Can't Get You Out Of My Head

Jake's been trying to get a song out of his head for an hour now. He woke up with it singing in his ears. It was worse in the shower. It seemed to echo forever off the tile walls. He decides to go down to the village cafe with his notebook and try to loose it there. He puts on his cleanest pair of Levi's and a black turtleneck shirt. Then he stomps into his loafers, and heads out the door of his fourth floor apartment.

He hits the elevator just in time, as Sue, the redheaded girl in 4J, is getting on to go to work. "Hi Jake," says Sue.

"Hey Sue, how's it going this morning?"

"Pretty good. How 'bout you?"

"I can't get this blasted song out of my head. I woke up with it, and it's driving me nuts!"

"What always works for me," says Sue, "is to just sing it out loud. Then it's not in your head anymore. It's out in the world, free of your brain. Sometimes, I have to sing it twice; but it does work. Although, you have to commit to the song first. You have to sing it strong; mumbling it doesn't work."

The elevator arrives on the first floor, and they both step out into the small lobby exiting through the front doors. "Thanks for that. I may have to try it; although, I'm not sure if I can commit to singing it out loud just yet," Jake says; as he turns the opposite direction of where Sue is heading.

"Bye Jake, have a good day." Her words fade gently into street noise as Jake walks down the street toward the cafe.

On his way, he spots the newsstand. Ah, the newsstand. A newspaper will do the trick, he thinks. "Hello Fillipe, How's things? I'll take a Times."

"Morning Mr. Jake. Times for you, one dollar."

Jake hands him a dollar. "Ever get a song stuck in your head Fillipe?"

"Oh yeah, many times. Sometimes it lasts all day. That's OK, I have nothing better to do sometimes. Today, in fact, I've got 'Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy...' Some damn yuppie girl driving by in her BMW blasting the damn thing, and now I'm stuck with it."

"Curse those tasteless Yuppies," Jake says with a smile as he turns to walk away. "Better songs tomorrow Fillipe!"

"Good day, Mr. Jake."

Jake reaches the cafe, and gets in line behind a couple Frenchmen. They are having a conversation in French. They immediately seem pretentious, but Jake is trying not to stereotype them. They order two espressos, typical, he thinks. As they are paying for their espressos, Jake overhears one of them begin to sing, "Voulez vous couchez avec moi;" softly so as to not be too heard. His partner chuckles and mutters something in French as they leave to go outside.

"Double Latte Grande," Jake orders at the counter trying to shake the last tune from his short-term memory. Damn, the other one is still there, and it's managing to push other songs out of its way, Jake thinks.

Jake pays for his coffee and sets up camp at one of his favorite tables near the window. It's a great spot for people watching, and letting the world rush by as you read or write. As Jake relaxes into his chair, he spots a woman across the cafe. She is reading a book, looks like Crow by Ted Hughes. Hmm... good book. Crazy thing, him and Sylvia. Poor Sylvia, he thinks; sort of a Van Gogh for the twentieth century. Uhgh! That blasted song!

Jake tries to focus on the front page of his newspaper, peering up time to time to take a sip and stare down the street. Once in a while, he checks to see what that woman is doing, if she is still there. On one of his peeks, their eyes meet. He smiles the warmest smile he can muster. She returns the smile, and keeps it there for extended moments. He doesn't flinch either. They are locked in this intense smiling contest that seems to stretch for several minutes. Finally, she gestures to come sit with him. He nods and points to the chair next to him facing the window.
She gathers her things and walks over. "Hi, I'm Jean," she says introducing herself.

"I'm Jake, nice to meet you. Reading Hughes I see - have a seat."

"Yes, thank you," she says sitting down. "I've been on this Hughes/Plath kick recently. Makes you wonder if she was Van Gogh in another lifetime?"

"Her and Ted had this intense darkness about them," says Jake. "Yet, they had a soft beauty they seemed to share from time to time."

"Ah, so you know about them, great," says Jean. "Yeah, I would've loved to be a fly on the wall at their house. So interesting and tragic..." Jean pauses for a moment then says, "If my husband left me, I still don't think I'd kill myself."

"I believe that suicide is never the answer," says Jake. "there's always tomorrow. Although, if I don't get this blasted song out of my head soon I may just blow my head off."

