Gold Hatted Lovers*

I wore the gold hat

And couldn’t move

But sat there trying

Like a fool

And speaking,

Since the others spoke:

“Lovers! Gold—hatted, high-bouncing lovers!

I must have you!”

They wore the gold hats

And bounced high too

Perfectly nimble

And able to move

So I bought the dresses

The sequins

The shoes

But couldn’t move.

I tore the gold hat

From my empty head

From my pointless being

And waited, instead

For a voice to fill me

That has not yet come

And may never come

But firmly, I said:

“Lovers!

Gold-hatted, high-bouncing lovers!

I don’t want you!”

* Inspired by, 'This Side of Paradise', F. Scott Fitzgerald:

'Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her,
If you can bounce high, then bounce for her too,
Till she cry “Lover! Gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,
I must have you!”'

I’ll wear the gold hat, I’ll bounce high too,
I’ll do anything, love, if it’s for you,
I’ll steal you a sack of satin stars,
I must have you!

Will you see me glorious, exciting, divine?
Picturesque as postcards, will you be mine?
And so we shall love forever and a day,
Amongst my gains.

Amongst my gains, amongst your pains,
Shackled in richest, dooming chains,
But the tides of attentive affection are waning,
My love, from me.

I’ll wear the gold hat, I’ll bounce high too,
I’ll sing your praises until I’m blue,
Till you cry “Lover! Dim-witted, fast-falling lover,
I can’t have you!” 

How hard is it,

Really?

To hush our words

Our calculations

Speculations

God damned valuable

Opinions

For just a moment

Just one little

Moment.

Me?

 I wanted to hear

Our giant sphere

Groan as it turns

Day now, night here

Overtaking Mars

Venus runs ahead

Glinting red in the distance.

I want to hear

The trees

Take long, rustling breaths

Swaying back

Swinging forth.

I want to listen

To the magma

At the core of the earth.

I am astounded

That our words

Could have silenced

Such a force.

Hush, little heart
I know you can't look
At the rivers anymore
But you must.
And you must
Tell yourself
That there is beauty
In this never-ending pain
Picturesque as literary postcards.