The Dream Master’s Answer
frivolously (ba-da-Bing)
but if i do,
then be sure i will (ba-da-Boom)
gravely.
Along Nepalese mountains paved with mist
and god-holes being pottered on by men
my friend, The Boy, is wandering alone.
He sends me e-mails.
I rarely reply.
His powers of description are limited
to the names of Australians he’s met.
I send him pretend e-maps
from George W. Bush
where India has been substituted for the words
“There Be Dragons...”
and all the while i’m singing
la-la lee-lee li-lo
wondering if he’s wandering
with or without meaning
or for it.
In his head the Zen Master glances up
as I ask the vicarious question,
bound for la-la land, but he does stand up
(a queue of frivolese
is murmuring behind me,
nudging each others’ meanings out of reach
and all are pushing to hear):
The Dream Master takes his cheek in my hand,
softly draws a breath, smiles into my eyes,
then leans in close to whisper
(ba-da-Boom).
Billboard Folksong
I wanted to be a mountain goat
and tread the rubbles
and lap at tarns
and raze my horns
on points of rock
and walk and walk and walk
(in London the streets aren't full of folk
they're full of others, strangers, smoke
I wanted to be a mountain goat)
and you're always aware
always aware
that no one's watching you over there
the BT billboard smiles and says
it's Bringing People Together
and it's nice
that someone is trying
somewhere
I don't live in a wartorn place
I don't feel for a wartorn race
mainly because mine has been doing the tearing
I just feel guilty
the black lamb's awful sad and scared
trying to be good
trying good
mountain air is changing
