Map of the World
for G.M.L.

i.
silly love song
silly in love

or have I lost faith
in where, in love leads

down that road
a time or two

love knocking at my door
I knocking
on the door of love to be let in

want to try again, maybe this time
it would turn out right
rather than how a sore turns out

what if this time, as with Voltaire,
as in Candide

old man covered in sores,
desiring a hug, gets a hug,
transforms into an angel

transports you to heaven
to happiness unimagined

want to trust love once more
go through its door
if she allows, if she lets me

even if it is the end of a life
beginning of another
ready for transformation

like no one I’ve ever encountered
on this planet or on any other

into toilets I come to write of her
where inspiration comes

she turns toilets into temples
in them I worship, thank God

need to become a new creature
deserving of her, one she deserved

need to be, as well as to have
what is most precious to give her

God knows she deserves
the stars in heaven
in a crown on her head

she is queen of the world

is this world good enough
will it whirl us into a couple
what will it whirl out of us

before we’re dust, before we’re ashes

I need to dispatch a dozen roses
why have we, I wonder,
ten fingers, ten toes

together we’d have twenty of each
and how many more
when we’re joined by children

happy and pretty as she is

ii.
idea of our having been
whirled together
in this world which spins together
which spins apart

what has the potter in mind
to make

already made elements
to make another mixture

world without end
never stops spinning
what does he intend
to make of us, to make us into

already made, always his desire
to make us anew

us in his blender
what punch for the world
what potent sip

what place to sit, to lie, to slip
egg in my milk shake

seeing her always
leaves me inebriated

like brandy in drinks
mom used to make daddy
when his back was weak

how many weeks have I known her
how weak I am for how lovely she is

how beautiful she is

iii.
when is your birthday
she asked, for some reason

how sore my butt is, how it hurts
to sit upon certain spots

must find new positions
not warn, not bruised

at my computer sitting
day after day
all through the night
night after night

I get a lot done
in addition, this sitting
doing what I do
writing what I write
is undoing me

my backside sore, my neck stiff

for some odd reason
this need to share what’s delicate
tell her my hip hurts

intimacy to enter, to invite her into
allow our two lives kisses

what if she and I fitted
like a hat fits, like shoes fit,
like gloves fit

what if I were able to afford
to love

able to afford this pretty,
infinitely priceless lady

who thinks I’m somebody

iv.
quality person or not at all

I mussie too picky
I’ve been so selective
for so many years
all my life actually

why I’m not married

need who would be ideal
to complete me
to add to the mixture that I am

avoiding all these years
the wrong ingredients
in my omelet, in my soup

cinnamon, nutmeg
in my corn meal, oat meal

no desire to intake, to eat
who or what would hurt my stomach
once I swallowed

how very sensitive my belly is
my nose is

don’t want to have to throw up
or sneeze

bringing things up too long

having to avoid things
and people of this world

who would do would have
to have come from heaven
would have to have arrived on wings

will we eventually
have rings to exchange
vows to exchange

v.
in the toilet with you again
us two in the toilet where I reign

I should have had kingdoms
to share with you
for you to be queen of

but already you are queen
of all you smile on, smile over
of wherever you walk
holy ground beneath your feet

wish I had cloaks enough
to cover wherever you walked

Elizabeth and Walter Raleigh
have both long passed away

there’s nothing more precious
than air we breathe

how did we come to be alive
in the same hour, same city,
same century

centuries pass, are spent
when I see you, when you see me

when you and eye meet

vi.
what she stirs in me
like nothing I’ve known before

like no one I’ve known before
seen before

like someone from dreams
day dreams, wet dreams

someone I knew in other lives
here in the flesh
unable to believe my eyes

must pinch myself
to be good, to be true

where from here
apart or together
or into each other

change ourselves
along with the universe

what have I found

is this the ground or heaven
am I awake or dreaming

I make her as nervous
as she makes me

though she has declared
that I frighten her
not even a little bit

vii.
seeing her, what joy

what ability she has
to make my day

is it she who will end up
owning my Dali lithograph

copyright to all I’ve written
poems of her, love poems
of other women

my bones in a grave
to her attached as well eventually

what of the man/of the men
in her life, after I’m gone
after I’ve passed away

hope one of them is a son,
our own

I’ll have to make a will
what to leave to whom

if only I could live
and be happy, oh God
until I’m 88 at least

could how deeply I’m thrilled
by her in my life,
inspire me to live a long time

rather than give up the ghost
when death raps

first knock and I collapse
with a heart attack

or because of her in my life
tell death to go away, to call back
when happiness evaporates

with her about, it never will

I want to die
with a smile on my face
with joy in me heart

with her in the room
to kiss me good night
to close my eyes

I’d order her not to cry
she will anyway


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 5:55 p.m.
and 10:05 p.m. on Friday,
May I, 2009