Okay. I can see now
that it’s not going to happen.
I have a backup plan.
What we need is
a way to pull it off
without me.
Here’s what you do.
First, you must make certain
that I’m not around.
Others may be there.
Just make sure
that I’m not one of them.

An empty chair is a good start, or
an empty space between chairs,
if an empty chair can’t be found.

A glass of water will do,
thanks.
An empty glass would do
even better.

I’m ready when you are.
Oh—about the check:
We can go Dutch.

© 2013 Kaweah

Good and bad are like
Darkness and day,
Night and light,
Some people say.

But hush, shy world,
Let us whisper and conspire:
the sun has flown away.

Will you be my arbiter
between beauty and
truth, nightflower?

A bursting, jubilant wildfire
of crisp color sleeps by day
in her casket of aridgreen
stained leather leaves, while

the world spins
mad in the void
spawning evil and good
by the clock, but

she blossoms
in background
radiation.

He rolls, whispering,
laying his worldshade
on the houses and the rooms.

Her folded fingers shield
her shaded dreams
from the harmful frequencies
that burn the day.

until gentle
eyes of night
peel her thorny blankets back
with desire and darkness
to a defenseless finery
of petals.

© 2013 Kaweah

Doesn’t everybody get at least one party?

Jake got one when they found him with a gun in his bathtub.
It was a big one.
No. I mean the party. The gun was tiny.

Lots of folks showed up.
Family, neighbors, friends.
Some even came down from high places.

They even hired a preacher.
He looked good (Jake, I mean).
You should look so good, brother.
Those guys do magic.

Oh, come on! You’ve got friends!
I’m your friend, man.

Sure, anything you like, bud.
Name the place. I’ll set it all up,
but you have to make the guest list.

Whaddaya mean?
How about this:
Anyone who’s come to see you in the last, say,
five years.

Oh, come now. There must be someone.
What about your neighbors?
The delivery man?
The cable guy?
See. I told you.

Ten years, then.
Come on. You’re pulling my leg.

How about the wife and kids?
Him too? You sure?
Better run that by the kids.

You want a preacher?
Okay, then. How about a band?
Huh! They might be a little busy.
I can try, but how about a plan B, like a cover band?
Whatever you say, man. It’s your party.

Plugged or unplugged?
How about a playlist?
Xanadu—unplugged?
Is that even possible?
Whatever you say, man. It’s your party.

How long you gonna give me?
No. I’m sure that’ll give me plenty of time.
It’ll be the best party you never had.
You have my word on that.
Cross my heart and hope to die.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Academy

For granting me this opportunity to thank

Everyone who made it all possible.

To those who gave me a chance to play this part,

In spite of an early critical consensus,

With which I concurred, that I was miscast.

But the auteur, perhaps seeking irony or shock,

Gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Some have accused him of fishing for Oscars,

In the manner that leading men sometimes

Play freaks of one kind or another,

Only they say he’s merely reversed the recipe, but

Be that as it may, I have little concern about the motives

Of artists and gods; and, yes,

Some have protested that by playing a monster in a man’s role

The auteur lacked all nuance and humanity,

But what did I have to lose?

I’m more than happy to play along,

To play opposite the diva, dressed down

In her denim and dirty hair,

Slumming for a trophy of her own,

To be exalted by her complicity to the part

Or some semblance of a man.