Some people can only afford one personality

And it better be a good one.

They don’t attend random parties

Or try to conquer the world with a hand held.

Planets come and go but you remain.

 

My handwriting on the wall is drippy;

Blood drops go all the way down,

The repeating message, “Quit or die!” ---

But, you manage to read it long before I do.

We, the self-proclaimed are harmless to you.

 

You are annoyed by those who casually

Weigh everything that comes to them

Tired of anticipating the next insane moment

You eye the guiding star above the horizon glow.

You enjoy the table gayety, ignore all sexy new

Art  movements, have no reaction to lesbian chic

Or the latest fried egg galaxy in all creation.

 

Though you refrain from passing dishes,

You mimic a crack of lightning when it comes

to appearances, striking that is, and you tell me

later on, critical of how you were smiling too wide

for that kill-box, cruise ship photographer.

   

 

 INTARSIA

 

Whatever darkens your mushroom, babe,

Floral motif shoes, house plants and candles.

As you begin to sag in certain places

The spa of self-delusion knows no depth.

 

Inside poetry I see what others cannot,

Explore the fingerboard of words that don’t

Rest well on your inner soap dish, as you

Reach and touch only a slippery blackness.

 

You perfect the nightie with a retro cardigan,

Crawl into bed with a self-hug, a quiet cry,

And thank God and the bristling universe

For all you will ever need or ever know.

 

In your stretchy blend of soul search

You visit  the mile-high on Colorado shoots,

Dare to wrap your honey-flower senses

In their ancient Andean mummy rags.

 

Sitting in your museum 2-piece

One spaghetti strap falls, harvest hands

Move to caress your demure slopes,

Feed you from golden clam shells.

 

Standing in the midnight moon

Hand-woven, faceless as digital silver,

How do you recognize the spirit

Of which you are the center?

 

In your wooden inlayed mosaic mask 

You grope for a soul that is timeless,

Importing spring by scarf, your cupid

Twisting the soft twill in a hemp sling.

© Jimmy Warner, 2001