Jean laughs and says, "Oh I hate that too! What you've got to do is just sing it out loud and it will go away."

"That's what someone else told me! It really works, huh?"

"Sure does. Go ahead and give it a try, nobody will mind in here," says Jean.

"I can't believe I'm going to do this," confesses Jake as he clears his throat; "alright, here goes... Farmer In The Dell - A Farmer In The Dell - Hi - Ho The Dairy - O A Farmer In The Dell!"

Jean laughs, "Oh my, that's worse than what I've got in my head. I was cruising over here today in my new BMW and the radio starts blarring John Denver's Sunshine On My Shoulder's; now it's swimming endlessly around in my brain."

In The Garden Of Eden

It stops
in front of me
smooth
silky
and unscented

eyes
widen to discover
me

it might leap
loose
from fear

heartbeats
fill moments
sand spills
to lower chamber

hours pass
in twitching lashes

cotton dampens in corners
careless thumbs
fold into fingers

fists dangle
locked and loaded

caution creeps
to eyebrows
two hemispheres
clasped in vision

there is time to change our minds

Where You Really Want To Be

It was yesterday I
was siting by this creek, the

water was gliding over mossy stones and
brown fallen branches from elm trees;
it flowed so rhythmically
like a lullaby
coaxing me to lay my head down
for a minute or an hour;
I had no where to go.

The sun was shaded so right
as to provide enough comfort to
relax my worries and rest my eyes.

My arm fell to a soft gathering of leaves.
My head collapsed into the underside of
my elbow. I gazed horizontally at the
creek water presumably on it's
way to the gulf of Mexico, then

it disappeared into pink flesh as
I tried to ignore spots of sunlight licking
my eyelids from the restless leaves bowing
to the breeze. The creek water turbulence grew
louder to a soothing audible caress.

There I was staring
you in the face, holding
your hand, feeling you again;
as if you had never died.

Idiosyncratic (circa 1994)

You weep openly
yet hide your face when you laugh

You smile while we fight
serious when we make love

You cry when you're happy
giggle when it's not funny
You brush your teeth before dinner
eat cereal for dessert
You bask in the rain
and tan in the shade

You pretend to ignore the obvious
take note of the sublime
watch TV while reading the paper
have socks that don't match but shoes that do

There's black streaks in your blonde hair
Green eyes under your blue contacts
a dolphin tattoo on the small of your back
you will never see
and when you stand in the moonlight
you leave me breathless

You're neither coming nor going
you leave ten minutes early
arrive 5 minutes late
you carry cash but constantly write checks
spend hours shopping never buying a thing
I'm your best friend
your worst enemy
you love me like no other
tell me I'm your soul mate

but promise to never date me.

Something Hushed

The skin evokes an eerie dread,
nothing of trees has been unknown
beyond the lake the gate is swung,

now torn from sanity realeased,
a crimson stream begins to rise
then flows away in frozen earth

along a trench now dug with blood
then mingles, grasping hands of roots
shaking the tree, foundation's core;

the heart of Lions choose to roar,
then break apart and fly away
from gravity unleashed throughout.

Ode To G

It flew through the air
effortless
on a cloud in
the bloom of spring it
flew, without current from
a western wind, nor hindered
from the darkening horizon
beyond the fence, it flew
toward the target on a rope
sent from heaven, golden
and perfect, the torque of
the spin warped it egg
shape over the green
trimmed level and clean, it
flew with the grace of
an eagle soaring over the canyon
in an amber sunset, it flew with
the determination of a
world class sprinter ready to
break the red tape with its
chest puffed proudly and nipples
ready to make the sharp cut, it
flew over the green in pursuit of a dream
once thought impossible, now
at the end of its rainbow, it arcs
toward the zone on the
paraffin of oxygen, once breathed
by the giants of times past, by
the braves native to this soil, it flew
as if it had only one
life to give for its country, with
hand above heart, and a tear of
sincerity, it flew to the
fang of a diamond, it flew
home, on the range
where the heart is green
green grass of where
the hat is hung, it flew toward a
man named Jack, and Jack he looked,
he saw it coming, he waited as it flew
toward him, and when it arrived
Jack hit the ball.



With great Honor to Master G.