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The house is thankfully empty
except for the intrusion
of stealthy you and me
who don't live here anymore
being jobless and aimless
we are just visiting and searching
a window to shimmy through
a cushion to scuttle loose change
75 cents apiece is more than enough
for RC's and potato chips
and we check the mail
there is one parcel only
and we can tell it's an LP
so why not open it
and why not play it too
as we collapse like fainting starlets
onto yellow beanbag chairs
and listen with knowing nods
that we know nothing at all
but think we feel everything
though when we stumble daily
pratfall and Freudian slipping
our backsides are padded
with shoplifted paperbacks
and hijacked ideologies
and histories yet to be made
we smile snidely at this darkness
we pretend to possess
the mommy-less babes
the loveless beds
slices of razor and lime
and we muse aristocratically
how great to be thin
and unemployed
with a different hole
to crawl into every night
cruising the small town length
of slumbering Tweedy Strasse
drunks behind every dying tree
nymphs in the natatorium
paddling dogs and stroking butterflies
we are a party everywhere we go
Michael Moeller lives in Los Angeles. He has worked in the nether regions of the music industry since 1978. These are his first published poems.
From mellotronic landing
to Gibson ascendancy
Peter in petals and fur
tiptoe on tom-toms
flaunt your flute
pun-drunk and spooky Kabuki
and there is me
centrally located and
egocentrically fixated
between dangling speakers
bossed noisily around
by the big bad Bose
I am annoying everyone
within earshot and slingshot
flap-jacking platter
from one side to two
from two side to one
under shocking blue ceiling
under Sabbath black sky
roommates quivering
in their chosen corners
and neighbors finger-plug
their dead socket ears
and everyone everywhere
wishes I'd play something else
anything else —
like Aerosmith for instance
ISSUE:
W I N T E R
2011
THIS
WEEK'S
LETTER
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