Archive for March, 2014

life in the theater

Posted: 03/23/2014 in house of crazy

Cloudsbeing with you is like life in the theater–

who am i this time?

who am i fucking, that i didn’t know i was fucking?

life is complicated enough

without the whacked scripts you cook up in your head.

here’s an idea–

keep accusing me of crazy shit.

keep bricking yourself up with all those stupid self-help books

that never make any difference anyway.

i used to spend hours trying to understand,

trying to shore you up, to soothe your worries;

then i’d get up to get a coke, and when i came back,

you’d be back to square one and basic crazy.

what do the radio waves tell you today, sugar?

who am i fucking, that i didn’t know i was fucking?

myself, i think.

see you in the funny papers–

i’m sick of this circus,

and i’m writing my character out of this play.

don’t be sad,

don’t complain to the stage actor’s guild–

you’ll always have the made-up me inside your head,

and that’s the only one you ever really saw

anyway.

______

photo “clouds” by kenia cris.

for play it again toads 3

red shoes

Posted: 03/09/2014 in house of change

suzie's shoesi wore red heels for you

to that italian place where even the busboys act mobbed-up.

the band sucked hard, and i had haffa mind to walk up to the bandstand,

wearing running red super gloss on my sweetest smile

and coo a request for one of my own songs.

i wanted to see the dumb look i’d get, and share the joke with you.

 

they had those cheesy meshed glass candles on the tables,

like mrs paul had just been there, recycling the nets and whipping out the matches.

when did you stop loving me, babe?

why’d you make me be the one to have to see it,

to have to say it?

 

when i left, it had started to rain

just like in some 40s flick where blondie finally gets a clue.

i waved down a yellow cab and snapped a heel cos the pavement was cracked from winter

and they hadn’t patched it yet.

when i got home, i pitched those shoes in the vestibule;

heartbreaker red, they were, putting a real fine point on it,

like mama does when she lets loose with the i told ya so’s.

 

well fuck you, dagwood, cos i’ve still got my stage boots.

whad’you got except a cheap sinatra raincoat with empty arms

and your crew of phoney buddies?

drop dead,

and by the way,

i took the cannoli.

_____

for real toads. art by Vandy Massey.

written while listening to B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone”, courtesy of Hedgewitch at Verse Escape.

 

fence

Posted: 03/01/2014 in house of fools, house of women

something there is that doesn’t love a fence,

but judy works at the mortuary and lifted a little jewelry.

wouldn’t it probly be a sin to waste it,

now that it’s in our hot little hands?

that’s what judy asked me, though i’m not 100% clear about the “our” part.

anyway, i know this guy who used to go with my cousin and he knows a guy and

so we lost the jewelry and picked up a little cash,

then we both got our nails done and

now our hands really *are* hot,

sort of,  and the old lady would be glad she could do that for us,

wouldn’t she? sure she would.

it’s just like i always say, good fences make everybody happy.

____

for the robt frost thing at real toads.