by George Samson

Luncheon Duets or Solipsistic Soliloquies

To adumbrate the real, search for the opposite of what is said to be.
Or become dishonest, get in line to believe the latest fashion
Where the search is always for the flattering sub-text.
Find out if Susanna at her bath was a soprano, or a countertenor.
Historical accounts often confuse gender.
Go to the country of the Lakes, try to find the real Blake who lived in London.
Or look for a spotted snake that lives in grasses.
I finally said what I had to say to her
Who accompanied me at this luncheon.
Now that I said it, I wish I had not.
I donít think this young girl is sensitive enough
Either to understand or misunderstand my unhappiness.

Luncheon Duets or Solipsistic Soliloquies

As we engaged in the usual meaningless chatter of two people
Of two people who are having lunch together,
I gazed at her deep brown eyes, dark eyelashes,
Knew being with her made me truly alone.
Only the truly alone can have visions.
I saw an amber eye rolling alone down a hill
On a path partially covered with melting snow.
The eyeball was very cold, wished it had a face to live in.
The eyeball wanted to cry,
But knew it must have a body to cry.

Luncheon Duets or Solipsistic Soliloquies

I speculate how she, my luncheon partner, will appear in my hindsight.
Will she be herself or someone else? Will she be present with me,
Or will I be alone as I am now with her sitting across the table.
I watch her shake Parmesan cheese onto white clams in linguine.
Will I recall that some of the cheese fell onto my knife
Or recall that some of the cheese fell onto my life.

Luncheon Duets or Solipsistic Soliloquies

Our most intimate conversations are long distant conversations.
Our words like scarecrows are scarepeople, or snowpeople.
We are loquacious, we are verbose, we are prolix
In talking to avoid love.
If I could touch her breasts, I might find a universe
Upon which I could truly discourse.

Luncheon Duets or Solipsistic Soliloquies

I surmise with common sense evidence, not philosophic,
Iím not you, and youíre not me. Marriage is supposed to make two, one
With the help of three, but we are not married, although your indifference
Makes me feel we are. Also, we must be married because we
Are not having sex. I wanted to be your lover and lost.
I guess Iím your husband, wondering about divorce.


©1999 George Samson

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