orange
I wrote a new poem last week, got to read it at the open mic in Ocean Beach last night. Possibly I’ll paste a few of those lines here in a minute. My make-up-your-mind mind’s a little skittish this morning. At some point later in the week I added a line above the poem’s title, in the Doc where I keep such writings. The poem’s title is “Here at Annie’s” and the line that found it’s way above the title was this:
“Waves before, waves after. An orange bikini is the Way.”
I get that that line may seem maybe some kind of childish, looking at girls on the beach. And also possibly non-sensicle, and as I wrote in within the spirit of a Zen Koan – which is how it came to me – it surely is childish and non-sensicle and also includes, at least for me, the spirit of “thus-ness.” Beyond that, I completely get it – as a Koan. If you read Monday’s Blog post, maybe you would too.
Anyway, let’s see if I can fetch a few of the lines from “Annie’s” and offer them now:
“The barista’s got Lou Reed
on the box,
‘Halloween Parade’,
which is a laugh here
at Annie’s.
Check out these digs, Lou,
we got your parade covered,
Bro.
Joysticks and all.
That soldier chick,
in the corner,
rainbowed up,
young enough to be
my little sister
or any urchin over
at the local group home,
she’s holding forth,
a sergeant or
some such thing,
and the regulars have gathered,
intent on hearing at least one
of the shimmering truths
she’s got to tell –
war made easy,
peace,
not so much.
Though I’ve stayed glued
in my chair,
not really
a people guy,
reading my
“How To Do Alchemy” book,
seven Nevada scratch tickets
jammed in my jeans pocket,
car keys in a wicker bureau
drawer back at home.
I thumbed over –
like always.
Did I mention there’s posters
on the walls
here at Annie’s,
covering the non-glass walls –
the Airplane, Buffalo Springfield,
team photo of the ‘04 Red Sox,
Dusty Springfield in Memphis.
A little something
for everyone,
why the place
is a big deal.
And since I’m spilling
my own beans
I’ll tell ya, regards my
regular attendance,
it ain’t the posters, and
it ain’t a soldier’s story,
and, for sure,
it ain’t wanting to meet
and influence people.
I’m not a people guy.
The coffee’s just decent,
so it ain’t the coffee.
But – remember those windows,
the all the way up and
all the way down?
That’s the draw.
That’s the ticket.
That’s the prize.
That’s the lure.
That’s my junk, shit,
I’d shoot up that
see-through glass if
I could figure a way,
score a syringe.
Why I scored the ‘Alchemy book’
from the library.
When magic’s
the only show in town.”