The poem as accident...
                                                     as birth......
                                                                    as life----a series of divinely
                                                                                                disordered  events
                                                                  beginning and ending with miracles

                                                                                        where now
                                                                                           I hover
                                                                                              on
                                                                                      broken-winged
                                                                                         emotion
                                                                  clinging
                                                                         with bleeding fingers
                                                                             to bleeding feelings

                         finding  once more
                                              the grief  that lies locked
                                                                    within entombed visions

                                    Happy 51! I told myself. Happy Birthday, birthday boy,   and recall
                      ...anew  ...my  happy 18th birthday telegram from Momma...

                                            2 weeks in the Navy and the Chief had just
                                            thrown my clothing out the window.
                                            I didn't really cry. It just looked that way
                                            and only if you looked close.

                                           I stood outside for some moments and
                                           watched newcomers filing into their
                                           barracks... for the first time on my own...
                                           I would know how dreams die.

                              Happy 51!  ....he says
         as he looks with silly smile at that which has fallen at his feet.
         that which once had held his love....torn and crumpled.
         Shit...man....he tearfully sneers...they come and go and go and
         go.   Oh ho ho.

                                                  51st anniversary of the commencement
                                                                                                    of the movement
                                                                                                                            from birth
                                                                                                                               to death
 

a life sandwich:
                a little meat
                              sliced thin
                                           not much bread
                                                             HOLD THE MAYO!

       and so....                            and so......                     and so it went:

                 the first      ha ho  hee hee    half
                                                                     of this passing entertainment....

                                                and, yes,
                                                  would you pass the ketchup please?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 Jan 13, 1985, Tucson, Az
©Allan Bazar, 2000, All rights reserved.
 
 

Written on my first birthday
after the dissolution
of my last marriage.