Cover Off
for D.B.A.
living with people, your blood relatives
how knotted up things get,
how complicated, how complex
so much lived, you are unable to unknot
home is the place where you take your shoes off
where you release your flatulence
where you let loose your shit
let spout your piss
home is where you are- where you get naked
others do too, shit and piss mix
she and I on the phone through all this
through dicks and pussies, hymns and movies
songs she'd sing
through English, broken and fixed
Spanish and French, written and spoken
run into a roadblock, a road sign,
a dirt road, a narrow lane
pussy all these eons and still not paved
puppy, hush puppies,
when you have secrets to hide or to cover up
must take shoes off, socks off
not out to leave footprints in sand
not a walk along the beach, but to walk softly
must make no noise, wake no one
along the corridor a pussy is
if it purrs, "Shhh!" ask it to hush
hush in the house or in the poem
what if birds sing out or about
what must remain enigma, enigmatic
what if dogs barked or rooster crowed,
cococaroocoo, woke up lies, woke up
what was covered up
who was covered up, asleep naked
see or saw what you should not have
who you should not have
what if Jacob killed Esau
what if David sent Uriah
off to the front of battle
to be able to have Bathsheba
oh the rub of who are
or what is too familiar
I, in a house, so many secrets in it
in it, I live alone
with books, with paintings, movies, CDs
with a girl I'm attached to
brings me joy, brings me down
and with a few genuine friends
in and from places around the world
what rushes into and out of
a too quickly beating heart
know that I deserve better
than to be awfully treated
by an 18 year old
arrogant, conceited, impolite
and in addition, so lacking in confidence
what emotional support can she provide
with her own secrets to hide
things to cover up or take the cover off
because boiling over
what is in it, running down the sides
into the fire, turning blue flames red
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:32 a.m. 06.10.10
for D.B.A.
living with people, your blood relatives
how knotted up things get,
how complicated, how complex
so much lived, you are unable to unknot
home is the place where you take your shoes off
where you release your flatulence
where you let loose your shit
let spout your piss
home is where you are- where you get naked
others do too, shit and piss mix
she and I on the phone through all this
through dicks and pussies, hymns and movies
songs she'd sing
through English, broken and fixed
Spanish and French, written and spoken
run into a roadblock, a road sign,
a dirt road, a narrow lane
pussy all these eons and still not paved
puppy, hush puppies,
when you have secrets to hide or to cover up
must take shoes off, socks off
not out to leave footprints in sand
not a walk along the beach, but to walk softly
must make no noise, wake no one
along the corridor a pussy is
if it purrs, "Shhh!" ask it to hush
hush in the house or in the poem
what if birds sing out or about
what must remain enigma, enigmatic
what if dogs barked or rooster crowed,
cococaroocoo, woke up lies, woke up
what was covered up
who was covered up, asleep naked
see or saw what you should not have
who you should not have
what if Jacob killed Esau
what if David sent Uriah
off to the front of battle
to be able to have Bathsheba
oh the rub of who are
or what is too familiar
I, in a house, so many secrets in it
in it, I live alone
with books, with paintings, movies, CDs
with a girl I'm attached to
brings me joy, brings me down
and with a few genuine friends
in and from places around the world
what rushes into and out of
a too quickly beating heart
know that I deserve better
than to be awfully treated
by an 18 year old
arrogant, conceited, impolite
and in addition, so lacking in confidence
what emotional support can she provide
with her own secrets to hide
things to cover up or take the cover off
because boiling over
what is in it, running down the sides
into the fire, turning blue flames red
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:32 a.m. 06.10.10
posted by Obie Quiet at 3:32 PM
3 Comments:
Very nice. It seems that two of my ideas or at least ideas that occur in my poems exist in this poem. But you see what I was saying bout you being invasive- I close my pot so you cant see what I cooking.
This comment has been removed by the author.
What if I closed my pot, Dee, sweetheart, what you gur eat? The least we can do is feed each other - mouth-to-mouth-resuscitate each other. Is it not our mutual new commission to keep each other alive artistically and otherwise? My God, I cannot imagine how I'd have spent these last 14 months without you in them - if we had not met. How rich I is. How you have enriched this life of mine - how you have colored it and flavored it, silly sweetheart.
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