Digital Post-it About Last Night (A Fathers Day Fugue?)
You told me once your mother just cuts people out.
Should have taken note
Tequila brings the breech back
And the illusion of eloquence
I dab my eyes with a napkin
From the Mexican joint on 187th
We were only here once
You are here still
I want to tell you about the void
The brutal chart here
Now you're gone
But I speak up and you build walls
Wall after wall
I know you hear me
(Don't I?)
Tequila loosens the tongue
Sometimes even Mormons should get drunk
Once a decade
You tell me it's me who wouldn't talk to you
And not the other way around
Teach me
Texas style
I'm willing to learn
More napkin sapping
Sorry sopping
Drunk typing.
The neighboring tables must see the canyons on my face
Salt and water
Nautical Crack
And the place where you used to be
More napkins
I keep looking to the naught in the tree
My masthead
Where you could see me
Where you could see me
My neck doesn't stretch that long
Rivers
And Rivers
Even Mormons should drink tequila sometimes
If they've ever known you
There aren't enough napkins
To bridge it
Nor tequila neither
I look out at the associated foods where I sit
And the chase bank
And our freeway drive to Denton
I paid for the drinks
Walls
The best of music
And blah blah blah blah blah
Tequila
And you ML
(Or is it MT or MS or MM or MC? Too many M's to keep track)
Massage therapist in Texas
Poem from my hamptons port town
From my seashell balcony
Love
Is that the right word?
Death
Seems like mercy
Berth.
Better
Born
My love
Tequila
Mormons should get drunk sometimes
The bus hurtles by
An engine I can't resist
Someone said once
"More weight."
This wait is too much
Do you sea?
Forty Swells to hike
Or more
The crescent moon rests
Or more
The crescent moon rests
In the swoop of the
GWB
I'm rushing home to change the
Battery
There's a creek in the tracks
Like a dingy bell
The train arrives and people rush to and fro
Even after midnight
Your walls prevail
P.S.
Stopping by on the way
Stopping by on the way
The Yemeni man at the bodega
Counter gives me change
Of three quarters
"Make sure they're not
Canadian" he says
"Even banks hand them out
Now"
He wears his boos with
A difference
He wears his boos with
A difference
Memory snickers
And hobbles past
I can't help but wave
My messy mixed metaphor
Turgid pros tequila
Salutations
One more bow to the wind.