Domenic Maltempi as Volley Ball Demon…no..just kidding
Coffin Candy for Fat Lips
By: Domenic Maltempi
7-28-08
5.
I don’t want to kiss it all good bye
Right now
I haven’t had enough time to repeat my best mistakes in places I thought I’ve been spat into unfairly or fairly
My guardian angel agent
A retired softball coach
came by Wednesday to visit me
in my time of crucible strummed spirit-torpor
He was a Constant finger splinted cold tooth smiling Jinx
must have been a recluse in some other life
Most recluses come back
soft ball coaches if that is available when they come back
He was the Mozart of retired softball coaches
A legend at University town Hamburger parking lots
for his moving reticence and sassy gesticulation
6.
Fat pop fly(s) over easily bruised ethereal fields
of bridge memory green
Diamond dirt running lanes
of course
Carving epigrams with the cutest back up short stop into a rotting
but wonderfully shaped bench smeared with multiple generation’s worth of personal slurs and viscous rumors in colorful script by viscous pre-teens in ennui fanged mischief modes
Her blue ponytail leaking out of her well worn Dodger’s cap
My army knife in her grasp
1.
Nowadays most people die of a sort of commonsense
I always wanted to know what that meant
I wanted to pretend to know and look at myself
and know and not be smug about it
but tender or self-effacing or something like that
about knowing
and did she quote herself or who
or Wilde eyed and third inning tranced
My head my mouth
tasting the sound
a second palate
of cracking bats
and angry umpires have exciting sex lives
and angry umpires have exciting secret lives
wear the chest protector in the shower and insult the soap on their face
and call there mistresses out on strikes looking
and look at me when I call you out!
and how that made her very excited
and how his wife was the third base coach
and how no one visited the popcorn shaman after Saturday day games
and how her blue ponytail chased my attention down anywhere like one of those sage like murderer characters in a way too thinly American themed
regeneration through violence of the frontier story
and how the grass stain slides are three minute standing ovations impossible to remove no matter what you do
brushing it wet and dry in a dark place
as a glissando rescues a drooling season ticket holder elsewhere but tied to you
before the orchestra falls out of the hotdog truck
This was all a bench thought daytune jaunt
A bench thought that should not have entered his mind until two weeks later
for these thoughts are given appointments for us
appointments that they bitch about
they don’t want
like old people in podiatry waiting rooms shoving People Magazines down their pants in fits of hemorrhaging boredom
2.
everything through the grassy cleats of ones brain
and wanting that to be true… and wanting that to be a big fat lie
Nowadays most people died of a sort of commonsense bluntly torn from stinking tomes
Coach said:
De-glue a lofty set of stairs to nowhere dead enough to be
7.
Our hands just started holding each other
The pointers criminally curled
Playfully digging into summer soft palms
Misdemeanor pointer fingers
Each finger a sort of crime in a pose
on a tree stapled
That was our game that day and if we forgot it forever after that
Fuck it…it was still a talk that would never be forgotten
that was no less important than the talk about inviting
The Castanadas over for Mind Erasers and Zucchini Sabers
Lashing each other with Hawaiian curse outs
till an apocalyptic night crouched its filthy black sponged legs on the chest of a retarded dying sun
As anemic orange as an indoor Psychedelic Quaker maze designed by a pacifist hypochondriac in a squalid mood
We shared wedding anniversaries with the Castanadas
I’m remembering that now
And I ask for a few more moments to gallop into my idiocies
8.
Tanya loved me
She sold her snowmobile and named her plants after my favorite coronet players
Her father gave up his chair as head anthropologist at Colgate University
Before we were married…..
Charlie settled into an upstairs kitchen
with one circular window
Where he laboriously put his soul into inventing a device
To place over certain entry points
Homes, old inky currency caves, lascivious grottos, 99 Cent stores run by dreamy lovers with no libidos left
mom and pop derivative shops
This device would be able to play a few notes or more (depending on the person) of a music that you might be or that you were at the time
as you walked through some sort of entry point
a piece of a part would be played that might be you…
you are that unseen note
instruction for dynamics squeezed in a grassy margin
scrawled allegro instruction in a burnt out manuscript boat
all of you none of you
belonging to a billowing score of mellifluous vitality and beauty
scrambled into seas that once were possible
I understood the power of the Blue Pony Tail
I understood Charlie’s kitchen and why I always heard the Tijuana Brass sibilant as hell in my left ear
when you’re fugitive grand parents snuck back into
California exuding a grainy Central American pornographic gaiety
Two nights before the wedding was first called off
I asked Charlie Scorcherbog
with his glistening time travel sweat serving as a mirror
I didn’t need to see
If he needed anyone to invest in his idea
I assured him I loved his daughter and would treat her
With the carefulness of an aging Air conditioning unit in a Gobi Desert snack shop tea hang gambler parlor
that I just inherited as my only source of wealth for the foreseeable future
my impecunious woes at the mercy of gambling on a sketched popular tourist attraction cooked up by various shady NGOS catering to crank mystics with a heat bent being lured to the area by a wealthy tin pot dictator with aspirations of being in action movies
this NGO collectives only other idea was a failed attempt to market Lichtenstein as the Meringue capital of Europe
how unusual the airport in Vaduz was decked out that strange sad month stuck between Austria and Switzerland
