We Would Have Found Robert Bond Again
We would have found Robert Bond in Rome if we had
made it there on time, or perhaps Madrid. Never the
Vatican but maybe Pamplona instead. Earlier, perhaps
Kenya, or later Delhi. You’d have been in a hot little dive
with excellent food and sweating drinks, listening to music
and engaging in talk, like back in Tangiers. You’d speak
of poetry, musicians and the saxophone, listen to
pounding drums – while in the background, a wistful
violin played for its near-dead audience.
We would have found Robert Bond in New York City
if we’d flown there, you claiming work toward
an MBA at Columbia of all things, as though that
last degree gotten in Rome didn’t count outside
Europe, and sweating out those American summers
which after all really don’t compare to the heat
in Kenya or Egypt. Man, you do get around, my friend.
At least since getting kidnapped in Mogadishu, you
learned better travel strategies and can still hear
the throbbing and rumbling of the music. Lucky, that?
We took a red eye to Cozumel, having heard you
were there snorkeling yet naturally missed you
by a single day. But jetting off to see the Nile
on your own? You put Hemingway to shame!
Last month I sent you a message announcing
the publication of one of my new poetry books
only to have it returned to me, “address unknown,”
unable to forward. I thought that said so much
really, you wraith, you ghost. We’ll likely never
catch up to you, but if little else, do those piano
bars wicked justice for old times’ sake, don’t
forget to keep trying to resurrect Esquivel,
and we’ll be forever gloriously eternal.
The squirrels don’t run away
The squirrels don’t run away.
Some, big, brown, and brawny
come down looking for
throw aways.
Five little babies peek through
the razed grass, seeking to
join in.
The rabbits, too, come around.
They look well fed, but how?
All there is
is asphalt and
cigarette butts.
Nature in L.A. is a wondrous
thing. We even have deer,
scrawny at that, coming
down to the roads,
looking for their next
meal, cars warily
avoiding them.
I don’t need the mountains,
although I enjoy them,
and I don’t need the Plains.
I have it all right here
in the back of my office,
and I’ll never let it go.
Spoke Sec-Deviants
[via CUT-UP/Fragmentz]
a beautiful girl
dreaming icicles
pseudo dream
systems, the pain
returns, the cycle
will repeat itself –
please kill me now
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