ready for the next page

i've already been 49
and WILL
soon be 76 years of age

i'm ready for the next page
of astonishing images
representing the human body
and the potty
where yellow isn't the coward
that Noel was
when he slept on a fat mattress
playing electric bass
and meeting experienced people
who kept their pulse
inside a well-seasoned wallet or a stylistic purse
either of which could be found hanging in an art gallery
in Hoboken, New Jersey, USA.

the images i saw in my childhood
include the red-backed sofa in a small living room
underneath which was found
tomato soup spilled like Rothko paints
on the cheap carpet threads
and simple hard beds
and baby peeps unable to fly
dropping fast without a sound to steel steps
descending sharply to the Mediterranean Sea
for their non-stop service to Barcelona
and instead of dead within the hour
they became a white center leading to the Rockefeller Center
and real ice
which for a young explorer was especially nice
shaded from blue to pink
like a jumping rabbit in my neighborhood
holding a rose in his mouth to better think.

i once led a horse by the neck
climbing from the smoking galley to the upper deck
to find the ladies in a brothel
who spoke Vietnamese with a fluent ease
as i kneeled to my knees
and met the massive oversized ears of a girl
who lived in Paris with her lady friend
although she was in constant hiding
like a distorted cube
in shades of muted grey and brown
stripped down and streamlined
an hour glass figure
there in the mix with an accordion
making music with scraps of metal and wood
odds and ends
folds and bends
when this becomes that
the three dancers becoming grotesque
and i could just about recognize myself
ripped apart by a brutal civil war
jagged grief and childless
on the narrow road to a bull fighting studio
where overhead beams and white-washed dreams
provided sanctuary near the French Riviera
on a tall bed
onto which i jumped
to find my hand holding the strongest one of a special friend:

at 85 i will feel
more fully alive
than i ever did at four.

we will lounge on the warm sandy shore
the dove of peace flying like a soft balloon
overhead
without wearing hat pins

and we'll laugh at the sight and our grins

will spread like inviting female legs often do
when welcoming a favorite lover.