Under the Influence

October 14th, 2011 § 0 comments

I am under the influence.

I should not drive a car.

I should not handle

sharp objects

or heavy,

dull ones.

 

I am under the influence.

Deeply under it.

Of winter

Fog.

 

I am under the influence of Mark Rothko.

Of the Lone Ranger and Tonto and Sky King and Fess Parker and George Reeves.

Of Mr. Wizard and Mike Mars.

Of invisible ancestors

Of Chagall, Blue Rider and Montparnasse

Of Bob Dylan and Brookyn and dead rebbes

I should not wrestle alligators

Or hippos.

 

I am under the influence of the short-lived perfection of apples.

I should not climb a tree

Or plant one in the electric soil.

 

I am under the influence of blended whiskey.

Of day old bread dipped in six bit wine.

Of caffeine and hot sauce

And Soutine’s meat.

I am under the influence of frightened people.

I should not run with scissors.

I know that.

It would be a bad idea.

 

I am under the influence of a chain of springs.

Of no laughing matter, my friend.

Of hangers and needle points.

Of belt buckles.

I am under the influence of lost causes.

I am under the influence of Ashcan and Cobra.

I should not smile at babies.

I should not sail a boat, handle heavy machinery or talk to prostitutes.

I should avoid rooftops.

I should certainly

avoid

rooftops.

 

Breasts.

I am under the influence of innumerable breasts.

And collar bones.

Of necks stretched like the scraped residue of hash pipes.

Of Miles.

Of cold fusion.

Of bald lies and hidden meanings.

I should not play with matches.

I should not play with strangers or my food or with words.

I should avoid accidents of letters.

I should seize my pen from my claw like a frog catching flies.

Then I should hold my tongue.

For a time.

 

 

From  Spoken War

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