To begin with
every page is blank
except for Rod
looking cool & alone
searching for his
cat Sunny.
Clouds form
as Rod walks barefoot
on a beach in Califorrnia.
Man of few trite words
& fewer thoughts.
Bard of the Bland
listening to the warm.
Rod waiting patiently
for something, anything
frankly, to put in a song.
Love’s been good to him.
He waits for you to come
& press your body
next to his.
Have you come
to save him,
oh you children of the sun?
He wants you to speak
his name forever.
Lie down on the shore
with Rod & pick
his dandelion.
Rod, silent & free
in the castles of his mind.
Go easy, love
& then
let go.
Everything you say is funny
& beautiful too.
There are spaces
in his book.
Help him to write
his poem.
It does not have to rhyme
or make sense.
“The highway feels empty
& nice.
Sometimes.”
See what I mean?
It’s easy to write
like Rod.
Drift. Smile.
Stay awhile
until he has to go.
Be foolish with him
once again.
Please.
Do all this.
For Rod, eh?
Buy his deep books, love
and listen to the banality
of warm.