troysherdahl

he thought he was wrong before

but he was mistaken…

and because he didn’t know

he did.

she floats my boat

she’s the sun in my shine

she speaks, I listen

because she is wise, compassionate and direct

I’m a better listener because of her

I can be a better listener— because of her

she laughs, she glows

I don’t make her laugh enough and

I want to make her laugh— more

because when she laughs

the world is a better place and

my world has more light

by the way, she’ll say she’s funnier than I am

she probably is

she has a great delivery

like Joan Rivers

only she isn’t Jewish but

her delivery is Jewish comedienne and

it cracks me up

she has a smile that a blind man can see, well

a smile that a blind man can feel

when I see it, when I feel it

I know I’ll be okay

of course, she is kind and

her kindness makes me stumble

I aspire to be kind like her

don’t get me wrong she can be tough

she’s had tough times and

has done her inner work and

that makes me proud of her—

she is the air that I breathe and

I can’t live without her

that may sound corny, like an old song but

she’s the air in my balloon

making me rise

with her I soar and

the sky’s the limit

like a flight of doves

released from an altar

possibilities endless

Maurice is a poet

he tells me

with glazed glassy eyes

traveling the world

carrying his old typewriter (yes, I said, typewriter)

his ratty book of poems

(which he tries to sell me)

and a few salty photographs on cards

(which he tries to sell me)

at the beach of San Francisco

the beach of San Francisco, Mexico

San Pancho— for short

Maurice wears a bowler hat and a

crooked handlebar moustache

in a faded tank top he sports

sunburned tattoos

multilingual and very global

dude has brownies with

a little something in them

(which he tries to sell me)

at the Golden Gate Bridge

the little Golden Gate Bridge over

the creek of San Francisco

the creek of San Francisco, Mexico

San Pancho— for short

Maurice is selling soft

the sun is setting hard

glassy eyes are blinking

I’ll give him a buck here

someone a few pesos over there

to get him back on the bus

or the next boat

out of here

out of San Francisco

out of San Francisco, Mexico

San Pancho— for short

spring raced in with an embrace

and a hot kiss near cold puddles

on a Jasper Avenue corner

soaked by yellow cab

gasping shocked

laughing at dirty white sneakers

breathing in the warm moist

holding hands

hungry

I like simple words

less words

less is more

Hemingway would say

less words have

more meaning

more feeling

and short sweet phrases

are the ones we remember

like            I love you Natalie

a starburst’s the view

from a black hole

as Mama gives birth to

another little planet

 

(give her a mic)

I’m in a rocket to my star

(dumb)

I need this!

this is my last chance!

I have to make it—

(she’s eighteen)

 

they all want to be on stage

they want to be on TV

they all want to feel

the heat of the spotlight

and their star

(dumb)

 

sign up the next idol

sign up this seasons voice

sign up the next Erica

doesn’t have talent

 

Warhol rolls over

in his grave

’cause they’re all on the stage

and, you know what?

there’s no audience left

no one’s clapping in the dark

the audience went down

that black hole

as Mama gives birth to

another little planet

 

 

one scary shadow

of an itty bitty thing

the light cast just so

made it look

menacing—

like the titles of a film noir

the shadow needed a dark street or a wall

 

one scary shadow

nearly scared me to death

until I saw the thing

that made me lose my breath

itty bitty seemed

so frightening, quite real

until I saw the thing

that made me feel

like my heart was in my throat

 

one scary shadow

mixed light with the dark

a wall and a gaze

I looked down, tried to be brave—

and watched itty bitty scurry away

so it didn’t get

stepped on

I liked Bill before

the breakdown better

well, Bill can’t go back

to that Bill, ever

his therapy didn’t cure

him

but it didn’t kill him

either—

his family did

give a dog a

bone or

give two dogs two

bones

doesn’t matter

one dog wants what

the other one has

 

bone dog is

bone hog

the bone monopolizer—

the bully stick

dominator

the words and ghost coyote are following us—

it’s cold, kind of breezy

I’m uneasy

Jack looks over his shoulder

constantly

feeling my energy

hearing the phrases

feeling my negativity

smelling ghost coyote—

the words are mean and frightening

ghost coyote is hungry

I pretend not to focus but

high anxiety

is not just an old movie

the words and ghost coyote are following us

our steps are spent

being paranoid

Tiggy doesn’t care

he’s in the moment

his intent is scratch and sniff

is all nose

pulling us forward

the words and ghost coyote are behind us

I pretend not to hear them, see it— and

pull Jack along

shaking off the veil

good boy, I hear

myself say