.
