And a friendly reminder, as of April 2017, my first collection – BONE INK – is available here. This is one of the poems that didn’t make it into the collection.
Searching for Linda Perhacs
It’s 1970, my flares are – no joke –
supernatural in their expanse. I’m looking for a dentist
in the addled end of Haight.
All I can find are tie-dyed shawls
and dreamcatchers. No, I don’t want beaded moccasins.
Where’s the basement tea house?
Where is Linda Perhacs? I want to hear her sing about shapes,
the pointy corners of quadrilaterals
listen as the parallelograms lose their edge
to the onset of mushrooms and musical curves.
Our perpetual summer is dwindling, I’m waking
with bison blankets draped on my shoulders.
We’ve been searching for wood in Golden Gate Park,
burning crates. That chemmy fear is hiding
behind my back teeth, scratching at the enamel,
a monster in my throat. I need a dentist
to clear my head.
Where is Linda? I’m ready for the regretful
sing-song tut-tut as she draws back my cheek
I want her guitar hardened fingertips
in my mouth, her calluses on my tongue.
Another too strange to publish oddity. Check out Linda Perhec’s Parallelograms for a few hints.
Image from Charles Cushman