Poetry: 100% Pure Beef (or Vice-Versa)

I keep imagining

this amazing dinner party

where everything I have written

is served on fine china

- yes, even the brussels sprouts are there,

sitting in a little metal dish behind the potatoes.

My fire burns in candles

among waxed fruit

My blood is in the wine (sorry Jesus -

I took your line)

I think it's a Chinese meal,

whose appetizers greatly outnumber the 

main courses

But oh! if you can handle the chopsticks,

you're in for a real nice surprise.

One note, however:

When the fortune cookies come, don't look!

Just close your eyes and swallow the paper whole

That way, it will always come true.

- Oct. 16, 1985, A.D.

Soaking It In

I walk

merely for the sake of walking

I don't stop

or wonder. . .

I don't smile or stare or raise my eyebrows

to a thought

but I am open

I receive all the world.

Slowly, unquestioningly, I cross the pavement

The sidewalk feels firm below me

Just in front of every step, the stems of 

dead leaves glisten

the reflections of solitary streetlights

in the Autumn rain

I take a deep breath --

I smell life.

The water soothes me

I imagine myself an explorer in a rain forest

or in a moist, musty cave

or in a future world

I close my eyes

and hear the squishing of wet socks

against the sides of my battered shoes.

Underneath the trees,

the water falls bigger

and harder

Like people who accumulate so much for themselves,

only to find the force that holds them

dropping out from underneath

They fall frightened, confused,

and bitter. . .

Faces, hidden by umbrella colors

hurried feet

anticipation

I, alone, am relaxed

I do have a destination,

but it's unimportant

The rain gently touches the shoulders

of my trench coat

I bow my head,

and feel the water trickle down

into my skin.

- Oct. 14, 1985, A.D.