looking out for my co-star

i once had a lot of long hair,

but it fell on a busy street

and when i looked it wasn't there,

don't let me feel sad

the broadway lights were bright

so i can't be mad,

that's the way it goes

sometimes it too damn hot

and sometimes it snows

but i'm dancing around the pole

looking out for my soul,

had a slip and a fall

now i'm behind the eight ball

in a corner pocket in a biker's bar

looking out for my co-star

but she's not anywhere,

maybe she took my hair,

jumping from the stage in a panic

i saw her swimming across the Atlantic

drinking and smoking while she wiped her eyes,

in disbelief she's winning the top prize

but i wasn't looking anymore

walking out the back door,

had a slip and a fall

now i'm behind the eight ball

in a corner pocket in a biker's bar

looking out for my co-star

but she's not anywhere,

maybe she took my hair.

to intoxicate your soul

nowhere near the point of return,

i wonder if you'll ever learn

the night is long and the day exhausts,

you'll struggle adding up all the costs,

glancing as the clouds gathering near

approach like the point of a sharpened spear,

aging in an age of unreason,

season after season,

the drums beat 

on a lonely stretch of street,

and when you reach the trees

will you allow a breeze

to intoxicate your soul?

go and cast your net,

check out what you'll get

pushing stones up the nearest hill

until you get your fill,

down where the animals are in bed

wishing they were satisfied and fed,

and their clamor keeps feeding your head

with visions of merchandise

as clear and cold as ice

and wouldn't it be nice

to have all the jewels in paradise?

and it was Mary Oliver

and it was Mary Oliver

speaking directly to me!

her voice was full of blessings

and insight

about life and love and light

and darkness, too, like a bowl of the blackest chocolate fudge

eaten spoonful by spoonful by a curious man 

biding his time inside his prison cell.

oh, but do tell,

is that a dinner bell

i hear?

yes, Mary Oliver is making mention

that i need to pay attention 

to the brighter light in a certain direction, so

i have time to linger, wondering about my little finger

and how it attaches perfectly with my left & right hand

when i pet my dog or comb my hair.

i notice everything is simultaneously here and there!

the simple fact of focus upon my speeding moment:

is sufficient for the infant

and the young boy and the man

and the older fellow filling his bird feeder with oiled, black sunflower seeds

while the noisy chickadees bide their time, watching attentively.

and nearby Elizabeth sips her wine slowly with smiling eyes, pools of promise 

shimmering beyond the calm waters of a lake filled with ever-expanding infinities.

I hear a Pink Floyd song and imagine kissing her lips in rhythm to the bright side of the moon circling

around the Earth, remembering the constant push and pull of a tender tidal embrace;

remembering, too,  a yard of grateful gardens and bountiful fertile fields of joy;

the laughter of a child swinging from a strong braided rope 

tied above a deep creek's pool in a neighboring meadow; 

the splash and the bubbles and the delicious feel of cool water on skin,

laughter and riotous splashing everywhere.

it's a very important day, right here and right now.

this second passing.

a new second, also passing.   here it is.  and again.

again. 

it's only a short walk to the end of the boardwalk,

walking atop the boardwalk,

and under the boardwalk there are songs.

sing songs. 

i'm not ready to dismount my bike, whose tires are always spinning like a distant galaxy 

and they are comfortably filled with air.  my chain is cleaned and well-lubricated.

the road ahead is endless.  the invitation to play is signed, sealed, and delivered.

and so it goes.  and so i ride. 

a train whistles.

a baby cries for her seat; everyone makes room, moving and watching protectively.

we all have sufficient time.

we all feel.

we all love.

and my love shares her wine with me and i admire her spirit of sharing,

as i sip. 

she also feeds the noisy chickadees.

what i thought was happening then and now was a constant unfolding,

as we folded our lives together like the petals of a beautiful flower. 

who was there?

the hill was close

touching my face, kissing my hand

i took several deep inhales

not to grandstand

but to understand

how hard would be the climb

and could i navigate all the way blind?

when confusion and despair

filled the air

in the pitch black dark

who was there?

what was unjust and what was fair?

the music played loud

rattled my senses;

there were scattered villages

separated by indecently high fences

and a monster calling for death

watching people running, 

taking their last breath

indifferently

remorselessly

and the desert has no water

the horse has no name

who's to blame?

who's to praise?

for all those days

when

the drums shake and roll the terrain where i walk,

silently mouthing words but unable to talk.

Alexander Lukashenko

for the love of God

or V Putin

 or whatever the clever superstition of the moment,

Alexander Lukashenko 

is crafting his own uniquely Belarusian

WAY

to emulate the fate of Benito Mussolini

to be hung upside down

by the feet

from a steel I-beam

below which tens of thousands of his happy

citizens 

will be seen

CHEERING

wildly!