"If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
I want mix-matched plates
and kitschy things. Please don’t tell
me you’re too fancy.
I wish you were here
instead of there or I was
there instead of here.
For you I will keep
singing. We are everything
and will always grow.
Two more days and I’ll
leave for California with
the love of my life.
Updating people about my life is more fun in haiku.
I’m afraid in ten
years I won’t remember the
look of your laughter.
Dick Van Dyke: three syllables and eleven letters
all squished together to frame the mindset of 1964.
Framing the scenes on the television screen to mask
the obscene, mind-melting dream of a better world —
all caught in a whirl, all boys and all girls,
pushing and shoving and loving and shooting.
Dick shows us to be wholesome as Rex yells
at them to roll some charred Charlie bodies into that hole.
There’s never a dull moment as the world seeks atonement
for a fight that was never theirs. Mind clogging comedy is the remedy,
the pure cure, to chim-chimney sweep the truth of day. Bodies decay as
politicians keep fears at bay, not showing the light of the
chitty chitty bang bang chitty chitty bang bang way.
Oh, Dick Van Dyke, we love you.
Work myself to death
to pay for what was supposed
to make me better.
Each stroke of the brush
reminds me of the hammer
I swung seven years straight
Each bird that flew
seemed nothing more than
a marred swipe in a sky
that was not mine.
Nights were not mine,
though nights were not theirs —
both of us invisible
in our world.
I’d like to spoil
You with my wit and fuck you
Til’ you scream my name.