old stuff just to get it out

bobby obsolete was getting a new channel on the super-portable TV he had in the closet. He kept that TV in the closet because he liked to have TV sound always  filling his apartment--but he didn’t want the TV in the living room on all the time because he knew he wouldn’t do anything else. so he got  the tiny TV and ran a wire into his closet and plugged it in and it was on all day and all night. he thought there was probably a part of his brain that was like that TV in the closet. always making noise--saying things he could vaguely understand but not always--sometimes muffled and sometimes just jangled noise of jingles from the jingle jungle, the TV desert of selling and buying. but now he was getting this new channel that would fizzle and splutter like a candle then snap in sharp for maybe two hours here and two hours there.....









I’m ready to live again
whatever that means
 I want to take
a camera and a pen
and a tape recorder into
the world and leave
a stack of questions
behind
silence
so much silence
peaceful silence
restless silence
silence that soothes
silence that taunts and teases
silence that laughs joyfully
silence that laughs cruelly
silence all around the silence
and sounds inside the silence
that are part of the silence
    the silence of loneliness
    creating panic
    making me want to call
    but call who and for what
    call her or him or her
    or them
    for what 
    a break
in the silence
to spill my brain thoughts
bounce them
off their brain thoughts
while their brain bounces off mine
    call on a friend
    to fill the silence with love
    and the silence is no longer
    lonely
 you sit in the silence
and you wait and wait
not knowing what
you are waiting for
except a silence within
to match the silence without. dream

now and then the veil is ripped aside
and I see who I am
through the eyes of someone I love
or who used to love me

I had a dream of my ex-wife last night
she was distant for a while
didn’t know why I was there and
wasn’t very happy to see me

I can’t remember what we talked about
I think I told her that I could understand
why she left,  that I was really sorry
I was such a blind fool back then

we do the best we can given where we are
and sometimes the best we can do
falls so short of where we could be
without our even knowing

in the dream  she showed me around
a little while  and even apologized
to me for some of her behavior
and before I left I kissed her good-bye

a passionate kiss  then the phone was ringing
and two or three people were calling her name
and we quit our kiss
and her friends were all around

they talked to her about the pressing matters
of the day in her world
and I saw my cue to walk away
so I walked by her and squeezed her hand

we looked at each other  and went back
to our separate worlds and
as I walked down the street away from her
it started raining. silence is everywhere except the hum of machines
refrigerator  air-conditioner  the huge, monstrous,
beast machines outside that eat
the street and dig up the pipes and ruin cars.

morning is always tropical even in the dead of winter
even in Canada the act of waking up is a
tropical act. the body wants silence and time
and pleasure in the morning. the sound of waves.

morning is a time to forgive yourself for all the
days before and for the day that will unfold
even when your schedule book is full with every minute
booked--the day is a mystery stretching ahead.

there is no way for you to know what will happen
the day is a mystery even when you project yourself
into the future and imagine everything that is
supposed to happen--you never know--you

can’t write the script of what other people will say
or what mood they’ll be in--
maybe your car will stall and you won’t
get to work on time--the minute you step

outside, the minute you open you eyes--even
if you are inside all day--a story begins to unfold--
someone calls or doesn’t call--your feelings
boil up and send smoke into the room.

thoughts and feelings like molten lava bubble and
boil constantly in your heart and your mind
and all that is random just a jumbled cauldron
of impressions and desires and ghosts

last night may be an image of your ex-lover
with another man and your heart contracts
and your brain is black and in the morning
you miss her and wish she were there beside you.

and the machines roar and pulsate and punctuate
the dull time breathing smoke from the pipes
sounding infuriated by everything that stands
in their way while harried grown men attempt to control them.

the activity outside the window is endless
will be endless until the end of the world
until there are no more windows--at night
nothing happens, or it happens slowly

and the season turning so finally there is a cloud
in the sky finally we aren’t bombarded by sun
and light this morning finally a cool thought
and a quiet light except for the restless machines

morning is a juxtaposition of desires and restless activity
the cluelessness and impatience of a new day
the fluttering landscape of too many possibilities
and the seeming inability to clear the calendar

clear the head and heart and celebrate the simple.
motion is fairly important but probably over-rated
it isn’t a matter of age anymore and never was
but  that doesn’t mean anything in particular


#1

lightning fizzle again on backyard swing
memories drenched under heavy water
soaked to the gills like schools of fish
moving mouths rhythmically and silently

speaking only in air bubbles  the mystery
lost once the bubble breaks the surface
no sound except water hitting water
rain falling and lightning running always

zig-zag  never straight to the point
but point always well made and striking--
behind the picture window a match flares
and lights a cigarette  another flash and

the power goes out and another match
lights a candle conveniently on the
table. Rivulets of rainwater running
vertically outside the window making

reflected face with cigarette distorted
staring out into the past into other
rainy nights now silenced by time
other rainy night with conversation

and touching and a certain odor of
perfume lingering more pungent in
the heavy damp air and the other
smell of animal wanting animal

flesh bites teeth tearing slightly
secret soft wounds in gentle places
and sounds of no language or the
universal language of pleasure and

passion and surrender and the lightning again
makes everything disappear.
based on the confusion of the moment
erased from the frozen phlegm in chest and nose
keeping him up late late into the night
what is the picture now little trooper

it is a mind going blank or feeling erased
i can’t help it i’m just describing experience
i saw her there i might have said hello
but i was trapped behind a different wall


go pumpkin go pumpkin
whereabout layabout
fire around the sound
impulse mechanic vagabond
he’s losing his dang mind
he’s losing his dag gone mind
he’s losing ground look at him
he’s pulling his hair and
pulling long faces and
he’s restless look at him
pace