because.. I was set out into the world to live with scarecrow women with satirical appetites toward
domination: man substitute as child to be
guided.
or
I met great bodies of women
who felt that betrayal was their side-card
just for kicks
and
suck on that or find another
body.
or
I met women with minds
and along with this came a rather kind of
kindness
but their friends were just like they:
they talked away their nights upon world-
betterment
but somehow all their love seemed outside of
them
and they appeared dull white and
clinging to needed formula
and they became quite pissed-upset by anybody
who might say something
improper
unholy
maybe interesting
or even maybe
dull.
this was not
allowed.
so
knowing this
I always arranged myself to say something
not only dumb
but something very
dumb
like: "you mean, blacks shit too?"

something of that manner always
worked, and speaking of specifics
I knew more about blacks than any of
them
for I had fought and positioned with them
for the worst jobs in that city
or
more specifically: many
cities.

I always had problems with white
intellectual bitches in
high-tone executive positions
and the parties at their places
and even though they knew I was going to fuck-
up
they chanced it because they believed that all
I needed was proper training
a chance to be guided by their light.

I do believe what bothered me most
was the absolute comfort of their station—
morally and
financially: they were absurdly soft and self-
contented
and so at the parties
just to rattle their agraffe
I would spew out a statement over my drink
there among their great comrades of the
heart
something like
say?:
Adolph Hitler was often a person I thought of
before entering a night's
sleep.
(I had others
but if you really want to get a show-
stopper
especially with those
guiding the entertainment industry
just mention
Adolph:

it was always the same: they always pitied my
lady, turned again toward their own
conversations...)

and in the morning
I'd always hear it
again:

"Frank, you did it again... You know you're not like that... people want to like you... I know you, you're not weak, you're kind..."

that: death before death.
time to go.....

back at my place, phone off the hook, with a silent beer or two, the feeling of feeling
so good to be alone with the poverty of
myself, I still felt a sadness for those
for they only meant it in the only way that
they knew, and especially L. (out of all of those) she seemed the most sincere of the lost.

and
it was decades later
I was at a minor function
at the behest of a person I owed one
to
when, lo, there was one of L's
old main cohorts.
I remembered him too well:
he had chattered out an endless energy
of nonsense.
he was one of those just about at the
far edge of talent.
mad for fame, he gabbled on and on
being everywhere he could—
sick, ah, sick—
as if his very presence could somehow
bolster his bogus
productivity.

he came over, of course,
talking.
I listened for some time, stopped
him:

"you ever heard anything about
L.?"

"yeah, you know, she's been on the
librium, forever, you know, and her
shrink advised her to get
off... now, she's in a
madhouse..."

so, that was
over. I walked off, he followed
me:

"listen, I want to interview you upon the
complexities of the Vietnam war in relationship to our government and our times and our
sensibilities."

"no," I answered.

"can I quote your refusal?" he
asked.

"sure," I said and walked my way toward a mass of almost equally dull
people.

© Frank Silvanski