Archive for August, 2011

The problem with dreaming

August 13, 2011

Sitting next to my brandy snifter,
I wonder why I have no silk pajamas.
A cigar would be the exclamation
point in the quintessential image
of western decadence.
Where’s the fireplace?
Or my condo on the beach?
I’ll just have to wish
away my modern problems or
settle for the friends couch
in the Midwest. A cat
snuggles on my knee, drooped
over like a panther napping
on a tree limb after its
kill of dry kibble.

Portrait of a Bath

August 2, 2011

In a cool bathtub in

a cabin on Deer Lake,

I lay submerged, mostly,

with only my knees and face

above my lips over

the surface. Such a place

is unique in that it is

optimal for considering yourself

as you relate to the world.

Every breath buoyances my

body up, letting my lips taste

the air once more, before

the exhale, and I hear my body

working over the the muted

sounds of the stereo.

I reach down to scratch

a bug bite on my back

and my penis breaks

the surface. I realize then

that I had actually forgotten

about it for a time, so surprised

was I to see it.

The lake outside is the natural object

I seem to be trying to replicate,

the tub just a forged installation

piece designed so that

you too can enjoy the

perks of a quiet submersion

in the lake, but without

all the hassles and messy clean up.

The water is warmer than the lake.

There are no bugs. I have

my choice of music as loud

as I’d like. And the possibility

of a fish swimming by mistaking

my forgotten penis for a worm

are virtually nil.

I obviously feel bad for

neglecting my penis, if only

for a few moments.

It won’t be forgotten again.