pulls down his pants
in public places
like laundromats and at open mic
poetry readings
it is a never ending performance piece
still in progress that he calls, "Voyerism"
i like mr. orange a lot
he is honest, intelligent and clairvoyant
but he has a problem dealing with the present
Mr. orange reeks of patchouli oil and sweat
he told me how he once saved a cat from being killed
by a bird, that he had tricked the bird into eating catnip
while the cat flew away
Mr. orange and i have known each other for quite some time now
we once sat in his tiny livingroom apartment
above the old man's bar where he tried to convince me
into practicing chakra and chanting the word 'oyah'
repeatedly, this he said would be good for my soul
from his new deck of tarot cards i picked the court jester
drunk on red wine while floating top an empty champagne
glass and just like the insipid court jester, I too could live
a very carefree life but first i must rid myself of all the
negative people who call themselves friends
music from the jukebox below creeps into the wooden cracks
of the floor, the singer's name escapes my memory
perturbed by my lack of concentration, Mr. orange has decided
that it is time for me to leave and he retires to his makeshift
bed of nails
i envy Mr. orange's esoteric behavior
although we make plans to meet again tomorrow
on the corner at division and wolcott or on the park
bench near the dope dealers
i'll surprise him with the name of the obscure soul singer
while he burns incense to keep away the many bad spirits

-- Marvin Tate

 

Snow globe by Marvin Tate