Remembered Poem (cont'd)

2

The telephone rings.
Where’s my hat?


3

My hat, I’m on my way.
I’m typing the poem of the future
directly into the computer.
It’s ’92 and I am with you
in spirit if not in
forget it, I’m on my way.
Bed on the floor, later today.


4

My hat, what time is it?
The poem of the future
drives with narcolepsy
because I really want to
I’m on my way. Bring
bring, I’m onto you. Please.


5

Time on the way. My hat
I almost forgot. What I’m
is it? My Own Private
kiss you on the lips and
drink you on the floor—
your father’s at the door.


6

My hat is black and snappy.
I fall asleep in it
until
you grab me I’m awake.
In the bedroom on the floor
I sing you my new song
based on a tune by Faith
No More. “We stroll
to the edge of the world”
and you wrap the sky
blue bandana
around my head. We smoke
each other’s Marlboro
lips.
And then we fall apart.


7

I brought my hat, take off
my hat. You brought
your shirt and tell me that
it’s my Nirvana shirt actually
you bought for me I can
have it back while you put on
the Marlboro shirt
I drove to you I brought to you
on my back. Call me later.


8

The hat on my head is
twelve o’clock but on
your head it’s six
so cute. You hand me
and we have some beer
and you put in My Own
Private Idaho. All of
our yesterdays, “smoke ’em
if you got ’em” (that means
I nodded off).
You grab me awake
and take me to your room
which is really your father’s
because nobody loves us
like we love each other,
the way he asked you if we
lick each other’s assholes
and how I wish you had said
From head to head to toe.


9

The telephone rings.
I grab my hat.
I want to be ready.


10

I am a poet who was writing
a poem. My hat
rings. What time are you?
I didn’t drive an hour and change
to see My Own Private
Idaho. My hat is on the floor
next to the rumpled
Nirvana Sliver
you gave to me and I gave to you.


11

I want to tell the world about
the telephone rings
my Bone Daddy hat is laughing
at my singing while I drive
but you have iron in your eyes
when I sing to you from the bad
on the floor in your father’s room.
You know what I mean.


12

The telephone rings, my hat
I write my words with
or without you. You write better
than me and I refuse
to let you forget it. I sleep
through My Own Private
I don’t know, thanks for the beer,
an hour and change
to get here. My hat is on
your head when you grab me
awake. I kiss you and
it falls to your bed is
on the floor with our T shirts
and our jeans. Shoulders,
assholes, knees, we crawl
Nirvana over each other
to the edge of the No More world.