A Montage of
Leaves and Bloody Hearts
by Reinhard A. Palovcik
© 1997 Reinhard A. Palovcik & FREDInk
Edited
by Tom Miller
Idle
Dreams
what starts as nothing
becomes love
for a short
time
then returns
to nothing
I fade in and out
with passing
days
sometimes happy
to see the sun set
sad to see it
rise
staring at cracks
in my wall
wondering
about the
space
between us
only physical
yet there are rules
I could not
fly
into the sun
though I have tried
and sat through idle
dreams
of what can and cannot be
what is
and is
not
mine
longing to possess
if only for a moment
a shadow of
the life
you told me to get
In That
Room
I've always looked
for that room
the one with
a
light blue ceiling
large windows
looking out
on a Japanese
garden
a thin but generous
matress on the floor
solid wood
polished
to a deep blond warmth
flesh to my fingers
smooth and
sexual
in the garden
a light breeze
rustle branches
for a
naked night
inside
the air
is held in stasis
as two engines of
life
entwined
in mortal embrace
generate
a molecular fusion
in
long strands of DNA
like worms
wriggling in the mud
one cleaves
off
and journeys
the long path
from egg
to man
climbing
up
to join us
in that room
Happy With the
Thought
after drinking
several beers
at the bar
and
admiring
the women
passing by
he said to me
"I haven't
had any
in a month"
"any what?"
I said.
"you know"
he
said
"I haven't
gotten fucked
in over a month"
said
it
just like
he was having
a steak dinner
or sushi
or
brushing
his teeth
"what about love?"
i asked
"sex is a
physical need"
he replied
"a guy will go
crazy if he
can't get
laid
regularly"
and at that
he jumped up
and started
dancing
with the blonde
already writhing
to the beat
while
I
sat there
with my beer
thinking
"how long
has it been
for
me?"
at least ten years
but I
wasn't crazy
except for
being
crazy in love
having dreamed
about one woman
for the
past
two years
whom I never
slept with
and before
that
another
whom I never
slept with
dreamed about her
for five
years
letters
phone calls
and before that
a dry spell
for
three years
actually happy
most of the time
with the thought
that
I wouldn't
stick my dick
into
just
anything
Ugly Me
ugly
me
has no right
to exist
fat nose
baggy
eyes
balding
a pretentious poet
a clown god
of
dogs
constantly thinking
of getting laid
by young
and
beautiful
women
who do I
think I
am?
Nonlinear
each day
brings
another new hell
what few inches
are gained today
I
lose
the very next morning
soon there will be
no room
to
breathe
but a voice
in my head
goads me on
citing
how
improbably bad
things already are
and can only get better
but
that is
the gambler's fallacy
no matter how
good or bad
my
luck
will henceforth
have only
an equal chance
of being the
same
my luck
already disproves
such odds
a distribution
so
heavily skewed
in the positive
all values bunched
below the
mean
nonmathematical
no sense
in taking
an average
my
life is nonlinear
failure guaranteed
because that
is all I
expect
My Father
he had once
been young
handsome
energetic
a genius of the sun
master
of the moon
had strength
speed
guile
courage
and
endurance
but probably didn't know
what he was doing
when he
conceived me
just having a good time
taking his
pleasure
bastard son
writing these lines
as I stare
at him
now
sitting
quietly
on his porch
picking dead
leaves
from his geraniums
as if it
mattered
Poetry
a
hundred
thousand
poets
each
with notebook
and pen
jot
down
every
word
in the English
language
tumble them
with
others
rearrange
edit
and revise
over
and over
and
over
spend
six months
on the same
four lines
and they
still suck
strain for ideas
something meaningful
ripped
from
the space
around them
a montage
of leaves
and bloody
hearts
something
that will
peel paint
from their
walls
make a bird
in mid-flight
drop from the sky
bring
tears
to the eys
of a granite statue
something
like the
second
coming of Christ
or maybe the first
writer crucified
to
his page
something
that will make
their readers gasp
or at
least
something
that will sell
or get them
laid
Duped
I had been
in love
with her
for over a year
written her
countless poems
some of my
best
she liked them
she liked me
but there
was
something
about my age
in fifteen years
I would still
be
twice as old
so she went
with the younger guys
even
though
they couldn't write
they used her
for sex
the
esteem
of having
a beautiful woman
by their side
and they
would
leave her
then she met
this guy
who fed
her
philosophy
astrology
and other bullshit
and
she
young
innocent
gullible
fell for it
and I didn't
see
her
for several weeks
I wondered
what had happened
then
she was
there again
wanting to talk
she had sent
her boyfriend
off
somewhere
she started talking
about children
and how
at
18
she suddenly
wanted one
of her own
and how
two
people
could forge ahead
with a common
metaphysics
and
psychology
and I saw
she had swallowed
the bull
and was now
going
to marry this guy
going to have
his children
and
wanted
to tell me
but
couldn't
Bummed
You
light
your last
cigarette
and
stare
into the empty
coffee cup
ast he minutes
pass
too quickly
now
approaching that time
when they
will drag
too
slowly
through hours
of no cash
no coffee
no
cigarettes
until you bum
the next batch
of quarters
and
it's like this
day after day
with no future
or past
and the
only
other thing you do
day after day
is wait
in the soup
line
hoping
for some easy death
that will snatch
you,
quickly
away
Hoping
I keep
hoping that, maybe
if I stick around long
enough, she'll go
through
this guy and that guy and
several more, wear them
out like a
woodsman's ax
chopping cedar and mahogany
in a virgin forest and then
tire
of the splinters and sawdust
and maybe then she'll look my
way
and see what she hadn't seen before
my eyes filled with longing
stares
lips quivering, unable to speak
hands filled with an empty
caress
heart filled with forlorn hope
mind out of time and
space
wanting to die, but needing a
reason
Decision
once I had made the
decision
everything became simple
I no longer had
to launder my
clothes
or wash the dishes
bills could go unpaid
the lawn
unmowed
I could run my credit cards
up to the limit
and never
have to worry
about paying it back
and each remaining day
the sun
would rise
with brilliant yellow
and set in sinful red
jobless
and unconcerned
alcohol and drugs ruled
through short days
and long
nights
and when the day came
to raise the barrel
to my head
I
realized
what I had known all along
the world would be
a better
place
without me
Middle of the
Night
It's the middle of the night
and I'm lying in
bed
awake
eyes wide open
thinking
my worship of you
has
finally come to an end
blood red
of a setting sun
has turned
black
but you are still here
snoring and farting
in your
sleep
your fat ass
crowding me
off my side
of the
bed
Leave
Leave me empty
and I
will find nothing
to stop the impulse
that drives me
to sorrow
and
madness
and the bullet
Notes:
* Idle Dreams - During live
readings Ron performed of the poem, Idle Dreams, he would occasionally change
the concluding lines.
He would sometimes say, "... longing to
possess
if only for a
moment
the
shadow of a
life
she told me to get."
* Leave - Ron's favorite
poem which I wrote was called, Cocoon. It reads as follows:
i
am a
cocoon
fly from me
fresh from change
your new wings
open to the
wind
leave me
empty
Ron's poem, Leave, is a response to my poem, Cocoon. I will miss you always, my
friend.
-- Tom Miller