There’s this movie playing in my head

I never wanted to define you

Just wanted to walk calm beside you

But do I ever do a thing at all?

I never knew how to excite you

Just wanted to be like the fly who

Hung around loving your every move.

I never knew a second chance

As good as that first romance

A third time will only get you killed.

My palms are cold and sweaty now

It makes no difference any how

Like a has been actor thinking what’s the use?

I say it’s maybe

the way God made me

You say it’s crazy

that I’m this damn lazy

I’m addicted maybe

but it’s better this way

After awhile I’ll be all right

I’ll be alright, so.

I think I’ll watch the Super Bowl

Then re-runs of a TV show

Any distraction for two years will do.

I think I’ll start a private club

Then forget and invite everyone

Come one come all come make me feel good.

I never wanted to become

This ordinary silly chum

Up for hours feeling numb and blue.

There’s this movie playing in my head

There’s a plane a girl a detective

Who’s method acting’s got him nowhere new.

You say it’s maybe

the way God made me

And that hey baby

you’re a little lazy

but it’s better this way

this addiction’s crazy

After awhile you’ll be all right

You’ll be alright, so.

The thing that I am trying tell

The thing impossible to sell

A clear cut diamond people get confused.

I never wanted anymore

Than a reason to explore

The imperfections that I found in you.

Like that picture on the cellar door

A sad clown I just couldn’t ignore

His eyes were mine yes they were tried and true.

I wonder if no now I’m bored

I’ll take a couple then some more

Searching my pockets for my next excuse.

I mean anyone will do.

A momentary peace.

Quietly
seated
at rest
with desire
though
still
desirous,
he knows
better
than to
chase
the wind.

No longer
a girl
not yet
a woman
she will
find
her way,
at rest
by the
phases
of
the moon.

Together
they
are bound
by
foolish
pride
in one another,
backstroking
in tune
to the
ever-changing
tide.

And I write this poem.

I hear the voice of a little girl.

Exterminator!  Exterminator!

She’s maybe nine years old.

I answer the door.

She walks in holding a clipboard.

Her father follows.

He’s smiling.

He knows me.

We do this every second Saturday of the month.

“Please sign,” she says authoritatively.

Her father makes his rounds.

“Thank you,” she says.

I hand her a dollar.

She adds it to the clipboard.

Her father exits the kitchen.

“I no use near food…” he says with regard.

They leave.

Exterminator!  Exterminator!

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