Luisa Casati

Venice never closes!!
Casati never stops her flamboyant dance,
and Rome has monuments and artists in
narrow alleyways full of hope.

My broken camera captured her movements
in orange hair with twisted curls in front
of the ruins of antiquity, where her dark eyes
sat on the marbled shoulder of Hercules.

This gay Italian city watched her
in Medusa dress, stroll with jeweled leash
leading two borzois, one black, one white,
to an audience with the Pope,
but he was busy playing bridge.

Upon watching her pass, I went straight to my house,
hoping for an invitation to her dinner party, but it arrived
sixty years too late.

Posing on her polar-bearskin rug
as others took siestas during the renaissance,
she heard The Volga Boat Song and on the first playing
noticed a bold red circle with an empty center
smeared on the title page.

It was Picasso pimping for the Bolshevik
uprising against the Tsar, dabbling in paint,
while his friend Stravinsky scored that tune for
the Ballets Russes, where Olga played a part.

Later in Paris, the largest cloud in the world
sat on the waterfront near Montmartre
where tourists spent their day with wine
and local cheeses, learning French.

Nearby, Casati's Palais Rose was built of red marble
and was naked except for images of herself,
many tall and skinny.

If she were insane, as rumored, she would have had more than
two arms smelling of incense and a necklace
of love bites underneath her river of pearls.

She died in London on June 1, 1957, many years
after Shakespeare, and is buried at Brompton Cemetery
with a taxidermed Pekinese dog
resting at her feet.

Tet (February 1,1968)

Johnson shook my hand
with his sneaky Texas smile
and hissed me off to a land war
in a small Asian country where
there was no home front and US Marines
killed everything they could.

My screen door wasn't able to keep
the bugs from escaping when the bombs
began to fall and huge explosions
filled the humid air with their death
march and the tides of the South
China Sea seemed so far away.

"Born to kill," he said before he died in a
fast ambush with a slow M16 still warm underneath
his young hand as the music from the helicopter blades
reminded him of the end when an impulse
from a single cerebral nerve fired a last burst.

The embassy compound in Saigon was overrun and
microphones appeared to interview the MPs wearing
flack jackets pointing at the Stars and Stripes where moments
before a liberation flag hung with smoke in the indifferent air.

Nearby the National Chief of Police held his revolver to the head of
a man in a plaid shirt wearing nice navy blue shorts but
no shoes and the bottom of each foot was black when the bullet
punched a hole in his head just before the
spurt of red blood stained the street when he fell without
a trial and without a sound.  Eddie Adams working for
the Associated Press received a Pulitzer Prize
for his photograph of this frozen moment, which he never forgot.

General William Westmoreland wore a braided military cap and gave
encouraging reports while bodies were still being pulled from
the rotting paddy soil.

On time, the jungle animals chattered at and scolded the French and American
soldiers, carrying their shoulder fired weapons onto the pages
of the New York Times, walking over a street without joy,
looking in wonder at a land they could not own.

Dead babies were seen on white sand beaches.

Their black bodies were burned beyond recognition.

Skeletons walked from an open fire without expression.

Shadows failed to hide their pain.

bake me a pie

she had no money when
she came to my door

acting friendly

she told me she was poor

but on her arms were bracelets
a shine in her eye

smiling brightly

she would bake me a pie

and in my kitchen was a spoon
and a pot

steaming visions

she told me she was hot

and the television channel
was a dud

playing dirty

she covered me in mud

while she looked good
and was everything i dreamed

breathing deeply
it wasn't what it seemed

with my rifle and
camouflage underwear

hunting trouble

she filled me full of air

cutting me

the thing that annoys me the most
when you treat me like a ghost

before the afternoon is tossed away
and i'm on empty for another day

is when i happen to close my eyes
and i can finally see between your lies

and i'll try to care
but you're just not there

i'm falling through the lonesome air

your cutting me
like you cut your hair

and if it's a beautiful day
i can barely hear you say

you might find time for a morning walk
if i was good but you would't talk

and your hands were large and mine were small
so naturally you watched me fall

and in fact that memory
which you drew oh so carefully

cheered you up when i was down
i never heard a more unfriendly sound

the thing that annoys me the most
when you treat me like a ghost

before the afternoon is tossed away
and i'm on empty for another day

is when i happen to close my eyes
and i can finally see between your lies

and i'll try to care
but you're just not there

i'm falling through the lonesome air

your cutting me like you cut your hair

the first moments

soft breasts,
washed and firm,
lightly cupped under his hands,
reminded him
it was not yet time for lunch
on the rooftop terrace
of a flat in summer Paris.

