Walking the street as myself.

(If your ready to write again dana, just select a line of text

and start typing to replace it with your own)

All these starving people in the world and i'm craving a McDonalds shake.

Yeats is singing songs, yelling actually, incanting in my most recent style.

While I'm on the bus giving the same side eye to the stranger that Sophia Loren

gave to Jane Mansfield.

"in the first place", my stares say to him, "either move

closer to me or further away. He smells of crushed ants and his hands are dark

and I remember what my mother told me about how your hands

can give away your age

From 75 to ad infinitum she would keep them under her armpits while she mumbled.

Most of us march to marvelous at the pace set forth by strangers. That's why fiction

pushes open the iron gates of reasoning before us: I am talking to the two

headed girl from Minnesota. I tell there two headedness

that I am the greatest poet that's ever lived. But as one fidgets with her hair, the

other carries on about learning to drive a car at that exact time when puberty

turns our paperback desires into hardcopy destinations. I am having coffee with

the man from Mexico with the largest penis in the world.

I am playing with the stray cat that I welcomed in who ate the mouse

who terrorized us. My soul, I feel, is detaching itself from my reasoning like

a solid rocket booster. My neighbor offers me a ride

to church, where from the driveway you can hear the moans; the speaking in tongues.

Just between you and me, the strange man on the bus is no different than

the poems you write of indistinguishability. the impure ones

that pull you apart. you know the ones that marry you to influence or inanity?

Those before irradiance. Those that reduce you to suffering. Those unappeasable.

Those like epinephrine we comb thru our children's hair.  The one's

where the townspeople gather at the square

with their little motley kids and their below the ankle dresses stained with chicken blood. And I stand up,

unshaven

lint in my kukabugs, reading from the words I've written on the back

of a Hardy's napkin: I start by praising Plath. Baraka. Bishop. The crowd is thinning

like the hair on the head of the middle aged. "Sex Is good for you" I start. "Good for all of us"

I read aloud.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Honest and good words shared my friend. You took me with you to places and thoughts. I liked the thoughts and how you used the language. I hope you are doing well my friend. Winter is here. Time for us to find the good things in our life.
Coyote

[h d e rushin]

good words my friend....good words.....thanks for them and all the others.....dana

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome dear Dana.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Love Baraka...aka Leroi Jones...

I need a napkin i think...i am drooling over this poem..."marry me to influence or inanity?
and i really like "turns our paperback desires into hardcopy destinations."
you poems are distinguished because they take the every day, the real hard core reality of life...and get us lost in them...maybe long enough that we become unshaven readers, not wanting to take a break. Time for that shake.
j.

[h d e rushin]

good morning dear Jacob..thank you my friend for your wonderful review. I am trying to get something back that left me for awhile. I can't explain it other than to say that sometimes the things we love the most moves away from us./ dana

[Rosalind Gale]

Hello dear Dana - is it Plathian I should come by today and read one of your poems? I love how my favorite poets here can just be there for me after so long - and they do not disappoint or change how they make me feel. I say favorite poets - I have, well, not so many - I love to fill in the lines, imagine where I might go with one of your thoughts. Much love to you -
Rosa
-xx-

[h d e rushin]

dearest love, first of all, I've missed you terribly. Second I must admit that you are my favorite poet on earth..Why earth you might say, because all the others that I've loved are no longer on it...much love my friend....dana

[Rosalind Gale]

Much love ... to you, always -
-x-