it’s the way she stands
one leg bent, weight shifted right
the foot raised slightly
that knowing smile on the lips
bemused eyes, beautiful heart
other writing
simple
it is so simple
yet not as simple as all that
for love is forgetting
all that happened before
letting new flowers grow
in what’s left of a heart
worn and fearful
of the light of day
and expecting nothing
in return
on phones and alcohol: for Steve
they do not mix
ever
but especially at midnight
just as the light goes out on the Empire State Building
and your worn old heart
second thoughts: Frank D at 33
the voices keep calling you
tormenting what passes for your soul
you know you must be leaving
but hang onto the day
days that run dawn to dusk
in a place you don’t belong
you try to kill that restless feeling
with responsibilities
obligations
with boundaries that bind
these things were tried before
this life you’ve lived before
and though you hear your name spoken
it is not the name you answer to
and there are voices on the wind
impossible to resist
this time there just isn’t much to hold you
and the names
the names you carry
send sorrow through the air
and the weight
the weight fills your lungs
and your mind
your perfect weapon
yearns to go down to the sea
and purify itself
how it works
just remember
it works like this
if they don’t get you first
they get you second
the glasses: for Frank
are gone
you discover that in the morning
on your way to the subway
when the street looks hazier than usual
you remember a street sign
First Avenue
and think
they’re somewhere on First Avenue
you feel slightly woozy
like you did in the shower
when you realized you were still drunk
you know your ex-wife would say
see why I married someone boring
and yeah, you think
yeah I see
and somehow, some way
the day will end
and you’ll go home
to sleep like the baby
you never were
empty rooms of the heart: for Frank
the wind blows through rooms
it chills whoever sits there
shadows on the walls
frozen in time forever
like my heart now that you’re gone
on self-centered young men
impress the young girls
raised on romantic movies
self-centered young men
bloated on their own egos
in borrowed fashion statements
they can talk the talk
in caressing vocal tones
intellect barren
originality lost
words as empty as they are
Women: for JB
women
you say to the shot glass
have never been my forte
and the sadness settles in again
another shot
another wasted phone call
another long look at the printed page
life goes on
and you go with it
writing and reading and watching the young
and thinking
I must hold out longer
just a little longer
close your eyes
take a drink
then another
listen to the clouds drift by
fall asleep on the couch
and wake with the wind in your face
sometime near morning
fool: for Frank
you sit in rooms
listening to people talking about
the bible/aquariums/carving coconuts
and struggle to keep your eyes open
you keep seeing her car instead
parked in someone else’s driveway
at night, all night, till morning
see the pictures in your head
of what transpires in the dark
fool, you say
missing what was never yours
fool, fool
fool
Leonard Durso 