For Bumblebee, from Eddie Yellow –
My girlfriend is by the shore, down by the bay, down by the shore, at the beach, life’s a beach and so am I, the great rocks of this planet ground down by water and time into all the sand in the universe, of which I am one of the number promised to Abraham on a mountain three thousand years ago according to a book everybody keeps talking about —
My girlfriend — my blackbird — my dark-haired girl, my quiet princess with flashing eyes and furtive smile — down down down
Never again to be Peapod? Or Sweetpea? Or Pie? Or Hippo? Or Baby? Babybaby, babybaby, come back, come back to me, oh, I would love to go to Atlantic City and put all my money on black and let it ride —
letting water wash over me —
staring out at the setting sun —
the rise and fall of alliterative verse —
Up and down — In and Out — Lion and Tiger — Which one doesn’t belong — I’ve been playing clever games for some some time now, almost almost ten thousand days —
Six hundred days with her. More. Give or take. Where does the time — where does — swift silent planet — The Wanderer — we thought we did not wander — we thought this was home — Home is where you go back to — Home is where the — home is your — Home Home and Homeless Drifting Oh Oh Oh to Be Prince Caspian — Shadows of Shadows the Darkness behind, the Light Before, Cold in sad darkness, cold in my own shadow —
Memory the Time Traveler — Thought & Memory fly out — fear for Thought but fear for Memory more — where are we going — my sad parents — unloved — unlorn — injected all their love and forming into us young bairns and made us too old children and now secure in our own selves, self-loving and self-loved, independent ones on independence day, weaned, we see them as mere Givers — privileges but no duties — Even now, in this house, this strange suburban house — still — the limits of control — controlling — I am controlled —
There is a pill inside me. Does something to my dopamine. Little Latin lattices made up of the very small, so small it can slip between the gaps and make me think and feel — Oh Happy Fleshy Soft Robot — you think that is air you’re breathing? In a way yes, and in a way no, it is all electricity in your brainbox — Scream at the falseness
Another pill is missing. My nerves go haywire and soak up the serotinin — Joy is dying — or drowning — or gasping for air — little buds shriveled — instead a cold hard intensity — Truth instead of Beauty and the Beauty of Truth — Just live — decide not to decide? What about truth? What about guilt and innocence? What about what we’ve done? Still, alliterative. The Sweet Still Waters. Several sounds recurring there. This then is that. This is That. Cogito Ergo —
A hundred years pass in the blink of someone’s eye. A voice in the street. Bears in the woods. An angry bald man. A young woman aging. An old man and old woman, without their children, on a holiday, in a movie theater, narrating the movie to each other — they have become one and must speak — I was annoyed until I saw their wrinkles and their shriveled bodies and not having it wanted it oh baby oh baby Pie SweetPie oh baby baby baby baby what will I do what about my baby this is not writing who will pay me a dollar for my thoughts think remember think, member, member, is Life Memory Now? Ooohhh Memory, Ooh Memory, speak sing of the hero, sing of the women who waited spinning and unspinning and sing of the great unmovable bed, with one post a tree trunk extending ever and ever and deeper and deeper into the soil and foundation, its roots expanding and expanding and providing the anchor that had never existed for all those long years before the walls of Troy or lost at sea and now in her arms, a Penny a Penny a Penny for Thought, a Penny for Memory, Tree Bed, Sweet Bower, here in the heart of the cave-home we’ve built around our lives is the Living Tree we found once and though all the works of man decay our Eternal Bower will never pass away.
I love you I love you I love you forever. I love you I love you I love you forever.