I heard Maria Callas singing

when she said it was evolution 

i was too damn small 

i heard Maria Callas singing in the Milano opera hall 

she was absolutely divine 

so i thought i'd take a chance 

i wore my evening jacket without my underpants.

i heard Keith Richards play when i was seventeen

he was absolutely wildly crazy touching the obscene. 

when she said it was evolution 

i was too damn dumb

i protested with long hair and my opposition thumb. 

i watched Ari Onassis wear his glasses in the shade 

he accumulated people and i knew he had it made.

i watched Mick Jagger wear his penis on his nose

he accumulated people in the evening without clothes.

when she said it was evolution

i was too damn blind

i wrote a note to Santa Claus

the one he could not find.

when she commented on gravity

i told her i could defy it,

but she said i couldn't deny it, 

so what did i really know

sucking my injured big toe?

i heard Maria Callas singing with a butterfly in her hair

her voice like angel flowers vocal passion everywhere!

when she said it was evolution

i was too damn naive

i heard Maria Callas singing 

it became impossible to leave!!

when i talked with Picasso

when i talked with Picasso, 

it was an early evening near central Paris

and he was flush with Spanish wine,

laughing with artistic friends already feeling fine,

splashing paints on the nearest cobbled street.

and he told me his life would never be complete

until he was known everywhere

for his prodigious talent and his famous penetrating stare!

well, he had an brilliant eye, that's for certain:

he said he painted more than one Russian ballet curtain,

and when he saw the many young ladies swoon

he'd immediately take them to his special room

where he'd teach them French or as much as he knew

while they kneeled before his greatness, admiring the local view.

and when i told him i was also fond of Gertrude Stein,

he said quite forcefully that she couldn't be a friend of mine;

she had her hands full of more important things to do,

and no time to waste screwing around with another old shrew!

i asked inquiringly about his relationship with Matisse

but he looked away and somehow seemed at peace.

when a gallery owner said his Opening sales were beyond belief

"like stealing money without being an actual thief!"

the drinks flowed and everyone partied the night away,

without pretensions or any interest in becoming a gourmet.

when i talked with Picasso,

he refused to let me go

until i promised to give him the best press,

and there's more, a lot more,

but i digress.

sitting on a bench

you are 

sitting on a bench

polishing your perfect nails.

it might be too hard for me to remember

my heads from my tails,

but i approach anyway,

wondering as i study your face

what i might have to do or say.

you smile and offer me a timid joke.

i take a deep breath and offer you a pleasant toke.

but i wasn't trying to score;

i didn't have time for that anymore:

too many days have fallen over my head

and i look like i've just tumbled out of an untidy bed.

i can't even remember what i'm doing here:

memories of childhood keep trying to reappear

and i know i've traveled with heavy loads on my back;

all the passing white clouds have turned into coal black.

behind me all the pain of failures and interesting lies!

but i keep sailing my ship when all it wants to do is capsize,

wondering if i can be the first mate,

standing my watch at the helm like i'm on a first date,

not ready to drop anchor and head into the nearest port.

maybe there's one more chance to be the gentleman and find a fine woman to court

while i am still standing and 

you are

sitting on a bench

polishing your perfect nails.

it might be too hard for me to remember

my heads from my tails,

but i approach anyway,

wondering as i study your face

what i might have to do or say.

what it is to be alive!

i'm not pulling any punches

rolling along 

carrying a bag full of morning hunches

and you're watching me from under cover

pausing

hoping to discover

what it is to be alive!

and we're out for a freeway drive

watching all the singers and dancers

holding hands 

while looking for questions and answers.

there's a lot to unfold

or so we're being told,

marching in a band or sitting on a side street,

always running lightly on our feet.

it's me on the radio

listening for directions for which way to go

maybe to Fifth Avenue 

or to stay home with you?

but another turn and more keep coming,

dancers dancing and singers humming,

there's music in our dreams and angels in our head,

so many words silently on the floor being unsaid:

it's always time to keep steering

there's a horizon and yet it keeps disappearing

and that's where we want to go.

i'm not pulling any punches

rolling along 

carrying a bag full of morning hunches

and you're watching me from under cover

pausing

hoping to discover

what it is to be alive!

and we're out for a freeway drive

watching all the singers and dancers

holding hands 

while looking for questions and answers.

there's a lot to unfold

or so we're being told,

marching in a band or sitting on a side street,

always running lightly on our feet.

kill them all, but

Poland,

said the German man,

should be mine!

Poland,

said the Soviet guy,

will be mine!

not exactly friendly,

but they decided to share.

tasty treats;

blood in the streets.

they didn't have to choose.

kill them all, but

especially the Jews.

expose a breast,

then line up the rest.

pa and ma;

steamrolling toward Warsaw.

don't ask & don't tell:

simply blitzkrieg them to hell.

swallowing pills over the eastern hills.

no time to shiver crossing the river!

3 days with no sleep;

rounding up the sheep.

wrong or right?

not considered in this fight.

two madmen on the move!

and who will disapprove?

two madmen on the loose!

and they'll escape the noose.

Poland,

said the German man,

should be mine!

Poland,

said the Soviet guy,

will be mine!

not exactly friendly,

but they decided to share.

tasty treats;

blood in the streets.

they didn't have to choose.

kill them all, but

especially the Jews.

Pascin will see you now

i will see you again,

but not yet, my friend,

i whispered several years after 

we had met,

but now i was dead:

not he or she or they or all else who came to play,

(the many artists and hangers-on),

drinking and eating and loving till the earliest dawn.

they might say it was madness in my blood as i wrote,

but i calmly slit my wrists and hung by throat,

tossing a bloody testament on the nearby gallery wall,

before my solo show about Cecile and my personal downfall:

oh, yes, i knew triumph and despair,

dabbled in color! 

and whores with fine lines and wit

or maybe duller;

but if you slept, i was alert

at Montparnasse,

always the flirt,

never considered the serious painter

as i wanted to be known.

so i fade,

become fainter,

and wonder between bottles of red and white wines,

will i see you again, my friend?