Ambiguous Impressions (circa 1998 or 99)

I have known the vanity of sex
without the presence of love
And the vanity of narcissistic rapture
And the vanity of recognizing one's own
mirror reflection
And the vanity of pierced eyebrows
And the vanity of hedonistic nihilism
Souls resonating with cries of monetary gain
and accessories
And I ask: do we embrace rectitude with reverence
and vigor
Or turn a cold shoulder
perhaps superseding with new moral fiber
and spiritual paragon,
worn pendulous for the world to see as proclamation
I have known the vanity of my own
seriousness
I have known the vanity of intellect as well as
ignorance
And rarely am I able to differentiate the two
as that of the subliminal and oblivious
And we are the vain in the presence
of the innocent world we smear cold
with surreptitious resentment
And refuse to negotiate

A mother lactates, rocking gently in her swing,
on a crippled porch
Her newly born gropes greedily
for her inflamed nipple exposed
from the security of her cotton
chemise
Bright eyed and bush tailed,
finding solace in breast
warm with flowing blood
and swollen with milk
He is nourished with vanity,
before his first step-
His first uttered word-
He learns of the importance of desire
of the need to quench thirst
and fill the void of hunger
and by all means
do scratch that itch tickling
your bruised knee
Mother,
chilled by moaning zephyr
and abruptly disturbed out of tranquility
by the dancing soliloquy of the
nearing sunrise
moves to robe her nakedness-
pulling herself from his tender/ yearning
lips soiled
that perk intensely to wail and chastise
Restive,
he tries to kick out of his mother's cuddling arms
Undaunted,
he remains the object of her affection
Years later,
mother spends a blissful night dancing
along a peaceful rivulet,
under a casual moon and starless sky
leaving her son, now eleven, home
to frolic amongst bounteous bouquet of
flowers
At a drifting dawn, watching a kaleidoscopic sky
she skips home,
encouraged by her copy of
Baldwin's Go Tell It On A Mountain
to find her child, raging with hunger
Realizing the error of her excursion
mother begs for her son's forgiveness
Soliciting him with her own penitents -
After strangling his mother
and hiding her butchered body
in the bounteous flowerbed at the entrance
of their home
He sits at the kitchen table
reading Baldwin
contemplating a life as a preacher
as did John

There is the vanity of a great hatred
And the vanity of a greater love
And the vanity of a solicitor slyly comforting
my ear
And the vanity of a dreamers deferred dream
of a cabaret life,
singing mournfully of perdition
And the vanity in the man greatly hung
And the vanity in the eyes of the woman
with chiseled lips, ample breast and divine hips,
the misogynist linger,
blowing kisses, commenting on the serenity
that may be found from
the pleasures of their condemned dicks
The votary knock earnestly
and I rest from churning butter, pretending to listen
and they speak of the robust and the meek with
confounding conviction
And the vanity found in seminaries
And the vanity of God
who thinks he may watch as my life spirals
from the stars
There lies vanity in the crevices of every man's heart
There is the vanity when I brandish what is cherished
convinced I'm the prodigal son
And when we desecrate the consecrated
And the vanity of the dying
believing in eternal peace and jubilee
There is vanity in father and son;
father, oh do leave me
The vanity of marmalade streets and raspberry fences;
don't you dare rankle me
you're not so innocent
There is the vanity of dreams of
the ascension of a martyred icon
discovered in suicide
And the vanity of silence when
love has failed
And the vanity of epithets misconstruing me
on high sail

There is the vanity of Alexander
perhaps believing in the docility of an
unconquererd soul
And the vanity of Beauregard
pleding confederate, finding triumphant
rejoice in the death of countrymen,
clinging to patriotism, dying for the cause of
economics
And the vanity of Morrison
synopsizing our crisis with the dissemination
of her liberated words
"We were not free, merely licensed..."
revealing sorrow and no hope
And there is the vanity of the minion
looking for the vain to save the urchin
And the vanity of hendrix
criticizing another's castle made of sand
when I weep, feeble for his own
vanishing from my hands, remanded
back to the sea
Perched high in the sky
an ivory seagull of impeccable beauty
preaches of true criterion, blasting precarious living
with searching eyes, looking
for answers to questions
some rhetorical, others complex
he reminds me of blasphemy

And there is the vanity of my baby girl
who urges me, whispering resilience
singing of relevancy
and I wipe away methodic tears strewn
shrieking obliquely
hoping to alleviate her contorted
facial expressions
lightly kissing slightly parted lips
breathing into her lungs my own obstinacy
Why do you marvel when I choose to cling to my only possession?
She replies, 'you have my love.'
And I smirk slyly, concealing grimace
at this desperate confession
In my heart I know I'm sworn to me
and could never desire
constancy
Braking what's intimate, I eye the tears
tracing the floor tile
dancing insidiously from out of the commissary




© BeauAllen