Seven Selves

He has Seven Selves.
He is a yearning candelabra man
And his mirrors have all gone haywire.
He scratches one Self
And all Seven Selves wrestle
Out on the heath.
They're called: Lear's all-stars.

But O where is the meadow
The meadow of hyacinths,
One fence over,
Like the royal navy of heart and feeling,
Sitting and swaying
To the best offer
Any wind can offer:
Fawning wind waves?
Where?

And O why is she cancelling again?
The depak-lotus and her beak of Seven Apertures?
How can her simple fingers on the phone
Make even the scratching electrons obey?
And say such things?
As well the old record she said she liked
That he plays Seven times through
As decapitated scraps of ideas
Spring from the wind's lips,
Lips that kissed for him,
Whispering his words:
"O bring the One of
the Seven of me
going away
as One"
A One that shines by itself,
But how?

     I am a software exec. and I do secret internet foo. I live near Boston, Massachusetts and spend a lot of time in San Francisco.
     I began writing poetry a few years ago in a brave but ultimately feckless attempt to stave off a canonical entrapment breakdown.
     I sometimes write with a pseudonym: Yorick_Nixon. I also write music and play musical instruments. I was a member of Boston noise band Inner Beauty and San Francisco improv combo Senator Buchanon. With the members of Inner Beauty I co-authored a pre-web internet published dystopic novel entitled "Skunk Angst".
     Any spare time I have I read Shakespeare or listen to Bach. Bach seems to be the one thing all nerds agree on. I've lost touch with my culture. Though my friend Janet has turned me onto Cat Power. My only firmly held cultural belief is that Chan Marshall of Cat Power is kind of a babe.

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