Jassy Melson
08-23-2010, 02:56 PM
I still hadn't found what I was looking for,
so I turned around to see the dawn,
but I saw the sunset instead.
So I turned around once more
to face the music and the band,
and standing before me was my dream lover,
looking just like Bobby Darin.
So we refreshed ourselves,
sucking up the dew from each other's breath.
And Bobby said I feel as if death
is walking behind me.
And I said Don't worry, it's only your shadow
casting you out, forsaking you,
it happens to the best of us.
Be of good cheer, our revels
are coming to an end (as Will said they would).
There is nothing we can do to escape our fate.
Bobby nodded and disappeared
in a puff of smoke, and I sighed,
realizing this was the story of my life:
to be alone, to sing a solitary song.
I had made a deal with the devil
forty years ago. In exchange for my ragged soul
he gave me the power to sing poetry
and to become infamous in my own time.
A fair bargain I reckon.
I passed James Dean
in his crashed Spider.
Although it made growling sounds,
the little bastard was dead
to the world—and so was Jimmy.
Oh well, I sighed, he would have ended
making commercials for Budweiser.
Around the corner I spotted Steve McQueen,
looking so cool in his turtleneck.
Lithe as a panther, leaning in a doorway,
poised in his praying mantis pose,
eyes dancing with devilish delight.
I said hi as I passed him by,
he smiled with his eyebrows
and looked beyond my shoulder
watching my back. Bullit is on my side
I sang aloud, laughing a white laugh.
Into the mist I wandered,
into a world of lost shadows.
I saw the black coffin with my name engraved
and knew I had come to the right place.
(Home again, home again, jiggity jig.)
The great white caterpillar
with its red tie and pomaded hair
guards the gravestone.
It resembles Oscar Wilde,
and with a Moby Dick grin
invites me to spend the night
while the wife's away.
I politely decline, informing it
that I've turned asexual. It nods
a sagacious nod and says nobody's perfect.
I lay down in the silken interior
and I thank the gods for a painless death.
I open my mouth to receive communion
with the lotus flower, as two coins are placed
upon my eyes. The caterpillar closes the lid
and silent darkness at last envelops me.
I die and am reborn in the same instant.
I know my lives are numbered
and there won't be many more;
the devil must have his due.
Something tells me he will feel cheated
when I throw him my soul.
In the meantime I mean to live each day
as if it were my last. Oh say
can you see by the moon's twilight
what the cat dragged in:
a clown's white skull mask
and harlequin tights. A fitting costume
for this my present life.
And what does it all mean?
I hear a faint voice ask
in the distance.
And I answer
it means nothing.
All of this: the past,
the present, the future
means nothing.
This world means nothing;
this life means nothing;
this poem means nothing.
Good morning
and good night.
so I turned around to see the dawn,
but I saw the sunset instead.
So I turned around once more
to face the music and the band,
and standing before me was my dream lover,
looking just like Bobby Darin.
So we refreshed ourselves,
sucking up the dew from each other's breath.
And Bobby said I feel as if death
is walking behind me.
And I said Don't worry, it's only your shadow
casting you out, forsaking you,
it happens to the best of us.
Be of good cheer, our revels
are coming to an end (as Will said they would).
There is nothing we can do to escape our fate.
Bobby nodded and disappeared
in a puff of smoke, and I sighed,
realizing this was the story of my life:
to be alone, to sing a solitary song.
I had made a deal with the devil
forty years ago. In exchange for my ragged soul
he gave me the power to sing poetry
and to become infamous in my own time.
A fair bargain I reckon.
I passed James Dean
in his crashed Spider.
Although it made growling sounds,
the little bastard was dead
to the world—and so was Jimmy.
Oh well, I sighed, he would have ended
making commercials for Budweiser.
Around the corner I spotted Steve McQueen,
looking so cool in his turtleneck.
Lithe as a panther, leaning in a doorway,
poised in his praying mantis pose,
eyes dancing with devilish delight.
I said hi as I passed him by,
he smiled with his eyebrows
and looked beyond my shoulder
watching my back. Bullit is on my side
I sang aloud, laughing a white laugh.
Into the mist I wandered,
into a world of lost shadows.
I saw the black coffin with my name engraved
and knew I had come to the right place.
(Home again, home again, jiggity jig.)
The great white caterpillar
with its red tie and pomaded hair
guards the gravestone.
It resembles Oscar Wilde,
and with a Moby Dick grin
invites me to spend the night
while the wife's away.
I politely decline, informing it
that I've turned asexual. It nods
a sagacious nod and says nobody's perfect.
I lay down in the silken interior
and I thank the gods for a painless death.
I open my mouth to receive communion
with the lotus flower, as two coins are placed
upon my eyes. The caterpillar closes the lid
and silent darkness at last envelops me.
I die and am reborn in the same instant.
I know my lives are numbered
and there won't be many more;
the devil must have his due.
Something tells me he will feel cheated
when I throw him my soul.
In the meantime I mean to live each day
as if it were my last. Oh say
can you see by the moon's twilight
what the cat dragged in:
a clown's white skull mask
and harlequin tights. A fitting costume
for this my present life.
And what does it all mean?
I hear a faint voice ask
in the distance.
And I answer
it means nothing.
All of this: the past,
the present, the future
means nothing.
This world means nothing;
this life means nothing;
this poem means nothing.
Good morning
and good night.