I Wait for You--A Triptych of Reflection and Observing Ego--

I try and write

With this conception of me writing the words I write

All in my head

In no such way does this work...

Though tendrils leach through...

Ferrous oxide and Peacock Rock

Oxidizing ideas and my plays on words...

Rusing the emotions I still hold for...

You. Only under the light of my attempts at art

Only then can I hear you, rather your voice,

Under a scamper of contending thoughts...

.

Little slippery ones...colored like on some

Saturday Morning Kid's Show.

All magenta's and mustard yellows' and blues...

Scampering around you like rats...

Mean urban ones with Battle Scars...

Scampering around you under that street light

...that backlight egg-yolk...

That gives you the queen's corona

That light which reaffirms my affair with you...

Or rather the idea of you...

I'm swooning.

Drunk in words and weed and you...

Sincerity I sincerely oblige...

I'm just a scribe...

.

My TRIBE is NOT of YOURS...

Your Celts, and your Romans,

And MINE, the Accountants to yours...

Your Policeman, and your Mobsters,

And MINE, the Lawyers to yours...