|
With Your Leaving
by Philip F De Pinto
I don't want to live -
I want to love first and live incidentally - Zelda Fitzgerald
Ave to Mary
Ditto to Joseph
Which is not her name
Nor his
Leaving the latter
To weep in his coffee mug
With no one to give great gargantuan hug
For auld lang syne
Save the greasy mannequin
A multi-busted Artemis
With more pins pushed in her cushion
Than St. Sebastian
Ave to Maria
Leaving Joseph
And their demise
Instilled in me
The harlequin of your surprise
Something not to fondle
But frisk
And in so doing risk finding
No such thing as love harboring
In me such contraband
As one cannot afford to carry
Across the lines of your infernal absence
After you're gone
It becomes outmoded currency
You saw nothing of the forward in me
To put in reverse or idle
But a pedal to push to extremes
Hence the screeching tires
Leaving skid marks in our wake
On the road we would never travel in retrospect
I saw you as neither fancy vehicle in a rush nor jazz guzzler to hush
Or woman to please
But scalding iron
In its eagerness to impress
Brand in me her asterisk
As would render me blistering and blue
And was it
Ever so true
Your not giving two sweeps
Has me chocking back Atom Bombs
As I would weep
From the hangers of my sighs
Unto a dusty table top
The dollops of which are not to be
Mistaken for lily pads
On which the toad of your departure will hop
And there make its many hoary respites
II
To be fair for reason she's a woman
And is shaped a certain way
To be unfair for reason he's a man and shaped in an uncertain way
Doesn't mean one shape is contradictory and cannot accommodate the other
To create a species neither certain or uncertain
But straddling the median
And this may have been the case
Save Joseph failed her median exam
Siring instead a creature serpentine
With equine features entirely uncertain
That such a horse could remain the course
And so day and night
Not out of spite
But for a living
Maria slams on heart brake after heart brake
Slams slews of doors in my face
What a disgrace then not to have the sort
Of mug or shapely wit or form be permitted fully into her graces
Nor anywhere near the vicinity of her forgiving devices
That soft hershey kisses may make contrition
Til the rout of such sweet buzzes
Can contrition there
What do you care
It's my fucking sick art
To sell out
III
In the interlude
You texted the timid in me
Bold you said to him
Be bold
In fact you sold him
On the notion
Not being hip on lengthy courtship
You jumped his bones
The second he flopped on your divan
Do you remember
Inviting Monsieur timid up
To your apt?
Aptly called
For purposes of
Leaping his ossuary
Which leaves him to wonder
Who you are texting now
To say be bold
Whose timid ossuary are you plotting
To leap?
Reaping the marrow?
It is a bittersweet pill
This sunsetting
The moon fretting
Having big shiny shoes to fill
Nevertheless with many lunar surprises up its sleeve
Have its way with tides
Which leave me shoaled
With nothing left either timid or bold to say on the topic
If anything is to be said on such
It will be said by you
I've said my peace
Hollered my war
In the meantime
Screw natural causes
I've chosen to die of the most unnatural kind
The kind you had in mind
As would thrust and bury in my sold out art
The definitive knife from your quiver
Till such time you deliver
My sold out art will not bleat
Like frightened sheep
But bold beat and vigilant be
Welcoming such a stabbing fate
As will arrive with the tides
As will thrust and bury
Such as it is unable to parry
The definitive knife
To displace the dart
Eros pincushioned there
As a tentative measure
Such kindling as was merely a firing point
And not incendiary arrival of a kind
Of fire he had in mind
As would out of caritas
Not char hide nor hair o' the timid man or bold
In its everlasting conflagration
06/30/2014 Posted on 06/30/2014
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| 
