June 2, 2016

Arthur Gottlieb

BETRAYED

i trusted luck
the soft touch
the salesman’s
clap on the back
glad hands of strangers

sight unseen i
blindly bought
hard luck stories
with hard cash

been burnt
lost more than
a few fingers
to fired-up expectations

charred like tiny torches
they showed me the ways
out of this world

i took the words
of liars as gospel
believed in them
like the bible

as security for loans
i accepted love
but was paid off in hate

maybe i bleed too easily
maybe i need a heart transplant
a transfusion of fresh blood

but what i want is
to wrap myself in sleep
like king tut in his tomb
wounds bandaged for centuries
in balmy linen peaceful

under a pyramid of protective
treasures in a kind of
hotel of last resort

so grave robbers can’t steal
all the good intentions
i’ll need to wake with
in the next world

from Rattle #17, Summer 2002

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November 1, 2008

Arthur Gottlieb

TRIP

Gears grit their teeth
against speed, but foot
flat to the floorboard,
I take every curve the road throws
on two wheels.

Wrong forks eat up miles
forcing me to travel
for days on fumes.

In the rearview mirror
a backseat driver tells me
where to get off
and on the Interstate,
but I step on it without stopping.

I can’t kill the urge
to get anywhere I’m not
in a hurry. Trying to slow me
rain drives spikes into the windshield,
but I maintain the pace
the monotonous wipers dictate.

Splashing past hitchhikers,
my five star magnum wheels
shoot up wings of water.
People I pass appear lost
like angels in clouds
of exhaust, yet in dreams
they roll as torsos in my trunk.

Safety zones don’t slow me.
One eye glued to the schools
the other enters the city
enhancing my chances to reach
the place I really want to be.

from Rattle #25, Summer 2006

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