Ms Brasil

i found myself dreading the amorous advances later from knee-walking
Stagger Lee at the pool table
girl from south of Ipanema who insists on meeting my daughter and that i
take her futon & TempurPedic full bed
<< i tense up, i fill w dread … i don't even wanna go to bed … i hope she just
passes out, as thankfully she did tonight and i would’ve enjoyed myself more
at the bowling parlor had she not been there making me tense;  and i wouldv
had more fun just w the kiddos like i did w Olivia post-Erica-crash-out-
watching Magoriums Emporium and making up uses for 6′ long white Red
Baron scarves
and there are days & ways in which i can be calming and good and reassuring
with kids like tonight with Olivia
and ‘y god there’s so much ravishly beautiful about you gentle & giving
“i should read about bi-polar”
“if i take the drugs linear
“i love you for the person u are”
there has been damage done, i’m not the same open welcome i was before Nov
18 it all changed; if i were going back to Nov 17 tonight was an impediment to
and you fixed my scarf and you straightened my collar and in more low heels
and birthday parties w ballerinas on the cake … and brought me rugs of green
& blue and a china o bamboo u mnade all this easy, and all sad for now no
threat to my security clearancebut even your friends tell me that you go too
Snoopy and The Red Baron of Byron and guitar
w grace like a zen master w a coke problem singing one after the other koans
while smoking & twitching w the everyday jones
so any wonder i don’t take you into my family until i have some sense o what
i have o tiger i have by the tail … what is this tiger burning bright,
this tiger nursing a lam with bitter milk
and leaving her to put herself to bed
and yet you dance divine you move with a lover’s grace
with a cowboy’s jig
with a senorita’s sawy and a miner’s reel
and no we cannot swap share furnishings too much left untold,
i’m noty  ready for your world into mine
no, you do not get to put a bed, a chair, a table
where i sleep
where i eat
where i rest
no it is not the time and any such furnishings would not sit still
of course i feel the loss
like one sees lightning and follows thunderheads lives thereafter
like one kisses the mona lisa
one kisses la giaconda
and gets hustled off by the carabinieri
with her scent still so barely on lipsand yes, i left in the  dead of night;
early enough for one hour @ Vicotoria before last call and safter shooting 150
photos of you and yours in   — fototraficante
en goto flagrante
in the flash-less dark with those who would become the ark?
and those Magi buying their way into Bethlehem with virthday cakes w
bailarinas on top in church halls of the choir getting preached to and Olvia
hiding behind cut-outs of trees with no speaking parts for which live things
dare utter in the face of raw power
of race-fuel breath and her 110 octance mother
her force 10 ffrom Rio Do Sul
huracan w guaberas and jamacas
and even in my cowboy boots and Bos shirt I feel a barely “this tall to ride this
for i am not tall enough to ride your rollercoaster
your stomaach-stealing
stop, go
your shriek, shriek repeat bw milk runs through the mid-west
there is an ass at your feet
a daughter at your side in the silver picture frame
did i mention
there is an ass at your feet?
there are bearded men with brocaded boxes slouching nearby
slouching in place one stall over
and a fertitlity goddess o too much milk it running down your tits
your belly
your thighs
there for this milk a-spray in all directions like a deranged nozzle-head
and none of us escapes w our favorite shirts
the best i can hope to do is to wash your hair in the shower
to rub your feet and
knuckle-down your sppine, the culverts aside your herniated spine
lacking the height for this ride, it is the best i can hope to do
you sky-high woman
you skyscraping mother
for you,
all gird and grift and guile
and me glass half-full gullible
He died.
It feels like five acts.
He died.
For 2nd day running
he waited not for despertarte
no this am
not even for daybreak
not even for last call for the sting & spall
we must call
it is all.
He died.
She tried to make a devil out of me and …
There I am an ass at her feet, a child in her house
and I never know if it’s the sleep of the just
if the pillow honest man ‘s peace of mind
or if it’s all tranquilizers behind and seroquel into the bind
I never knowwhen the eyes go half-mast
if it’s knocked-out loaded
or if it’s bedroom and savor and lick her lips and up in her backwards bent
over the blue couch
Finally for it would have been a damn shame to run this course and not have
broke her open like a shotgun and a six-pack on her lower back
she is staggering in the bar and sure on the felt
sinking shot after shot
and pouring pitchers down the lanes
and following gutter balls down the lanes
saving one slip
but failing one fall on the strike line and
thank god the gutter guards up and her driver James, ya designado.
and there might be mandalas
of mourning
of loss
of meaning
of riches
of might-be talismans
        of want
        of painll
        of what do i do with her
there might be latin poultices of mustard seed and beeswax
there just might be poultices prepared to pul the poison from her coursing
poultices to pull the daughter out of harm’s way
but no one here knowstheir manufacture
and there shall be no little white houses for her and me;
no fiddles
no squeezeboxes
no salty girls in their bare feet on balcony boards
there shall be no one posing as warrior
there shall be no saluting the eastern sun
no retiring to western mountains in chase of the sun to run race across ranges
to never lose sight of the sun shall be none of that shall be no salutes rendered
only taps played and slow waves goodbye-farewell
hasta luego
shall be no days unshowered
no days her scent still on me, no, all days no whered and shavenb and nada
comme chien
and you made me want to be bigger, better, more
to be heroic
to be of full stature
to be pretty
for everyone wants to be pretty
to be a piper to children where
fathers do not go to school and
mothers dont drink apple juice
no matter the bitter
there is an ass at your feet
and don’t you know that little girls still think that colored pencils are magic?
i had hoped that by the by
along the way
you might just save my life
i might just shed the skin
of motorcycles
i might forget them in the bask of your ever beauty
i might quit with the adult fiction and start with the childrens’ literature
i might quit this shit
i might prove a good citizen and
a gentle good presence to beautiful blonde children and
perhaps even ont that were to look like your’n
nada was outa the question
you made me feel nada was impossible
but now i’ll be going to NYC at Christmas without you and we won’t see
Lenn0n’s tomb or Morrison’s grave or mimes on the avenue and SoHo will not
be ours and the skyscrapers in competition with you will not see us together
rascacielo ti
and you sorted my shirts in the sequence of the spectrum
“is my mother asleep?”
there is a lamb on your shoulders
“do you like blue stripes?”
“are blue stripes your favorite?”
is it all about blue stripes?
is it the sweet sweet daughter
me and her every night on the couch
looking at each other over you
and it is not the behavior itself, the occasionality of it; rather just i find it  
erects a musloin wall barely detectable between us
i dont want to fuck her
i dont want to make love to her
i dont feel it, this film between usis i guess one way for shee sees it not
its all very subtle and while i would be focused on mto_recon
i’m doing this bullshit

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