For Ricci Lee Jones
Preamble: The blessing of an aching heart is that the music its beat makes conjures Poetry
Ricci!
You make my heart sing!
That down-beat beatnik mad bongo love that makes my feet pump
Makes my stomach sway.
That pretty girl with golden curls is smiling at me!
She likes my looks and digs my poetry!
She’s the apple core of my eyes, the seeds in my pockets,
The eternal sunrise.
She’s the love I’ve never known
But always yearned and ached for
She’s the girl in the window checking her make up
On her way to break up
With me again and again and again
She’s the girl going up that up escalator
Passing me by
While I’m going down, down, down.
All the way, sigh.
Now she’s out of sight
And out of her mind.
I couldn’t love her into loving me
Not with these words
Not with my poetry
Not with my heart spread out on a rusty platter
Pumping my blood to her music
Dancing to that crazy down beat, beatnik
Mad bongo love.
No, I couldn’t love her into loving me
Not with my heart,
Not with my soul
Not with my poetry.
Igor Goldkind, November 26, 2024
At 5 in the morning
What else can I be doing?
igorgoldkind
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