By Paul Yamada

		Prelude

It’s not just the lake and the park
it’s not about residence, no
or physical dwelling, abode

perturbations and back spasms
will follow you like perfume on
the tongue, shirt cuffs and pant legs

if there is nowhere to write here
is there somewhere, anywhere else?

Where the light does break and you wake
reviled by mediocrity
refreshed and ready for breakfast tea?

‘sur lat tete’, or ‘in animam’
isn’t this really all the same?

relax
enjoy the pain
your’re not in it
for any fame
--Easy, Action!—

		Intro

The coffees dripped
exchanges quipped
cigarettes sucked
the muses serve
our tongues obey

loud angry tenor sax comes blaring out
conjoins the smoke rings, helping us to sing

the conversation
the convocation

		Logs, Logos, Mono

“I won’t be mute
like the scads of kids
I sat with in class
who talked through 
the Renoir film and ‘didn’t get it’.

like they were gonna.

Goethe says there’s light—
does it seep through the pain
and Irish shots, and loud angry jazz?

I won’t wear a yellow sash
--more light, more light—
or is that the projector going off?

It’s not just: your feelings, your poem, your life
in gestures you can comprehend
	Gimmie a T
	Gimmie an E
	Gimmie an X
	Gimmie a T
	What’s that spell? F you!
	What’s that spell? F you!

I’m proud of my ability to say ‘No’.
but it usually comes after I’ve said ‘Yes’.
and spent too much time in a state
of acquiesce.

And now, why do I want to stay
when I used to know I had to go?
why do I walk away?

for two hour rear end parking?
estranged from the certainty
of unshared relations
previously called a lover?

Why do I want expression?
when mockery has been so easy?”

		The Female Chorus, Dressed In White

	The greatest singers
	Come at you from three places
	The head
	The Heart
	The crotch

		More Mono, Less Dolby

“No one’s inner life should
end up a parable
even the N.T.
says if I know not 
love what have I gained.
It cannot go on 
my head cannot lead
when my heart and crotch
no longer fulfill;
cold, numb from neglect.”

					Radio On

If I could get my mouth
To convince my head
To believe in every word it said
I wouldn’t be so glum
I could glow for awhile

“I have jumpedback the path I crossed
I want no substitute for love
I need to wish upon a star
I need a life both smooth and rough.

How much must I remake and remodel?
How to reregister the impulsive?
I know what I want and I’m afraid.
Can I want for myself and want you, too?
When I look at you I can barely see
Light surrounds, encapsulates you to me.”

					Radio On

                                  Your toy balloon
                                  Has sailed in the sky, love
                                  But now it must fall to the ground
                                  Now your sad eyes must reveal
                                  Just how badly you feel		
				                                      ‘cause
                                  There is no easy way down

		Ode To Joy

Things must be cancelled now
relatives
will ask, “what?” and, “how?”
April will be the cruelest month
and you must change, and you must move

anger and confusion
will frequent your life
like meat on the grill
and jug wine

keep moving, keep moving

your heart is not Donner’s pass
don’t inspect the remains
of that relationship
until you are free to love

and you both must know love
even if it tears you apart

which may be a gentle prospect
compared to the emotional
explosion and implosion that
May follow months, like perfume

seemingly hidden, but not so
causing severe reaction
with no attendant afterglow
causing pain, and fear and dismay

exchange is the only way out
it will not be simple—trust this—
but it may not be too complex
heart to heart, 
fluid,
hit and miss
all feelings will bruise, everything will ache
the head will remember, the heart will take

say no to Troilus’ and Cressida’s excess
and the crotch will sit this one out, capiche?

		The Female Chorus Has Donned Pink Chiffon

		--an American Graffiti moment—
		And turned the

					Radio On 

                                        Talk to me
                                        Talk to me
                                        Hold me close
                                        Whisper low

		Let’s Talk About Love

Whether it comes at you
from Al Green or Socrates
“love” is a dangerous word
very, extremely dangerous

Like “all”. or “always”, or “never”,
“love” has meanings, properties
which explode, inopportunely
making shrapnel of its meanings

making its parsings
particulate matter

Add “forever”,
And it becomes
An Aristotelian bad dream

“I’ll never love you”
“I’ll always love you”
“I’ll love you forever”
“I love you”
“Love me”
“All of me”
“Love”
		The Universal Fails To Save The Day

So just do it,
let your heart
conflate
the mind and crotch

explore those reasons
the heart has
that the mind does not
know, know, know

wrap your heart and mind
around Pascal’s ideas
explore the day, the flesh
perilous but beautiful

						‘cause
					love, love will tear you apart, again

					Radio Off

About the Author
Independent scholar and cultural critic Paul Yamada has spent thirty years in different areas of the music business, in the midwest and the east. A founding editor of the pioneering rock zine Terminal Zone (1976-78), Paul has written on blues, rock, soul, jazz, and avant-garde music. In addition, Yamada has written on cinema, art, and theater for a wide variety of local and national publications in Chicago, New York, St. Louis, and Washington DC. He has consulted for National Public Radio, the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian Institution, as well as the Washington DC Performing Arts Society and Chicago area theater groups. His current projects include a Chicago project, Wholesome, (WholesomeZine and WholesomeRadio) which will include music revues, essays, visual arts and streamed radio shows.