(final draft)
he had an aneurysm
right there on the steps of the museum
a crash landing of sorts
between greek myth and nuclear physics
a sharp pop, like a small calabar gunshot
witnesses were concerned, and then not concerned
some say his heart is made of anti-matter
others say a pearl, all clammed up and cold
some proclaim a fake, an imitation of humanity
hired by some egg-head institution
to pose superior in uncomfortable chairs
ponder a few footsteps
pretend a few heartbeats
just a hollow shell, knock but no one answers
sometimes, magpies perch on his shoulder
whisper in his ear
ancient love songs, boolean brain games
secrets are safe here
only gods and fools and small ugly birds
talk to rocks
as a boy, i would sit on his knee
he would flex his muscles and make a fist
punch himself in the face, so disappointed
he couldn’t dislodge the splinter
(dark thoughts are like miller-moths in a windowsill
kill one, and two more appear)
i used my shirt
to wipe the sweat and doubt from his brow
i was a loyal squire
as a young man, we sang sex pistol songs together
while waiting for the bus
bitched and moaned about elitist asshole literary critics
and public transportation
we shared a sandwich and a migraine
watched lithe and determined young women float by
imagined them naked
imagined them dazzled and bewildered and naked
in the arms of our dangerous poems
i’ve never seen him dance
but i’m sure he knows how
half classic icon, half two-ton paperweight
his molecules too thick to be celebrated
as stars in heroic constellations
his business is here, this earth suits him
he’s not drunk, just socially awkward
and a little homesick
for the paradiso he left behind
somewhere between stonehenge and silicon valley
his name is lorenzo, a pisces and a winter
a governor of renaissance
a generation x slacker
philosopher and an ice cream vender
inventor of wagon wheels
patron saint of farris wheels
an old wounded warrior
veteran of multi-colored revolution
feet worn and his mind is tattooed
and i was there when it happened
the aneurysm, in the middle of our final conversation
i was waiting for his next word when
he just fell over
i couldn’t cry, just smile
knowing he planned it this way
so i propped him back up, favorite pose
and walked away
the magpies will know what to do
***note: artwork "ghosts of lorenzo"
