POETICS DISEMBODIED: The many views of a singular reality

the motion of your beauty

2012-02-11T17:31:00.006-05:00

i started an oil with you
in the quiet privacy of a small room
where skin was often warm and wet.

the shades were drawn in my favorite Parisian tones
with a sensuous deep charcoal
while you rested as a beckoning figure with slightly brown eyes.

without the covers,
i climbed willfully onto your sculpted hills,
slipping onto a fingered backside, giggling on the way down
this most delightful slope.

jokingly, you moved independently under my touch and said
"You must be the Olympian master."

the flower near your left ear did not distract me
with its orange softness.

knowing i should complete this canvas,
i am continually intrigued by the motion of your beauty.

our white pillows and their silk wrinkles will become a scandal.

The Mekong delta (remix of Saigon)

2012-02-09T15:13:00.007-05:00

The 514th Battalion was used as bait
and their ruse worked, for a government informer
noticed the marching soldiers and took notes.

His report reached 7th Division
headquarters and a sortie was pressed rapidly
into operation, mainly due to the recommendation of
an American major who insisted to his
ARVN counterpart that action be immediate.

The troops of President Diem came in on choppers
early the next morning, without music, expecting to
conduct a quick two hamlet sweep.

An American Captain and his fellow Lieutenant
unslung their AR-15s and joined the Vietnamese officers.

They scanned the terrain, immediately noticing that
the small huts to their front appeared empty.

What they could see were several old women and young children,
paddies, and fields. It seemed unnaturally quiet.

They decided to rest before proceeding.

Even under the shade of a clump of coconut palms,
sweat began to form in the increasing heat.

A rank animal odor familiar to the Mekong delta
came into their nose.

Without discussion, the Vietnamese captain wanted to curtail the operation
and withdraw. After all, he concluded, going forward could be dangerous.

The first hamlet might be deserted, or it could be the site of an ambush.

At that instant, a Viet Cong wrapped his finger
around the metal trigger of a Thompson machine gun.

He waited for a decision.

His gun was captured, oiled, and lovingly cared for.

It was only a matter of time.

Apollinaire's Death

2012-02-08T09:00:00.004-05:00

the Seated Man might have been concealed,
yet his presence was felt
in the rough texture of a simple paradox:

Picasso's self-portrait, another deep enigma, or both.

but the simple seat had barely a leg or two,
and a hat or none at all.

his flat presence like a carpenter's square
full of angles and the sharp thin lines of construction.

many faces or none?

working at Montrouge just before 1919,
the chair master tossed his cubes onto the icy white.

He, the ultimate magician
with a proud brow and curving smile,
spoke to his friend before the coughing
death in a Paris apartment where poets came to pray.

It was 202, boulevard Saint-Germain-des-Pres at 5PM
when the final silence descended, pulling the unfinished copy
over his head.

Apollinaire was 38 when he died.

Breton was already at his door, defending the avant-garde.

Cocteau was already on his way out, although he didn't know it.

and upon feeling the sad news when a widow's black veil
touched his cheek, Picasso went to his bathroom mirror and
began to draw.

he drew a lonely man.

nothing was as synthetic as it seemed.

no blue eggs

2012-02-06T22:19:00.012-05:00

the accentuated shadows under my south window
were of her eyes.

her fragrance was palpable.

the chickadees would sing as they drank
before flying,
but no figure could be seen.

she was alive and present at that moment
in my imagination,
but what an expression she gave
to the excited gray squirrels.

with her mystery unsolved,
in spite of the straight classical nose
which framed her face,
the red headed woodpecker tapped insistently at my suet.

her sinuous lips at breakfast
could eat a cereal bowl full of serenity,
and still kiss the sun before dawn.

in my early morning studio,
while sitting on an upholstered chair
without decoration,
her mind and body seemed as one.

then our shared laugh became the brush with which
we could paint.

my big black cat went outside looking for winter birds
and found her hair, spun into a beautiful nest.

though there were no round blue eggs inside,
he began to purr.

Anne Waldman

2012-02-02T15:49:00.004-05:00

The linguistic hole
that only Anne could notice
from her sidewalk on MacDougal Street
in New York City,
was near the intersection
where words would often meet for a smoke and to drink
deeply of philosophical phrases, those huge swallows of paternal pride
which often led to indigestion.

No death has ever been reported as having been caused
by falling into her hole.

