Each weebly deebly day
I deeply doubt my weebly
deebly day. To deeply
doubt is to very doubt
my weebly deebly day.
Who can deeply deny
my doubts for my weebly
deebly day? For you are
a weebly deebly you, and
I am a weebly deebly me,
in a deeply weebly deebly
world. I say weebly deebly
to you. You say weebly
deebly to me. We say
weebly deebly to all in
this weebly deebly world.
You sent back in words
thoughts that stirred you
as you in company of wife
and child with my wife
and my son in great delight
in that nice ambience of
the glass-walled dim-lit hotel with chefs and boys
attending on, you spent time you thought
you deserved after work
and wars fought over years
over who should know how
life in love has to be spent
or why the love that turns
a corpse never is a thing
to be put down in grace
in all formal social ways.
Your thanks explain
where in life in love
we need all to celebrate
all our re-unions in silence
since words mar love
and tend to mark it
over-done or unwanted
or even ill-timed or scandalous and bedevilled.
As a skeleton
shrouded
in rags
provides its
all-too-familiar
services,
we dance
on graves
of friends
and lovers
to celebrate
their legacies,
and we find
ourselves
choosing
life
despite
the sweeping
blade.
There is justice in a corner
revelry in another
but poverty comes up
and walks away with both.
So you justice seekers
find poverty, give it some respite.
from the bar stool
of imagination
two young men
in a black and white
photograph
straight from the fifties
a cigarette dangles
from the mouth
of the skinny one
with a duck tail hairstyle
his friend holding a drink
both wearing too-tight jeans
wanting to be seen
in all their glory
inside the neighborhood
pool hall
chalking the stick
putting a little English
on the ball
trying to look cool and slick
like Jimmy dean and Fabian
in another neighborhood
coffee houses
on every street
playing jazz
and Jack Kerouac reading
on the road
breaking the sound barrier
that was the beginning
of the end
a new kind of free
inside the black and white
photograph
I sat waiting
He gathers his pale
dust cloud
of valorous silence,
reminding us of heroes
of youth,
a frail split mind
trying to do some good.
