Wanda!

I love to watch women older than me
worship
And revel in the beauty
of years younger
Exclaim at the difference

I wonder whether they
worship the old as I do
putting blind faith into the
human spirit

The unreasonable love for artistic passion,
that spews forth from their veins,
vocal cords exploding with pleasure
Because they know no other sound than
the sound of their right voice

Mine is malleable as of yet
Prying in its truthfulness
Supplicating and soft in wonder
And deepening in affected wisdom

-----------------------------------------

Wanda!

You've inspired the gall in me
to write this
and yet I'm sheepish in
your presence

I rehearse
the words
trying to control the situation
in an attempt to make it perfect

They come out before you
Beseeching as ever before
I am uninhibited
as of yet -
emboldened
to a certain extent

Concreteness is a virtue

But I come down on high
trying to meet and connect
I am boastful in a
way
Saccharine in earnest-
ness, in an attempt to
be loved by you

I am better with the
bass-player man
The one who slaps
family across his chest
I like him better because
he smiles warmly

Yet I yearn for your
embrace
The acceptance in your
face
The would-be enabling of
my reverie
and grounds for your respect.

Pay Attention

Baby, you got to read it
is what they say
Then, maybe,
you'll understand
better.
Don't assume that any fool
can pretend her or his way
through the veil
of a hefty dose of righteousness
and a smidge of cynicism, to boot.
You were never good at pretending.
Simply dress-up. Not even
make-up, really.
Your vintage face,
some say,
was made for sucking
up.
But the way you talk
tells me it's high time
for you to read a book.
Your idle loquaciousness
is getting drafty.
And your dream reverie
is caught between
remorse and disbelief, probably.
Well, you can choose not to
believe,
but the last time I checked,
ghosts were made to
haunt ya.
And if they can't convince you
well then,
they can try,
or
the facts will
the stories
the anecdotes
the news
and the pain, really.