~~ In The Mood For Hollywood ~~

When impossible becomes possible--
and~~I'm in the mood for Hollywood
i buy a bouquet of giant chrysanthemums;
today, i lightly pinked with trace of grace
the tear-stained face of innocence.

a kiss of velvet-petaled lace replaced
the un calm mace; an un healthy place:
disgrace...for desire shackles pyre to fire
but alas...conspired to inspire ~~ creative space.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Liz and I paddled in her aquamarine
pool of need and speed in to the depths
of amaranthine greed where she'd prefer
to lead me to bleed and plead "forgiveness;"
like an academy award of pity for her role
in the screenplay "Butterfield 8" ~~}
it's never~~ever seemingly too late
to ingratiate and re instate the fallen.

in flamed we re claimed those so maimed-games
screaming at those no-neck monsters; famed
un tamed games that breed blame and shame-
-who always re surface
deliberately on purpose to irritate ~~
but this time, we strung them as pearls
on the crown of slightly off-pink wisdom.

we and i and me and us and Liz
sipped at the hairy lip of coconuts
their shredded faces wearing Tiki swells
of yellows and ori gami stained
umbrellas; --  we two, gal-fellas

told our fortunes by watching each drop
listening to each plop of pIna coladas
we swaped trying to lop off, top off
crop off the vignettes of hollow
silhouettes.

sterling silver candlelabra dripped
as we bit our lips and sealed our kiss
with cerulean wax melting ~~

down our throats we swallow
the un digested bits of yesterday;
we wrote and re-wrote
"raisin in the sun"
just for sheer fun
canned laughter and pun ~~

no one noticed how
we gazed at the stars
in each other's "eyes"
the true-blood-lines

of our motherhood.

we performed cosmetic
surgery on brows, lips
neckline, cheeks: facelifts
just by our "eyes" telling

our most horrifying~~hynotizing
Mother Goose Nursery rhymes--
those times when we disassociated
from the body to fly with eagles wings...

we laughed and we cried
we lived~~we died~~we sighed~~and tried
to forget the wrinkles that came
running down with icicle tears

filling up the crevices and cold holes
with topaz-blue sparkles
of mascara chasing our un holy
un natural crease -- 'til, we breathed release.

we made hand tracings and paintings
interlacing our fingers and toe-nails;
abysinnian mysteries from ancient
times -- re membering stacked and

fractured moons splintering ~~ Isis-winters
of un rest... heavily laid upon supple mented
breasts...fallen crests of erato's petals
interfacing each other's frag-mented "I's."

she played me and i played she:
as I played her Cleopatra and she...
played my Mark Antony...i held her asp
she felt my grasp and clasp me

into her arms~~un harmed.

i bought a bouquet
a slightly pink -- giant array
of chrysanthemums today
to honor and nurture

the wounded, forgotten child
of our Mother Goose innocence.










olly~~olly~~oxen~~free!
good golly miss molly
i sure like to bop--bop
hip hop--mop flop--top










STOP...............................I WANT OFF THIS MERRYGOROUND OF SURREAL SOUND! NOW.................................................................................................