by James Jarvis
02/10/02
I saw a vision of beauty today,
a young Asian sitting with her boyfriend
on the smokers' bench at the entrance to the South Bay mall,
a young woman so imbued with the juice of life
so radiant in her youthful clime of soft petaled lovejoy
that her sunrise smile warmed my cold war bones
and took my breath away
and I yearned to accomplish nothing less
than to put my lips gently on hers
and suck her angelic soul into mine
and live in the reverie of her forev--
Bugs!
What?
Have you seen any bugs? I know we got bugs!
My roommate interrupts my reverie,
my writing table, do not disturb reverie
all the time.
He has no respect for cognitive reverie,
ever.
Why should we have bugs? I ask, foolishly,
my mind gone supine
under the invidious suspicions of my roommate.
We had bugs before, he explains.
Why now? I ask, knowing further reverie is futile.
We had them before, remember?
Yes.
So maybe they're back is all.
I sit at my writing table
my do not disturb me
with the banal mundacities of bugs writing table
knowing that I really don't have
any dogs in this fight
between my fastidious roommate
and his real or imagined insectuous intruders,
wondering not now about
the gift women give men
when they are so beautiful
it inspires men to conquer the world,
no, not contemplating THAT ethereal question any longer,
now, NOW,
sitting at my writing table,
my do not disturb me writing table,
I am wondering
what was wrong with my roommate's mother
that she taught him no respect,
none whatsoever,
for cognitive reveries.
Tags: spoken word, poetry, prose, reverie, no respect, creepy roommate, buggy roommate, clueless roommate, marquisdejolie, cognitive reverie
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