i was in venice again
on a week-to-week basis
considering you
you were on my T.V.
during commercial announcements
considering me
(what we did
what we did)
"yes, there was nothing sexual, although my tender memories of your questions, your many interesting questions, and just because we were fooding and blending our underwear with each countertop, the disciplinary sweat from your brow. you bet, i selected you first thing in the morning, originally a wasted dottle, but heh-heh-heh, still self-controlled. i was pleased."
i got a call
and it wasn't important for talking
considering you
you never mentioned
if you would've met me alone
and considering me
four cubic inches
was all that he counted
with each of his credible hands
hand me a wrench, mr. gottlieb says
and he changed them
from inches to feet
(what we did
what we did)
"yes, there i became a crabby applicant, just in time for who? why, fred––and he's the one with the confidence. he's the one who wants to play shows called gigs...in front of two or three hundred social saps with hidden gums and fingers that sniff instead. fred instead. goddamn hell, that stage is lit and open and dry as a quailbone, and the club has set up a dozen amplifiers with rolling stands. and shall i plug in any old electric guitar and motion with my hands for everyone to stop playing, for pete's sake, and give me a chance to reverse the polarity so the folks in the chairs up front will depart for clearer circumstance. fred just can't pick up the correct tempo, as his set of gleaming gigdrums (as he calls them) are cracking and laughing. yes, and during every one of nearly sixty rehearsels the questions were few and far between. so i ask: what have we done? i can't picture it. all those nine/eight time signatures... no no no, just put 9/8... they'll understand. proceeding... the drum courses have been pre-empted. i can't picture it."
©1974 r.stevie moore
as appears on
apologies to mr. gottlieb