The Book I’m Going to Recommend
was on the free book shelf
at the coffee shop by the river
would you order a soda… or just water?
and the maroons and daisies of this day might become softly muted
I recognize the author
from, of all things, the television
would you recognize him as well?
how could this lapse in my rose-colored protocol conquer your smile?
I open the nearly-torn cover and out drops
a photograph of white-shirted man
with skinny tie
and his head resting on the jawbone
of some poor dead jackass
I imagine you’d strike that pose…and
even the chrysanthemums growing on my stony side would wilt in breathlessness
the photo was labeled “Live Faust Die Jung”
you’d see the fun in this
and it would plunge me back into the fragrances of “what if”
and the back was signed,
“Sorry for the lateness in getting this CD to you.
Things have been a bit twisted.”
“What CD was it?” you would wonder, as if on cue,
and I take the violet-shaded way around this time
A page was marked with a ticket to the
Grand Prix of Monterey
for June 7, 2002.
how often would we really look at the world in cellophane hues?
and would you have had time to read this before the race started?
I’ve stopped halfway through the book
ending each chapter with what I’d imagine you’d rant
if I could only tell you
and you’d look at me with that flash of hush
and I don’t
because you already know
13 Jan 2006