The Rant of a Monster’s Protégé

This guy walks into a bar

That guy is me

That guy doesn’t know what to say to this girl

So someone suggests with sincerity—

BE YOURSELF

Of all the hollow, uninspired, lame excrements of human thought

This advice is the worst

And might as well read

BE

because tell me, wise man,

Who is the “myself” I’m to be to you?

Myself is accustomed to customs

And I can never really be free to be me

 

Otherwise I’d

Scratch my ass, lick my plate, kiss the dog, sing off key

Run through halls, slap the queen (it’s just a game) but I’d slap your back just the same;

I’d say you’re fat (it’s likely true); thumb my nose at the men in blue.

Is this the me you want me to be?

Or is how I am determined by you?

I don’t know the many MEs of ME so how can you tell ME what to be?

Be myself

Is that really it?

Don’t you know you’re full of—

Wait!

Would the me you know say that?

You say no

Who’s this dude who speaks so crude

Maybe I am myself right now but you don’t know because

The you that’s me you thought you knew was just an imposter through and through. Maybe you want me to be a yester me

Simply because it favors you

 

When there’s so much MohammeDalaiLamaKrishnApostlePeterPandaExpressChineseFortuneCookieMonster wisdom

How can anyone know how to be?

Maybe it isn’t at all about “be this or be that.”

There is only

C

Which is for cookie

That’s good enough for me.

Don’t Search My Bags

Don’t search my bags
I don’t know
I don’t know
what is in there
yes I packed
yes I packed my bags

lemme pass
take a chance
lemme pass
I’m in a hurry
to move on
I’m movin’ on

I’m dyin’
yes I am
but not a drug
for this man
just need a wave and a nod
to get me goin’ on

do you really wanna see
all the baggage in the bag
all the crap
that I have
and listen to my story
of how I got what I packed?

ain’t got the time
or the tissue
or the drops for the eyes
threw away
all the tears
‘cause I knew they had to go

where I go is where I go
do you really wanna know?
if you’d seen where I’d been
you’d zip it up again
and let me through
and let me through

here it is
see it all
do you wanna hold me?
grab my wrist
check your list
did you miss
anything
anything at all?

what I say is who I am and
what I am is what you’d say
is a mess of a man
with a bundle in his bag.
not a threat
just a mess

did we really need to check it?

Dodgeballery

(A sensical poem inspired by Jabberwocky)

‘Twas bleak and my slimy foes
Did gain throughout the game
So flimsy were my teammates’ throws
At last, only I remained.

“Beware the dodgeballs and run!
Don’t lose your fight and make the catch!
Watch out for Eric Anderson—
He’ll try to finish out the match!”

I took the red ball in hand
One against five I fought.
And while my ousted teammates cheered
One—two—three balls I caught.

One against two is how it stood
And Anderson with eyes of flame
Came charging over the shiny wood
And snarled, hissed, and aimed.

One-two, one-two I ducked and threw—
My red ball made a smack.
I had hit his head so hard and firm
He landed squarely on his back.

Finally, it was one on one
And my teammates cheered with joy:
“Way to play!  Hooray Hooray!
You’re the miracle dodgeball boy”

‘Twas bleak yet my slimy foes
Did fall before my aim.
But so flimsy was my final throw
It was caught —I’d lost the game.

You and I

(a Valentine’s poem for the apple of my eye)

You are the center of my cyber universe

You make me free.

Now I can work in the car, at dinner, on a boat in the lake, at the cybercafé with my virtual friends, or in bed with my wife

(that I don’t have because I don’t have time for that life)

But now I am free to take my work on my vacation

To talk to friends and friends and thousands of friends

(How exactly do I know all of them?)

Together we fought.

Yes we fought for this freedom in the digital revolution

I sport wounds of carpal tunnel and hazy vision

And atrophied muscles and burns from this fluorescent dimension.

And now

I stand at attention for your beckon.

You save me so much time

Time I can use to spend with you!

I don’t care that you’re dead

Almost all of the time

Time means nothing

When we can stop, pause, rewind.

I don’t care

that you ring, or you beep, or you chime.

Let freedom ring.

Ring, freedom

You were my dream

And now my reality

In a virtual world

Where we can dream of escapes

We can make together.

You and I.

A Contemplation on Daniel Lee’s Nightlife

Click the picture to visit Daniel Lee’s website

NIGHTLIFE

She sits on a table at the far end of the bar,

legs crossed,

her feline eyes—passively sympathetic—pouring into mine,

while the fuse between her fingertips expires.

Only she finds me,

me, the animal trapped on the other side of the divide,

awaiting slaughter

While they avoid my eyes.

They with their cocktails and coffees

            the bear with a tigress in his lap

(he, protecting? or she, shielding?)

the monkey in the middle

impassioned in a terror that never presses too close

the boorish man,

watching my passing as if it were a 30-second ad

the long-faced lady in the red gown

Banished from the ball for pulling her own carriage

the sexy snake seducing her mirror,

Yes, the whore,

the horrified, the perverted

all watching something I cannot see

except she

in the green

at the end,

helpless,

yet watching me

in the end.

Hail Mary Holy Day

A Sunday score

  strangers rise en masse

  pulled from their seats

  agape in spontaneous inspiration

  connecting hands

  celebrating

  with devoted fervor

  idols of the gridiron

A communal moment

  a moment divine

  a glorious time

  with a singular purpose

  resolute and unquestioned

And God

  the distant spectator

  always on one side

  or the other

  depending on who wins

A Poem About Tango

Tango Dancers
Tango Dancers in Buenos Aires


It begins with a gaze

then a clasp

a lean forward

a frame nearly collapsed

in one sweeping step

freedom and surrender

at once

violence

passion

grace

precision

greed

a buried face

legs intertwined until two

become one

ending with

love in déjà vu