But Anne had the wit to slam you down with ideas
which carried the weight of shamanistic visions,
often new and frequently to become part of her daily attire.

She currently likes to wear silk scarves, for example.

The 3 gorges dam, she said,
displaced over 1 million Chinese,
none of whom visited Bennington College
or walked the streets of Berkeley, California
in anything resembling a poetic panic.

But she did.

Gregory Corso once told me that she gave him a hand job,
but he often lied from his faculty seat in the private office
he shared with his image.

Allen said she was his spiritual twin, but he often lied, too.

And if she is incendiary, it is only because her love of jazz
twisted her tongue and now when she speaks a trumpeting flame can be seen
erupting between her fine front teeth.

Because of that, she has become a fast talking woman with a song heard
by Comanche Indians many miles west of the frontier settlements around Austin, Texas.

When these Indians dance, they frequently invoke the name of Jack Kerouac
in hopes of enhancing their stamina. Anne invokes his name, also.

She can now be found poking around the trash piles of Boulder, Colorado
in any sort of weather, hoping to find another scarf.

oh man, annie

2012-01-31T20:26:00.026-05:00

oh man, annie
are you walking?
here he comes
i can hear him talking.

he wore the blue shirt
had the white hat
he took the microphone
where the fat lady sat

a feather on her face
tapping the warehouse floor
he didn't need permission
to be breaking down her door

he was the cool cat
playing the piano
running up the stairs
the only way to go

a smooth criminal
smoking gun in his hand
jumping on the stage
with Annie and her band

they were dressed in red
hips shaking sexy air
nine pool balls rolling
moon walking everywhere

black & white lovers
dancing throughout the night
they heard him singing
say everything's alright

i hear him calling
so annie get your gun
grab your red jacket
your babys' on the run

oh man, annie
are you walking?

Dresden, February 13-15, 1945

2012-01-30T15:52:00.003-05:00

he saw dead people
seated in their streetcar,
unused destination tickets folded in laps
forever lost in thought.

there were no secret military codes
littering the basement floor
when more burnt bodies were found
in early February, 1945.

an apartment bedroom became a tomb
when the old stone walls of a cultural center
without glass windows
collapsed under the savage German clouds.

it wasn't Slaughter House 5
where most human remains were seen
by those who were looking for answers,
but found only mountains of debris.

at an empty church and a smoking pile of books
where Vonnegut was told to load a small wagon
with a broken-down piano,
he heard a military plane flying low overhead.

nearby, a small group of hungry people wanted to shout,
but remained speechless.

soon, they began to weep.

rachel, rachel

2012-01-29T17:59:00.004-05:00

rachel, dear,

i wonder if that dress is appropriate?

and what is that smudge i see on your cheek?

you're not wearing any perfume, are you?

and your hair could be tied tighter. let me help.

your friend will be here soon

so there's not a lot of time to change

into something more appropriate,

don't you agree?

and to wash your face,
don't you agree?

i can imagine your father, if he were alive,

having one of his fits if he could see you now.

are you still haunted by his memory?

yes, maybe if he hadn't died in this house,

but still,

maybe you wouldn't be so lonely if you would listen
to me
more often, rachel.

are you cold?

rachel, rachel.

don't be out too long.
it's not good for you,
don't you agree?

closing our book

2012-01-28T16:18:00.002-05:00

no turn of the screw
straight ahead i could catch
the briefest sight of you

wearing your favorite red
it wasn't only what you said
that turned me blue

so what had i heard
when you flashed me a smile?
i tried to catch each word

running on fertile ground
it wasn't only what i found
that seemed absurd

you gave me that look
and a toss of your hair
but something else you took

meant more to me than life
i felt the stinging of your knife
closing our book

Auschwitz

2012-01-27T14:57:00.002-05:00

Auschwitz on a sunny day
was stirred into activity
upon hearing
of Hitler's Berghof estate
in Bavaria
and the priceless art hanging
from the walls of his apartment
at the Chancellery in Berlin.
He tremendously enjoyed fresh
cut flowers and bronze statues
of classically posed nudes,
requesting the presence of such
treasures throughout his living quarters.
But the powerful do live a lavish
home life, even while their most
unfortunate subjects are choking on a few
dry dreams.
There is no dry champagne in a gas chamber.
The candelabra, having been lit, was unseen
as the workers swept the floor of bone dust
and a young girl's heart was found
empty of love.

