Wednesday, June 29, 2011


Image borrowed from Bing


Bass lines like fat men squeezing
into third grade desks.

Coltrane's squealing right before I was born.

If not,
a pill that makes
the music in my head stop.

Immediately, then I won't know
what I'm missing.

I want dissimilar words, hyphenated
by minty-fresh breath. What good
are words
if no one will listen?

A way-back machine, so I can fix.

William Shatner, circa 1967,
guest host for my 8th birthday party.

I'm wishing for mandibles, clipping
the staccato lilt.

Mandibles for tailoring a new dress.
My woman needs one.

Then X-ray vision
so I can ignore
what I wish for.

I want irrefutable skin
like Luke Cage. Hero for Hire.

In the semi-embarrassment of silence,
I want to understand

why Goya used spoons to paint
instead of leaves.

If nothing else--
a map with the exact location

of the crossroads, so I can believe
what I never should have known.

Adrian Matejka


1 comment:

Dave King said...

This is wonderful! I'm going to have to read it a few more rimes, though.