WHO WAS THE WINNER
OF OUR DISCONTENT? |
|
1.
I lingered
hour to hour
day to day
and in the end
grew ill as an excuse
to stay a while longer.
The malady that I had conjured
still not diagnosed
stayed with me
until I finally knew
my proximity or practice
was building not just barricades
but prison walls.
I was yet to learn
that you would feign
an illness.
Did you take your cue
from me ?
Each time
I made a new excuse
I made a second or a third
to start a quarrel
and not see you
even though my only life
was lived beneath your smile
inside your groin
tangled in your arms.
When we didn't meet
by your design or mine
I had maladies aplenty.
Finally I flew
across the country
going home to work,
praying that those thousand miles
would make a difference
or that they wouldn't.
I prayed too,
well past the hour of eleven,
that you'd ring up
and say don't go.
The telephone
stayed silent,
so much for prayers.
I'm here
home,
working.
Working at it,
nothing comes to me
but you.
I write poems,
books and music all about you.
Words and songs
you'll never see or listen to
because you never learned
to read or care.
You seem to listen
only to those things
that scare you
or
intrigue you.
You see with blinders,
always able to discern
the most beautiful
of beautiful
that comes into a room.
If you don't leave together
it's qualude or the beauties' fault.
As for music,
the only beat
resounding all around you
is the one that comes
from soda water discotheques.
Real music
has not caught you hanging
on its five line staff.
Never mind.
The singer and the song
whether listened to
or not,
exists.
2.
Truth is not
your partner
or an old
acquaintance.
You have a dialogue
with lies and lying,
as comfortable
to you
as an inner rib
or an outer arm.
You admit that cheerfully.
Lies are foolish,
even funny, sometimes.
Finally I think,
the lies that hurt the most
are bits of information
not forthcoming from you
that maybe in your wisdom
or lack of
you should volunteer,
from your own lips.
I disliked hearing
how you spent the weekend,
who you spent the weekend
with,
your attitudes, beatitudes,
from other mouths.
I was an expert liar once
but gave it up
the exercise
proved far too hard
as each untruth became
more difficult for me, myself
to exorcise, unravel
or remember
even though I initiated it.
You're an amateur.
Your lies pop out
of
plexiglass
but you always come
prepared.
Those you call your friends
were never pumped
or primed
there was no need
to pave and pound the pavement
to ascertain your coming
and your goings,
your friends and mine
could hardly wait
until I'd read
my morning paper
to bring me up to date
on where you'd been
and why
while my head was turned.
But your carelessness with truth
was not enough to make me
run,
your silence did it.
Not saying anything
shouted louder to me
than the bravest, boldest lie.
Don't you know
your lies are needless ?
I'd have understood,
I would, or I'd have tried.
Because I loved you
I'd have said to you,
even at my wildest
okay, okay.
Because there was
no document
no signed agreement
to get out of
I've still to understand
why you chose and choose me
to come back to every time.
I am grateful
for that much,
your coming to me
out of your own need.
3.
Our trip-each-other games
have been played out now
for nearly half a year.
Had we put our efforts
to learning one another's needs
we'd be on our way
or beyond our dreams
or expectations.
You always had the need
to go away
to live any place
but your own back yard.
Given time,
I'd have taken you
anywhere.
Your games, I think
were simpler than mine
so old they now grace
history books.
But I believed you
when I wanted to.
That was nearly every time.
I didn't need to lie,
not even to myself
pretending all unsaid
was true.
I loved you and
it didn't matter.
Once you invented sickness
to prevent joy.
Pretending to have vaccinations
not against the killer bee
but me I now suspect.
The most advanced disease
I might have caught from you
would be a soft reminder
that part of you went to me
every part of every hour.Yet, you
cleaned up after me
when I was sick
and came to visit
three times daily
exhausted from the workout
you gave yourself,
no doubt trying to remember
where the truth ended
and that day's lies began,
or maybe you were tired
from spending all your strengths
and real love
in that other man's arms.
You see, I heard about him too.
I understand. Maybe.
Or have I got it wrong ?
Was that some kind of love
beneath the blood test patch
and up and down each arm ?
If so I've yet to comprehend
the simplest most easy
definition
of right from wrong.
4.
We could go down
the final time
and not raise up
troubled or unsure again.
We walked into these troubles
eyes open, unafraid.
I won't demand that you hang in
or ask that you hang on.
You have an answer
for it all.
We'll be friends
you say.
You further amplify
that now at last
you have the same
arrangement
with your David.
Sex and friendship
without love.
How convenient for you.
How easy not to have
responsibilities
to come and go
from me to him
and in between the others
with no worry
as to sweeping up.
It seems to me the choice
does not exist for me
in substance or in silence.
I love you and I am not
strong or wise enough
to change that.
I am trying hard
not to love you.
I meet with no success
only quarrels that provide
more spaces
that take away
what precious time
we should be sharing.
Instead there's only
more misunderstanding.
The silences
apart or near,
your head against me
in the simple song
or symphonies that soar
and sing
should be quite enough
that or being privy
to your other vast relationships
are what you offer
when perhaps
instead of being here
you're only just along.
What is my answer ?
I'm trying still
to do without you
honestly I am
I'm
trying
(I say so
beneath my breath.)
If anyone's had winters
they can term discontent
we qualify as leaders
in the months just past.
The spring is coming.
I'd settle for United Parcel
or the jaded postman
knocking at the door
or let me stumble with you
coming down the hill
to level ground.
5.
How weak I feel just now.
Somehow having gotten
through five days
without you.
A week, and finally two,
then you came back again.
You plowed through
my life and back
and I believed you.
The morning after
I
sit here
caught and beaten down again.
Will it go on happening
or will we change ?
It isn't any one I need.
It's you.
You've spoiled me
and I can't pretend
I like you for it,
only that to be your friend
and that term only
would be hard to do.
Maybe when I go away again
and that time of necessity
is coming soon
I'll find another bed
and breakfast
if not another head
and so right chest.
Who knows
they could make up
for losing, loving you.
If I can.
In the meantime
you could make it easier.
Less trouble for both of us
by not insisting
we be friends
or even enemies.
Can't you just affect
a disappearance ?
Let go of me. Let go.
Sleeping pills are easier.
Liquor, though it never
takes the place of you
is better than a friend
to talk things over with.
My friends all dislike you,
that goes for me as well.
But love you - yes.
That's the daily poison
that I live with.
The Hemlock that will finally
stop and drop me
one day when I'm looking
straight into your eyes
as you see past me.
6.
If only love was easier
like mowing lawns or shaving
with a rusty blade.
But love is hard as hate
or peanut brittle
and loving you
not worth the time, I'm told.
How little anyone but me
could say of that.
I love you beyond
any saying
or even any saying back.
Please, God,
can't you be
the first to go ?
The one that ends it
by not insisting friendship,
bed with only passion.
Can't you
just this once
reach out and help,
by never reaching out to me
again ?
Please, I ask you, please.
All this time
as selfish as love is
I only wanted to help you.
Help me this once
by never turning on the street
to follow me
by never smiling,
calling at the midnight hour
or stopping me
and making promises
you don't intend to keep.
Leave me alone.
I love you, God damn it,
leave me alone.
Don't you recognize
a cry
for help
when you hear it ?
- from "Folio No. 15", Fall 1977 |
Two new
appearance dates just announced!
