Communication Block

Dear ________,

Z.

(i thought
of you and i thought
of writing you
a letter.     Any letter--
in fact, a garden variety
letter.     So, i chose one,
arbitrarily.

Z.
            No hidden
meaning, no
symbolism.      Just...

Z.)

I thought you'd want to know.

-- TLPatten, 06/2005

Portrait of an Itinerant Lover

1. First Sight

the pub window, stucco'd glass
catchesthestreetlightand
SHATTERS IT
into polychromatic crystaline fragments

stray shot, indigo
glances off a niche
of chiseled cheekbone, short unruly curls
six-day scruff on jagged jaw
perched
with one heel hooked on the bottom rung of the barstool

2. Another Morning After

It's 10 am--
A memory so fixed impermanently in my
mind(grog
gily meandering foremost in scraps)of your love
in its changingest fathom
bequeathed in whimsical
silence
to languish, lulling sleep
to wake, wanting more

3. Blue Ridge Sunset

october crisp feeling
your face lies nestled among redyellow leaves
the brisk wind voice yours and your eyes
gazing kindly my eyes with dusk's purple rays.
it is your musk which settles on me
in the smell of cloves and apple cider.

4. Joyful Communion

I celebrate you(warm tri-
umphant tingling)with ev'ry sin-
ew of my being! blessed spirit i
(rising with both feet to graspthe quest)
Celebrate
you(who are not afraid to fa
l
l
fr
om)
grace-
full striding confident(-ially dis-
crete strong will, asserting nothing
so much in word as in Being) i celebrate
You (touch tender, taste salty, keen sen-
ses of life) as i celebrate
Myself

5. On the Edge

ebonied feet, long undextrous fingers
victorian-tabbed, french-cuffed shirt
tabby red-aqua eyes and liquid
cynic-twist lips
bony broad shoulder, antelope legs
cream-linen skin sharp nose sudden-
pointed chin and BLACK
black wild, black long, black irish curls--
a black fringe of hair, eyebrows, eyelashes
inviting me to touch you again

6. Goodbye

I'm drowning in a blue ocean
made from your eyes and my mood;
if there is a world beyond this gateway
I am unaware.

Is this an end or a beginning? I
cannot read the answer in your
quirky smile,
your ironic nod,
your owlish stare.

I could abide this last goodbye
were you less perfectly framed
by the flight door--
lithe limbs and a too-studied nonchalance
well-suited to the spartan exit.

A literary disembowelment is all I can manage;
Would that I could paint.

-- TLPatten, 1987-2002.

Fantasia in November

"Oh yes, it's a pretty little scene; charming little houses nestled among charming little trees...."

a wabe of grass stretches
beyond on either side
cluttered with talking breathing
books and bodies all
in paperback bindings
a snicker-snack of heels
strike the brick path
past the Colonnade Club
and the chapel bell
strikes two

toddlers and children
galumphing past the diamond-wire
fence, the ballpark, to that
great Jub-Jub bird, a WWI
mechanical wonder
raising Abel too from death
howling, laughing
flying
with their after-school imaginations

a manxsome figure slides
betwixt shadows steel
or glass glimmering in its
hand beneath the shabby streetlight
it's dark now
when the slithy toves gather
in the parking lot of
Cherry's IGA their
sour-mash breath cheap with beer
and the women who accompany them
insults, despair and mischief
whisper through their eyes

Brown's Mountain looms
over Route 53, a drugged
Jabberwock
formidable, quiet
with but a winterish chill
whiffling over its shaved head
a winding racetrack of an impass
snakes up to the slave quarters
where, warmed by an open-hearth fire,
friends gather around Irish coffee
in mugs twice the diameter of my hand

"... Somehow it makes you want to put your fists right through it."

-- TLPatten (1986, rev. 2005) (quoted sections from Maxim Gorky, "The Barbarians")

The Writer's Cigarette

One lonely cigarette burns in your window now,
shutting me out completely.

A brief chapter, begun in offhand action, ended with a cautious word.
No book to follow.

I wanted to ask: Is there anything you need from me, or see in me, or
was I just another human intrusion on your soul --

I sought a friend; you sought a character, and characters are not allowed
to touch real life.

A figment of your emotion's imagination, created in a puff of smoke, disappearing in ash.

And so I pass by your window, wondering if I'll ever recognize myself when I'm published.

-- TLPatten, 1991

Fifth of July

by Lanford Wilson, rewritten from a stage manager's POV

It's midnight;
the typewriter clicks unevenly
as her fingers miss the keys.
Deadlines unmet,
brainwaves flat --
wanting release
wanting sleep.
Bowie in the background but
No time to think--just react
(Acting is reacting - Stanislavsky).
A pillbox is the difference between
duty and desire, the
cartoon frog cover lists....
of props
of deadlines
of tech crew
of deadlines
of shop time
of deadlines
of cast
of deadlines -- two weeks
behind
schedule
meetings -- 11 am to 4 pm
rehearsals -- 7:30 pm to 12 am
SCENE! (K x to stairs, line, x to desk UC)
a dangling trapeze act of Gleicos with
miles of cables
miles of fabric
miles of paperwork
LINE! (Gwen: Most of the branches I own, like, nothing...)
A self-promised hourandahalf to shit shine shower and catch the :08 bus

-- TLPatten, 1987