Monkeys, We

We monkeys

Learned to clean our teeth

To use a tool

Pick bugs from feet

In time, sold lattes

For exorbitant loot

Built corporate entities

Leeched common good

Smashed their unions

And tip jars to boot

 

Over oil to ship our delicate scones

Went to war with sticks and stones

Bombs and drones to shield our wealth

Destroyed each other, then ourselves

 

Empty handed

Empty souled

Thought we’d won

Then kingdom come

Refused us in

Voted us out

On butt cans kicked

Us bloody louts

 

So we monkeys conceded to share

We monkeys learned to open hand

And not demand

To give of heart

Be just one part

Of synergistic, mystic whole

That fills the well

From empty bowl

For them and thee

Instead of me

Come full circle

Monkeys we

it's never just yes or no

brown bed clothes

pajamas I cannot

lift

so heavy with

regrets from this

flightless day

never knowing when 

the sun will set

again

it will be blue

a hallowed orgy

of secret engines

karma shawarma

is it true

I am alone

with my karma?

this doesn't bother me so much

but if it is true

that means you are, too

then, what can I do for you

your suffering, not my responsibility

nor the world's fractured agonies

is there any way I can help

is this even my concern?

some will surely ascend, unblemished

what of those who burn?

let's pretend

we're just people

by birth or cosmic joke

and my hand reaches out in space

for yours and you take hold

the way light

the way light

romances the glass

hits her with a slight

matter-of-factness

and me

a room away

getting only a bit

enough to read by

be by

understand

the shapes

in my mind by

that diluted gist of hope

I get by by

(any good gambler knows when to) Let It Ride

 

We are sitting at 2^nd Seder

A temple-sponsored event

He asks which one is the wine glass

And which the water glass

 

I say it is simple

The wine glass is smaller

He asks if the waiters can tell us

I say, of course they can

Wanna bet on it? he asks

Can we bet during Passover?

Sure, it’s not the high holy days

So we each put a dollar on it

 

When the waitress rolls around

He asks her

Could you tell me which one

Is the wine glass?

 

It is exactly as I said

 

His response,

Okay, good job

We’ll let it ride

Til the next bet

a not entirely untrue story

Tonight

I found her Google signature picture

Next to her comment

Under a video

On youtube

 

The War on Drugs

Singing to us about “Holding On”

Acoustic set

Adam Granduciel’s voice, someone comments

Is just like Dylan’s

I think – it is reminiscent

But oh so much grander

Sliding home

On a fine dust of silver

Yearning always for moments

Unreachable

 

She thinks, she writes

These boys are golden

They were there for her

She explains

When others

(Like me, I presume)

Were not

 

And the boys have fashioned

The perfection of regret

Into the perfect expression

A horrific muse

Turned sonic hologram

That stands before me now

Haunting

 

Because I loved her so much

And was afraid to show it

vocations

babies know what to do

at the Mellow Mushroom

rant and scream

mom's know, too

wisk them off to the restroom

firmly, with panoramic care

 

the TV’s know

what tune they play

Sponge Bob and ball games

 

and I am learning

to attend to my own business

yeah, real slowly, I am

 

read my magazine

about the Desert Fathers

waiting for my meatball hoagie

John the Dwarf, Abba Anthony

theirs was an interesting era

did nothing but toil

enjoyed their labor

no eye on the fruit