Meeting Allen

Fell in love with the man
Only met him once
Fell in love with his words
His life
His words were his life
Were his actions
His words
Were his life.
His friends, his travels, his moods
fears, deaths, births
fucks, tears, inadequacies, extraordinary
intellect, humor, passion, naiveté
words were his life were his journeys were his loves
Fell in love with the man
I only met once
After he sang off-key
pinched nose moan
read, bespectacled
his words to me. His life set to dance
faux operatic
rounds of rhythm and subtle movement
like his life never was
not subtle for one sweet moment
voice floating on years
up to our moist ears
balconied seats where lovers once
fondled each other
now filled by hipster intellectuals and yearning
boys
and beautiful wanna-beats
word whores, honesty junkies
Buddhist princes
From there, I saw not his rumpled suit or whitened walls
his black pool palsied eye hidden by reflected spotlight
his crooked tie nor dingy loafers
I saw his words rise like the breath of Lazurus
cloudy clarity, smoky sunlight sunflower vortex howling automobile screech
cantor’s voice of reassuring questioning
speculative surety
fearless terror.

Accompanied
by famous
idiosyncratic serial composer
misunderstood
farcical
joke compositions
like words
jokes
no punch line but candor
honesty the set-up
repetition the mantra
living the spiel.

Met over huge buffet, eye high
swirling piles of color
shaped shiny like fruits and wax veggies
bread and mountainous fish
cheeses, candles, garnishes green and purple
“Nice spread,” I said after circling.
His gaze never lifting from squishy hill
before him
plucking, prodding, choosing, rejecting
inspecting closely through smeared lenses
“That is usually my line,” he replied
poking at a kiwi with a crooked finger.