We get stuck on words.
Though I may idolize Frank O’Hara, if he alludes to emeralds or apples one more time he sleeps in the shelf tonight. I feel similarly with Henry Miller and his diplococcobacilum. Why? That word doesn’t sound good! Y’know it’s not even the real word he uses over and over. The real one escapes me because I never liked the sound of it so I never logged it in, but that hasn’t stopped him from deriding someone as such every couple of pages. So is it laziness that brings them back to the same words? Is it Tourettes? Or is it a portal into an essence? Well at this embryonic stage of my wisdom I am rooting for essence because I know I am neither lazy nor do I have Tourettes (unless you consider the diction of gadflies, pricks, provocateurs, and guidos to be mild outgrowths of the tick).
From time to time I pretend my writing is one of those magic eye books to find my essence. I let my vision fall out of focus while staring at the dead center and wait to see what surfaces.
These are my three:

Construct
Contempt
Abandon

The only one I really like is Contempt. It’s one of my favorite words. It’s a word a woman can feel towards her lover (along with repulsion) at the height of a loving affair – a concept men will never understand.
Abandon and Construct, I assume, are my obvious pleas against and responses to my inability at understanding Contempt. The problem is they’re not good words, which may also be the reason why they’ve proven weak adversaries to Contempt. Oh, I love it. I love this word that causes the cow to give us milk then kick the bucket over! How can I expect to beat it when my gut tells me I’m attracted to her thick jaw because I’m hoping it bites my skull off after ejaculation? This is how. I’m facing it dead on. I’m taking these words and making them my own. This collection of poesy shall therefore be asserted loudly aloud as


A Contempt Abandon Construct!

Think Primal Scream therapy. Going there. Getting it out. Nowhere to fall when there’s nowhere to fall…


Pursued through Ladders and Chutes
Isis Is Isi
And Here Is The Proof:
Followed by
The Middle is dddddddd…..

Apparition Love confides in the Lost Lover,
“Il est isi, lay easy; the syllable il est la-bas – it can never be caught!
But like grass it’s a blade and if nipped at the tip and held taut in a tuck
It can be blown like a Porto Allegrian tickling his tongue
Into the heart of the word he knows can’t be won.
Or if left to stretch undisturbed in the earth, careful
Dance along its rim as the chanteur skims, the Jesus Lizard swims,
As the Ming Majesty’s messenger becomes the wind!”
Implicit in this wisdom is an acceptance on both ends:
He would need to be reminded again (and again),
But for this moment at least he’s complete to tempest out his incomplete,
Forget about the reach, resign to reclined defeat.
Sweet.
So she was right…
Until a pause produced an argument from lack of desire,
Which is to say, having nothing on our minds thereafter
Brought us close to the wire,
He fired,
“But the W(iz)ard told me ‘The Word Is,
As in: It was were, it has wered,
In other words, it is Is.
Isis? ‘Tis!
Which is also to say it goes and goes,
And hence we’ve chosen the letter O.
In(between)n, ‘be twee,’ he said quietly,
‘S(til)l m(il)es to go til il me is e(st)e.’ “
“He lies! He lies! He lies!” Apparition she cried,
Hands folded in prayer, I took my cue and dived.
He was right too.
She knew.

Magdeleno on the Beach can also be found sung by me on Jeniferever’s album available through www.disrecords.com , where it is known more directly as Magdeleno.

Magdeleno on the Beach

When the gypsy read my palm she traced down some line’s crease as it splintered and divided and then looked me in the eyes. “Your future is a bell curve which is the same as hers and his and hers and if you do not stress it it will not swerve. It will remain but a bell curve with a singular ring, nothing more than a ding. Whereas if you attempt to hold it back blockading its track its timbre won’t crack, just course into a cauldron whose call drones a cacophony of strings.” And so I looked her in her eyes and to her earthen surprise I said, “Yes, yet you sit in this seat and live through others lives then take your pennies to the teller to calculate the size – another seer who’s a eunuch and every eunuch lies! What’s the other option for a bosom that denies?” “I see your point. I understand,” she said still holding my hand. And thus I anointed Lady Jesus with my oils from the sand.


Keep moving!