not suddenly
the ripe peaches were left
as his slightly flushed face smiled,
and she walked to the ladder
to descend through the forest,
wondering what she should learn,
considering her next return.

dead birds

moon owls
fire dragon

naive boy wondering

tugging his
little red wagon
over some dusty road

just an empty load
of horizons
beneath his feet

his modern hair curled neat

his melting ice growing warm
to the touch

they don't say very much

together they skip ahead
following a trail dipped in lead

and crashing on a sandy shore
where dead birds wash their wings

a drunken sailor sings.

barb and kenny

under the yellow moon
you wanted me too soon
rain kept pouring down
so i left that lonely town

so now
i'm on the run
looking for my loaded gun
the one i used to own
when i was all alone

strangers
out on the street
everywhere we meet
pointing at the sky
and never asking why

inside
i never write
my stories in the night
dark and without you
telling me what to do

i know
when the morning rises
heart break and surprises
emptiness and black
keep riding on my back

under the yellow moon
you wanted me too soon
rain kept pouring down
so i left that lonely town

calling
no one can hear
the crowded station near
lots of pretty toys
barbie dolls kenny boys

dressing
in suits and ties
exchanging happy lies
talking on the phone
while i am all alone

under the yellow moon
you wanted me too soon
rain kept pouring down
so i left that lonely town

art school

on the first day of school

bits of limestone and raw clay
took my normal shyness away

and i became the baker with his bread
using time and patience and my head

to knead you.

rising from a heated kiln

one piece off the top shelf had cooled
and i was initially fooled

into thinking i could never learn to fire
or to apply thin glazes with a wire

to pot you.

then, even the fresco on the teacher's wall
became damp and started to fall,

but i watched it take another form
when dried and reapplied warm.

and i was very happy to see
the complete unity
of my final piece.

November 11th

11/11/11

solitary performers

you walk in front of me
toward your own death.

i am not able to help
or hold you back.

i take a deep breath

and you have something to say
as you pass an old
red-leather trunk.

i consider the morning drunk

in his good mood all day long,

another actor in search of himself
singing a Marquis de Sade song.

we can't put a stop to it now.

we saw scenes like that a dozen times or more
after the most recent war

when the fuses kept blowing and there was no more light.

our street had at least fifteen people with nothing to do;
each face with a green, a mauve, and a blue,

and you thought there was no such thing

but now admit frankly in one fashion or three
that untroubled creativity will keep you free.

i petitioned but you would not yield,

left your straight jacket in the wheat field

where only color had the power

to command your attention after an hour,

and went your separate way

where, at the local town hall,
for a long time there was a big crowd without any real dialogue.

each of us carried on a personal monologue
in the direction of the other

while miscounting money on a cold afternoon.

i thought i wouldn't miss you so soon.

"let me bathe myself in your eyes
 like a newborn surprise,"

i said.  But now you're dead.

a blue vest

she came in a blue vest
wore it close to her throat

laughed when she told me
she liked rocking the boat

yes, she had soft red hair
wore it straight when she could

asked me to play her
and i promised i would

took me down through the door
where i liked what she showed

she gave me a ride
but i wanted the road

so i thought i'd linger
watch my world passing by

before she disappeared
with the next lonely guy

and her music ended
with the cold rushing in

bought a new blue vest
wore it close to my chin

this party was over
wore me down to the bone

she gave me advice
more than i've ever known

i don't need anymore
and i don't want to stay

it's only a bad dream
and should be over today

black limousines

without seeing the green lawn,
the white shirt,
and clean pants,
i heard about their private game:
the rich sporting an expensive stance.

different from you and i,
bent over their
colored ball,
lining up for another shot:
claiming victory and taking it all.

fifty senators packaged;
red white and
blue wrapping;
bells, whistles, and black limousines:
the working poor busily napping.

the cultivated money,
crystal glass,
and tight smile,
enough for most satisfactions:
for a lifetime or a decent while.

for everything

thank you for everything
especially the special stuff
now is it time to be gentle
or do you like it rough?

thank you thank you
there's not much more i can do
once i had a woman
that i didn't believe was you

thank you for the great show
it's really amazing to see
but when you're looking for a stranger
will you still be looking for me?

thank you for everything
so glad that daddy was away
we had hamburgers on the grill
but i knew i couldn't stay

thank you thank you
there's not much more i can do
once i had a woman
that i didn't believe was you

thank you for the heart felt
for the dish served on the floor
it was more than i imagined
when you opened up the door

thank you for everything
especially the special stuff
now is it time to be gentle
or do you like it rough?