I was in a relationship with someone
who was a little bit younger than-- well,
a lot younger than me.
And for the most part, age really didn't matter.
Except periodically, there were cultural references
that would just get lost.
And we were taking a drive down to Santa Cruz one afternoon.
And I was having a good time, and I
said, oh, it's like clams on the half shell on roller skates.
And he said, what's that?
And I said, it's a line from a song by Chic.
And he says, but what does it mean?
And I thought, well, if you have to explain it--
[AUDIENCE LAUGHING]
--but I tried.
This is called "Meditating Upon the Meaning of the Line
'Clams On the Half Shell On Roller Skates' in the Song
'Good Times' by Chic."
Even the business of dying must be set aside occasionally,
glaucus winged goals drafting the last ferry across the Bay,
lights of the city growing more luminous, more inviting.
Who could have guessed love's a palpable thing,
a dark splotch of kelp in the shoals,
or a mountain lion that prowls the edge of UC's cypress woods,
desires a young student, ivory mandible slack and slavering,
at the amber hour, snarls its empty bowels.
Touch, that sensation I'd almost lost,
or how to curl into another body, hermit crab style.
The grouchy old man in my mirror said, bare terror, said,
who's sharing your towels?
Go away, you bitter cuss.
It's still 1980 somewhere, some corner of your dark apartment,
where the mystery of the lyric hasn't faded,
and love is in the chorus, waiting to be born.