Poetry: The Prayer

I have loved me

some men, Lord:

me always in

command

as God

intended —

The redheads and

the blonds,

where are they now,

I wonder —

wretched without me,

I assume.

So, who is this twit

with a mind of

his own?

Does he know I

can’t live

without him?

Will you tell him,

Lord

in a dream,

as a dazzling insight?

Will you whisper

he mustn’t hurt

me.

That he, please, please

mustn’t hurt me.


(c) Rob Goldstein August 1991-October 2019

Portrait of Rob Goldstein, based on a photograph by Nina Glaser
(c) Rob Goldstein 2019

 

 

 

#Poetry: Gestures

Crazy Mothers, crazy fathers, everyone saving each other,
hysterical calls to cousins who call uncles who call brothers;
from San Francisco to Michigan, everyone knows you’re not
doing well.

I don’t know what Michigan looks like.

I imagine a perfect square.

There are thousands of squares in Michigan called
lawns.

There is a lake: its waters flow from corner to corner.

(c) Rob Goldstein November 08, 1984 All Rights Reserved (Revised 08/26/2019)

To my friends in Michigan. I’ve have seen Michigan. It’s beautiful.

A Flight of Ideas: Little Reagan

I was under powerful witchcraft and hoped I was possessed.

I thought of little Reagan; the tricks he did with the crucifix.

He was light in the head and rose by circumstance.

Were I novelist, I’d have written a story, but instead I spun
and spewed garlic.

Judy asked if I was trying to vomit and I snarled, “No! I need a
fucking exorcist!”

Judy said what I really needed was a time out until I learned
to behave.

I’m starting to think Judy doesn’t love me.

The staff carried me off before I could levitate.

Rob Goldstein (c) 2017 All Rights Reserved

Note: Seclusion is a
nursing intervention defined as the solitary containment of an agitated patient in a fully protective environment.

Strange Dream #09

I roam the slums of a jungle;

It is hot and I am always thirsty.

I drink from the

fountain marked

Colored;

It’s magic quenches

my thirst.

At 3 AM savage

sophisticates

jabber and howl.

“Who do you love most,” asks God.

“Jayne Mansfield,” says Max.

“And why is that?” God is so cleverly all-knowing.

“She’s dead.” Max replies.

 

***

(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2017 All Rights Reserved

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