Saturday, October 09, 2010

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


Anonymous d.a. said...

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.

Saturday, October 09, 2010 5:02:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

Saturday, October 09, 2010 6:16:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

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.

Saturday, October 09, 2010 6:23:00 PM  

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