Back Off, Edgar

How much closeness can I stand?

I know you just want to be loving towards me.
Your wish is my command.

Knowing that I never planned
to be difficult and disagree,
but how much closeness can I stand?

I’ll have to remand
myself to the city by the sea,
because your wish is my command.

I mean, I’ll have to hand
you over to the authorities,
because how much closeness can I stand?

That’ll be after supper AND
after my cameo as Annabel Lee,
because your wish is my command.

I just wanted to play in my band,
but you locked me up in this sepulchre—
no matter about this closeness I can’t stand,
your wish my command.

Playing My Ace

OK, I’m going all-in!

Who cares where my chances stood?
If you’re gonna suck, suck good!

May the best one win!
They’ll be adjudged good.
OK, I’m going all-in!

Why not go for a spin?
Because I’m afraid I’ll get lost in the woods?
If you’re gonna suck, suck good!

Balancing on the head of a pin,
but I ain’t no angel, understood,
just a slob going all-in!

It came down to fear of sin—
I’d be hated no matter what I did,
so I took the risk of sucking, sucking good,

scared out of my skin,
getting ready to go down in the flood.
OK, I’m going all-in.
If you’re gonna suck, suck good!

The Burlesque Dancer's Song

Trying to keep things general so they’re relatable.

Nobody else knows that kid I knew,
so the emotion in my act’s debatable.

Here I am in my inflatable
boat cage, do you like the view?
Am I keeping things general enough to be relatable?

Notice, the only potable
drink for sale’s my morning dew,
and the emotion in my act’s x-ratable,

and some things in the show are downright hate-able—
all the bubbles in my shampoo,
hiding skin that could have been more visible.

So you refuse to play Ahab to my Jezebel—
monkey see, monkey do—
because, although I’m pretty, I’m not datable.

But that poor kid is in the hospital,
pregnant, without one true
friend in all this world (is that debatable?)—
grief too nail-sharp NOT to be relatable.

not being the akond of swat

day of not being
seeing
nor seen

I’d forgot
the pure serene
of a day of not

being hot-to-trot
seeing but unseen
or seen

dwelling in a grot
hard nor mean
interval of not

fretting a lot
words I scream
props in the scene

dirty nor clean
cold nor hot
day of not being
seeing nor seen

Boojum Luck

A meditative interval in the day—

then something unexpected breaks our trance,
along with our fibula and tibia.

Thinking of sweet Rhonda Lay
we wanted sing with at the harvest dance
(wool-gathering on our meditative day).

But just as our plans get underway,
that car drives up and smacks us in the pants,
shattering our fibula and tibia.

Or, we hoist our little clay
up a steep slope toward a wire fence,
chainsaw at the ready for a meditative day.

But the buckthorn grabs our leg—what shall we pray
as we tumble and our foot gets stuck in a trench,
left tarsus no longer a seat for its tibia?

There’s a broad array
of attitudes we can adopt about the bon chance,
on a particularly peaceful, meditative day,
of breaking our fibula and tibia.

The Bashful Boy's Song

I’d love to hug someone, but I’m reluctant.
I can’t remember what happened, but it marked me.
My dominant personality trait is fear of abandonment.

Consequently, I get short emolument
for the sea voyages I embark on.
I’d love to hug a whale, but I’m reluctant.

And it feels like a pretty harsh indictment,
this sense of inadequacy that sharks me
and makes me reluctant because I expect abandonment.

But I manage to keep my resentment
at bay. There’s so much in the world that sparks me;
and I don’t expect hugs—I’m reluctant

to risk love because of some dire precedent,
some dark event preceding memory.
Or can I be as trusting as an infant

in arms? Well, it might be wise to be a little hesitant.
If I were really still a baby, the world would love me,
and I could claim the hugs I’m reluctant
to ask for now—fearing abandonment.

To-Do-List Day

It’s a to-do-list day—

second of 2019.
OK.

Gotta work the clay,
excavating for a mine
on this to-do-list day.

There’s hell to pay.
Gotta get my shit in line.
OK.

Can’t put my songs away—
that’s no way to feel fine
on a to-do-list day!

Never what I thought I’d say,
always hijacked by rhyme.
OK.

Get down and pray!
I’ll shine, of course I’ll shine
on this to-do-list day!
OK!