robert dickerson Poems

</></>Another day. Having fed the bird, made the bed
And picked up last night's mess of socks and
Smallclothes, there is nothing left to do but trot
To the kitchen and get along with coffee.
...

</>And what else? Baby aspirin, recommended for adults,
And D, often insufficiently dosed in these temperate
Climes, with it's co-dependent mineral, calcium, building
Strong bones, like Wonder Bread? Oh, those wild years!
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Love is not sex. Only sex is sex.
Nor sex love
Love is a thing of the heart.
Sex is a thing of the loins.
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</>In the papers Need read there was to be a big parade
but you had to wear a costume
and so Need
went to Duane-Reed
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Between the wing-beats of a dove
through the quivery moiree of noon
on a block I still thrill to walk down,
I saw you, park, remembered again your fimbriate,
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'That's just common sense', they say.
'Well, if its so common,
why don't we see more of it about?
Better to say
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Mayflies and damselflies we are.
Our lives a summer, part or all.
Our job to flit from flower to flower.
Our duty just to die at evenfall.
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Him: 'The turquoise waters of Ningaloo
will seduce you'.

Her: 'But, I don't want to be seduced'.
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I never played Yankee Stadium
or the Palladium
but I'm a rock star.
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Iron for ballast
my heart wants to sing
it will never take wing
or forget the sea
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