Whoopi Will Always Be Center Square
Right now I am on a plane and there is nothing mundane about it. Cumulus looms, surrounding sky. Surround Sound in a dimming place. Laughter, Twizzlers, moving light. What was then was then, is very important, but not so much that we can’t have now. Gertrude Stein loved tiny words, she caressed the nouns till they came in waves. Outside my plane is a Care Bear house, and nobody cares but me. Rainbows have never bloomed from my abs, but at times I have felt that way. One night I heard your manly voice and imagined your boyish sleeping. That night I slept so happy I felt as though I could vomit stars. Have you ever felt that way? Do you love the life you waken? My best friend Jake knows a lot about culture, at least the kind that counts. Sometimes we talk about Hollywood Squares and ardently swap our childhoods, how you stare at the blacktop flat on your stomach stunned at how it smells. You wonder, how badly have I been hurt? Will somebody come to check? What I’m trying to say is, being this high doesn’t hurt my ears anymore. I have heard the call of ambivalent birds and still fall fast asleep. I have stared at a word like laughter until I know it’s spelled correctly. I have left the curtains open, always, and I have faced the face of the kindest man.