Karaoke Monologue

Do you remember that summer in Paris

we made those karaoke videos by the river

you kept forgetting the name of the river

I kept forgetting your name

you asked me to fuck you mid evening 

on the semi circular stone bench 

built in to Pont Neuf

and I kept saying that i was sorry 

I had missed those months in the city of love 

when Christo wrapped that bridge in gold fabric

inner city urban installation art

and you kept asking me who the hell Christo was

and accused me of being one of those people 

who always drops names and places to impress others

and then we flew to Romania, I think

and drove along the Dalmation coast 

and I didn’t even bother telling you where we were

because I thought you would call me a pompous asshole

and it would have just led to some ugly argument 

where I revealed to you that I had to keep

reminding the videographer 

not to get any shots of you in profile 

because you kind of turn into

a very strange looking creature from the side 

even though you are quite beautiful head on

(sometimes when we were fucking I had to be careful 

not to let my head slip to the side over your shoulder 

or I would lose my erection)

I still watch those karaoke videos 

with you wandering through misty grainy avenues 

of lost hope and present desire

and imagine all the housewives of varying descent 

in their basements singing their hearts out 

hoping to be in love like you pretended to be in those videos

if they could only see you in profile they would lose interest

it was especially hard to keep you out of profile 

in the Tuilleries Gardens because it was 

a long lazy strolling shot 

and you kept looking to the side at the trees 

and the leaves because I guess you thought 

that would be what someone in love would do

but your problem 

(much like my own) 

was that you never really figured out what someone in love 

would do 

you just followed the bouncing ball and sang along, with Mitch

bitch

and made indiscreet remarks about how songs like

 

Torn Between Two Lovers

 

really meant something special and profound to you 

and I could just say that songs like 

I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone

 

mean a lot to me but that would be cruel 

because sleeping is the only thing I don’t want to do alone 

the rest of the time you could have been anyone, anyone but you

you really bugged me and we spent  all that time in turkey 

after the shoot and I honestly believe 

that you had no idea where you were and didn’t care 

and had more fun than I did just being you

maybe I have this all wrong and it was me not you or both 

but I feel sometimes, honestly I do

I feel things, and people mean things to me 

and I want to sing along and leave it at that but can’t

and always envied and hated you a little 

for being so imperfect and so happy

and then I watch that video and sing along to 

Crying Time 

     

or      

The End of the World

and sometimes when I am especially whacked out I listen to  

Crazy  

and it occurs to me that this all just way too self reflective 

and that I saw myself in you

and made you into what I could never admit to being

and would like to be sorry but am too proud to swim there

slack jawed self indulgent artist

repeat after me

(can something be repeated before me?)

self jawed slack indulgent artist

and can never admit to needing

to wanting to be up there singing 

with all those people watching in armchairs

because I’m empty and you’re not 

and I could tell that when I saw you in profile 

that limp laughing chin, those birth marks

the elongated ear lobes 

and the lumps along their edges that no one but me sees 

(my - opic - shallow gaze)

I always had you filmed head on because that was the only way I could stand seeing myself