The Little Sparrow
Elegy for Edith Piaf
The Little Sparrow
Height but 4 foot 8,
Voice reaching the roof of Moulin Rouge.
La crème de la crème of France
Vibrato, a ruler springing
On the end of a table.
Voix reached the heights
And the lows
A vocalizing of life – ta vie,
Streets filled with flipping bipeds,
You, ringing the air with bi-vocals.
Ange caroling for the neglected,
Left in the crib, at 17.
Lullaby’s lilting from across town,
Intercepted by the sparrows, piafs.
History woven into fabric, noir
Worn during birth.
Applause jumpstarting the heart,
It beats twice as fast,
The sound vibrated into vinyle.
The first crash, cymbals,
The second crash, drums,
The final crash, alcool.
La Vie en rose,
But petals painted black,
Your signature staple.
From the Madame’s house,
To the famous stages.
Reminiscing done through melodies.
Beckoning to Milord,
Come sit down,
R’s that roll,
Never to catch moss.
From abandonment to abandonment
Crossed your life.
Nothing to live on
Except for chansons.
And if you could sing
Forever about life,
It would echo-
Non je ne regrette rien.
Ode to Disneyland
To all who come,
All are welcomed.
Lands of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy, Happiness spelt with ten letters.
A daring venture
Eyes need turning,
For Mara’s always watching
Vines and the river.
Passengers and antics board to
Peer at the great eighth
At dusty facades and covered markets selling
A Tiki beat alongside old time tweets,
Who cannot fly
To neighboring arbor,
Residence of adoptive native.
Or sail with a new crew and
Stash the gold and really bad eggs,
Down the waterfall and up
You may not return to the flooding mansion
Stretching, creaking, beating.
Three new hitchhikers
Down the ideal streets
Of the Small Easy.
Mint, sipped through a straw,
White sugar sticks to your fingers,
Tastes as sweet as the place.
Or ride with a bear, tiger, donkey, pig,
A home for small critters
Viewed from logs.
The only way to go is
Stream strolling silently on
Interrupted by screams and splashes.
Round to the corner
To think, think, think…
A sweet treat enjoyed in
On my lap the textbook lies, open,
My head droops to the side-miscast.
The words wait on the page, stolen,
From Anon who long since passed.
I sink at the end of each sentence,
Sandman’s sand funnels into my mind.
A haze, the book tries transmitting its essence,
But melatonin has irreversibly been assigned.
Due dates loom, despite closed eyes,
Approaching is a soft, yawing, loving doze.
Synapses calculate remaining homework size,
But to sleep, my energy does repose.
In one last attempt, serif tails try to hook my eyelids,
But the heavy-handed Hypnos finally comes and outbids.
Disney Fan Cartoon Week
Bad Band T-shirt Week
Some of my lip sync work (it's very serious)
How the Cult Lady Broke Her Big Toe and Her Nose All on the Same Day. Or the journal of a former cult member in 21 movements.
April 14: Today Kim, Scott, and Jerry showed up. They were here a few days ago. Kim is now trying to make every visit. Crack squad hadn’t worked together before, Kim was yelling at everyone. Going over who was doing what.
Scott was on camera. Jerry on back-up camera. Kim did what she always did, just yell into my face. Didn’t want to deal with it today so I went inside. They tried knocking over and over, but heat got to them. Left after 45 minutes.
April 2: Jim Giles knocked on my door today. He was cordial, clearly the good cop. Kept telling me how much they missed me. “We miss you. Everyone back at the Commune needs you back. We aren’t the same without you.” True.
I told him it was over. Not coming back and that’s final. His lip got swingy. Jim started getting upset. Told me to watch out.
April 23: They wore t-shirts today. Multi color printed t-shirts. Probably cost them $15 bucks a piece and they were bright neon green. Had my face printed on it with a giant ‘X’ going through it. “Ferret busters” was printed above my face.
Didn’t get a great view. The dog was outside. Barking like mad. Has a hookworm infection so his top lip curls up showing his teeth. Looks scary, but he’s really just happy and excited.
They stood at the gate for 15 minutes. Couldn’t figure out how to get close. One of them just went back and sat in the shade by their car. Even members of a cult are subject to exhaustion. READ MORE
The old man sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at the white and blue linoleum. He had been staring at it for about two hours and now the imaginary ants had come out and started walking in patterns along the ragged blue streaks in the flooring. He tried to makes sense of their logic, but the path they took was erratic. He always liked to find the confused looking ones. These ants would pause shift their bodies to the left and right, bob their heads up and down, eventually figure out where they were and recommence their walking.
Eventually he lifted his eyes and looked over his shoulder to the bed closest to the hallway. Two days previous, he pulled the curtain shut around the bed and tapped the curtain to the wall so it wouldn’t gape open. Even in his old age he was surprised he got this done without help, but he was paranoid and it needed to be done. Logically he knew that it was of no use but he kept thinking it might prevent the ghost from coming back. The idea to seal off the body squirmed its way into his mind earlier that day, or maybe it was the ants that marched the idea into his head.
The body had been lying in the bed for close to three days. No one came to claim it and he wasn’t sure if the staff even knew. But maybe they did, they could have slipped him something into his food to force him to go to sleep so they could check on the body every night. He looked at his bedside table where a tub of pudding lay opened. The imagined ants twisted a nerve or synapse that caused him to shiver. READ MORE