Eric on Akhenaten
You are only going to get the truth from a woman
They have no social stair to climb
Is truth blinded by beauty?
Is God veiled by truth? Or Gods?
I’d ask my theorist, she’s not a liar
But my physician, his daily affirmations are truths only a man can tell
This chore of moving from person to person
Story to story is tedious and unnecessary
Go to her source first – then, I tell you
Work your story backward from there
This is a waste of my time
Why should I listen to the backward ranting of would-be kings and thrown away lovers?
Whose God is it anyway?
It is not my question to ask, is it?
As my own pharaoh
I say who rules my faith
Back to the woman:
She sees her truth, her God
Through eyes of love, eyes of beauty
The man sees only a throne –
The throne of power
The God of power
The light of God – or gods, is it –
Given to those who believe or are powerful
Truth, love, God, power
Beauty –
Back to the woman:
I see her as a pillar of strength, silent beauty to be worshipped
I can’t waste time on worshipping
I look at an effeminate king
What now is beautiful – a man with frail and feminine features
Back to the woman:
Hold your head up but bow to a man –
Listen to her word.Eric on Don’t Call it Night
Our confrontations
Pass me on the library steps
Or sit
Next to me on a luncheonette stool
Your scent, in waves, desert dunes
Can we begin again
I will, I do
Emotions contained
Boarded up old building
The edge of the desert
Or the furthest western reach of a city street
Keep us
From our end

Eric on Gatsby
Excess in necessary since you can’t take it with you
Shimmying through the grand doors of the mansion during a summer gala
Her careless hair and short dress convey whimsy
This is forward thinking for a woman but a waste of time
You’re still a fool – a beautiful fool
A castle full of bootleggers and gamblers – now that’s business
Bring your bankers and wealthy out east for polo and parties
Did they call themselves flappers or did that come after?
Fringe flapping and heels tapping the Charleston
Excessive entrances and exits
“Do you know who that is?”
Wide shifty eyes looking down long noses
Excessive nostalgia
His elaborate plan failed
Years wasted, money gained – to die

Eric on Mark Doty
It’s too old; this place reeks of history, too much to remember to give us a sense of where we are.
Creaky chairs but fluorescent bulbs burn for talking, writing, touching –
One another through words and stanzas.
Wine and words forming to create theory
To listen to words but mean something else.
Meanings which seem simple but hidden in verses
Read so eloquently by a man.
The man annunciates, accents syllables, smoothly says sentences.
Dashes and periods break our thoughts.
We sip wine.
The flies, no, gnats bother my cheek.
It’s old again here
We are not in the now; we’re wearing hats and blazers.
We are part of a club
Where are the grapes and cheese?
I expect a different feel but the glass holds something else.
Bring me down to your superior air
Educate my senses and initiate me.
I’ll nod and smile and agree because it suits the moment
Do I belong?
I belong because I paid
I belong because I know too how the words make me feel
A school of nodding heads and moving mouths
Give me something to attach myself to
I can not and move my mouth
Fill my glass
Fill my ears and mind
I wander briefly from time to time
The mind never rests on one thing, he said
Haircut, clothes, looks – the outermost layer is sometimes what consumes my innermost
Satisfy my brain, my head by filling it with what I think I want to or am supposed to look like.
This will make me something
The way I look will make me - me
I want to fit in the box which says what?
Back to now, then.
The progression begins to end
Climax at words then move to ideas
Smile, chat, not really sharing what I have inside but trying to say the feelings I am.
Words form foreign but conjure thoughts which are clear
Relate, smile – eye contact, wit
Think of things which you should communicate as ease and self
Accomplish something
Start it and let it go until it has to be done
A start but far from finished
Time marks when the mind needs to get down on paper – then exude from the mouth and make sense for all to see.

Eric on Red Azalea
You are red and I am white
Your white mourning Mao paper flowers
My red blood dripping
Red, blistered feet
Whiting shining limousine
Red blushing face
White starched collar
You left me on a Chinese movie set
Where did you go? How?
Rewind the reels – white light
Blaring against white blank screen
Your communism confused
Your father knew what to do
Look up look out Space Conquerer
And keep your woman’s mouth shut
Look ahead
Think science not servant
“Get out of the way, you can’t hold me back” she cried
“You will hear my voice” came from her red lips
I put up the sound and bulletproof tinted window
She’s gone

Eric on Satanic Verses
Alienated by a movie star
The glow of his halo like headlights through a fog
Why must I have these horns?
What have I done to deserve this?
What is reality?
I flapped my wings – those of an angel
Bust still the nubs penetrate
“Saved,” or so I thought
Penetration – through layers of clouds
Through wreckage
I’m violently thrust through
Salmon says, “transit lounge”
Not hell, no
But I am alone
Like many times before
I have clung to ideas, images
What I have clung to helped me sail safely down
Not hell, no
Hell is horns protruding
I wear them
Are these my wounds from The Fall?
Horns versus halo
I display my Rolex proudly
The horns…not so
Not so easily hid
Perhaps by my sleeve
If tailored just so
Would cover the right amount
A hint of luxury on my wrist
But written all over my face
My mysterious stalker - me