by LJ Frank
I’m not sure when the change within began
perhaps it was during my youth
the first book that ever impressed
was it Ecclesiastes or Song of Solomon?
after Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath
or the Old Man and the Sea
and then my Expectations were not so Great,
except for a few unrated foreign films
I snuck in the theater on a Saturday afternoon
for a viewing
with my moustache in place
the director’s cut of a Luis Buñuel’ film,
and later visited the downtown bookstore
witness to Henry Miller’s Tropical books
seductive prospects of a loss
the misplaced virginity of my mind
never the serpentine towards poetic rhyme.
So whatever happened to
the Shrew’s Taming?
or EE Cummings let alone the Road Not Taken
and Catch 22 was already public
Heller’s mind revealed;
endless impassioned pleas
love even as a social construct,
enamored with an illusion
when an inner voice murmured wait
passion wounded, hurt and dying misplaced
loathing eats away at the soul
becoming friends passé
a soup spilling over the rim
a bitter taste
the spices of narcissism, arrogance and greed
leaving much unsavory relish on the plate
a desert grows amid the garden
the spirit of truth remains a spirit.
Reincarnation to return in a different form
or resurrection of a mist
just step up to the curtain and pull it back
a doubt scrawled next to a symbol
X marks the spot
an acupunctured vision.
The untimely passing of intimates
a reminder of what I am
to embrace, feel, touch and be humble
self-awareness hauntingly remains.