Profile (A Poem)

Profile

My childhood—was in St. Paul, a neighborhood
where sunlit lilacs were growing—
pink and crimson red. My youth at seventeen
(on this planet earth, of asphalt and cement)
I say only a fragment of my life, forgive me…not sure
where it went.

I was found by many women, to be a home for them
cupid of the neighborhood , back then.

I am calm and live in a deep drum
a dream of a drum (some say):
I love beauty in all forms, even black roses—
and blue jays and yellow soup with chicken floating
on top.

I dislike lazy or unpolished brass. In my silence I listen
for echoes, from the outside of the world.

Today at the café, the man across from me—
staring and writing, black hair, dark glasses,
under an umbrella, (perhaps gay)
is howling inside his skin, for a friend, to look
mysterious for him—, he had a message to give, and
I didn’t take it…!

Men by themselves hope
to talk as gods someday, perhaps to be one, or
looked upon as, so it seems at the end
they leave the world with little or nothing,
but a change of cloths and hat, perhaps a
mattress and bed….

And when comes the day, our ship comes in, to take
us away…never to return, we’re all naked again!


Comments: The whole elaborate business of living and our bodies and minds collapsing after time, is written, and memorized deep within us, there is time for everything it has been said, under the sun, but walking will not get it done, we must run with the wind to fill all the gaps in our soul and minds. Thus, a quick examination, a profile, if you please, is needed today, or so I feel, and now you got it.


#1680 2-6-2007