Saturday, January 12, 2008

Days of Me

Days of Me

When people say they miss me,

I think how much I miss me too,

Me, the old me, the great me,

Lover of three women in one day,

Modest me, the best me, friend

To waiters and bartenders, hearty

Laugher and name rememberer,

Proud me, handsome and hirsute

In soccer shoes and shorts

On the ball fields behind MIT,

Strong me in a weightbelt at the gym,

Mutual sweat dripper in and out

Of the sauna, furtive observer

Of the coeducated and scantily clad,

Speedy me, cyclist of rivers,

Goose and peregrine falcon

Counter, all season venturer,

Chatterer-up of corner cops,

Groundskeepers, mothers with strollers,

Outwitter of panhandlers and bill

Collectors, avoider of levies, excises,

Me in a taxi in the rain,

Pressing my luck all the way home.

That’s me at the dice table, baby,

Betting come, little Joe, and yo,

Blowing the coals, laying thunder,

My foot on top a fifty dollar chip

Some drunk spilled on the floor,

Dishonest me, evener of scores,

Eager accepter of the extra change,

Hotel towel pilferer, coffee spoon

Lifter, fervent retailer of others’

Fumor, blackhearted gossiper,

Poisoner at the well, dweller

In unsavory detail, delighted sayer

Of the vulgar, off course belier

Of the true me, empiric builder

Newly haircutted, stickerer-up

For pals, jam unpriser, medic

To the self-inflicted, attorney

To the self-indicted, petty accountant

And keeper of the double books,

Great divider of the universe

And all its forms of existence

Into its relationship to me,

Fellow trembler to the future,

Thin air gawker, apprehender

Of the frameless door.

-Stuart Dischell
Share/Save/Bookmark


Read more...

In a pulse

In a pulse
In the way
my heart quickens
in a pang,
in a desperate left-turn sidestep
whirling girliganhula crazy
absence
what are you finding?
Behind your couch,
in candles blown out

I am finding pieces of you
wrapped up in old socks
held together
with mangy hair-ties,
in between a particle of dust
and a dead fly’s abandoned leg
you are there
or more, what you were
and what you passed to me -
with a sense of martyrdom & legacy-
is becoming slowly my self-awareness,
my left-turn right-march
falling on the floorjump up dedication,
my striveand drive

and yes,
In a pulse
In the way my heart quickens
I hear what you taught meand can no longer uphold,
urging
me onwards
and up.

via pizazzwriting.wordpress.com
Share/Save/Bookmark


Read more...