Whistler's mother

2012-01-19T20:12:00.015-05:00

If the sitter
enjoys an moral position
but her chair is cushioned
with pictures of Billy Graham
as a young, exciting power seeker,
and the Vatican City in Rome with a current Pope or several
dozen of them hangs black framed from a
nearby wall from where Muhammad with his entourage of Virgins
can be seen heading to Mecca with his bloody spoils;
while the Wailing Wall of Jerusalem sits in stony countenance
near perfectly formed pyramids in the desert heat, all
easily seen from her imprisoning chair which will not rock,
can she remain comfortably numb?

Would she still desire that thin white wafer
placed lovingly inside her mouth once
each month of a year
while kneeling before her believed Truth
if it were not True?

Did she think she would not die?

And you will die, too.

We're all dying, in our own way.

Most are very afraid.

A few, not at all.

The portrait of Whistler's mother
by Whistler
did not require him to decipher any such enigma.

As a result, he experienced fewer difficulties.

on the beach (1959)

2012-01-17T22:01:00.009-05:00

if you're along the California coast
and once slept on Maverick Beach
just beyond the high tide line
under a black sky with twinkling stars,
as the strong moon tugged at your nerve,
you must know it's north of San Francisco
south of the Columbia River.

naturally there are camp fires kept active
with collected drift wood as the guitar players
congregate, listening to the ocean surf
and the sound of flutes and drums
chasing organized religion back to the frightened city.

a bottle or two is passed. marijuana.

sparks in the air spiral near a face, disappear. what else?

a random parking of vehicles, sleeping bags
with out-of-state plates, seekers of alternative
universes, and a bit of food held by inquisitive
hands sporting a grateful smile.

a question falls into focus.

meditation on the beach.

a fine wind blowing on the beach.

on the beach. on the beach. on the beach.

simple
number 623 is stenciled in white on the conning tower of a lone submarine
diving into the sea by the written direction of the Lord Mayor of Melbourne, Australia,
not far from the deserted roadways of his city center.

empty shadows climb the corporate ladder, which leans soundless
against one wall of illusion.

The nearby trolley tracks are empty, while radiation of a lethal type
speeds full steam ahead, entering the station without noticing time.

the stopped clock reads midnight.

A sign by the cement steps: "THERE IS STILL TIME, BROTHER."

(1959)

ever green

2012-01-15T22:00:00.009-05:00

when the Earth was still a child
we ran into our meadow feeling wild

there in the center on the grass
knowing it would never last
a finest line of ever green
but what exactly did it mean?

you wanted me to love you
i didn't know what to do
i heard your anguished call
but how exactly did you fall?

the door cried when you went away
but what was i to say?
no one could tell me how to proceed
i'm still wondering what it is you need

and shadows falling on my face at night
so i couldn't see the light
now echos keep repeating inside my head
i am remembering all that you said

and so to love you without being near
why is it i can't be clear?
a finest line of ever green
but what exactly did it mean?

a January day

2012-01-14T20:40:00.010-05:00

on an unfamiliar trail
of brown single track

rocks and uneven ground

brittle leaves and sticks of
dying wood scattered like
corpses on the forest battlefield

different sizes of memory
changing degrees of anticipation
two heart beats and a foot fall forward

it was necessary to walk carefully

all i saw
was an old outhouse
with a damaged
plastic
unpainted
toilet lid
missing a hinge on the left side

&

an even older picnic table
with a top surface of broken

promises
unpainted
with two attached benches
missing people
who might have been slumped nearby.

it was a January day without
a deep chill
while the sun hung low over the
Eastern White Pines.

i passed the short term camp
and found a narrow clear cold
spring
to cross over.

looking beyond the slope,

i saw hikers climbing a nearby hill
backpacks
with their food
threatening to push them over

one paused to wave, holding his
hand aloft for a long moment,
sure to restart but not in a hurry

there was no wind
no unnatural sound
nothing out of place

and a raptor circling somewhere must have known.

i peed by a skinny tree, far from the outhouse,

but the tree was unmoved
the outhouse yet unpainted.

Chair with Peaches (1919)

2012-01-12T20:02:00.003-05:00

the chair was near the altar
when i approached with my new idea.

i saw the three peaches
on their white plate
sitting on the French chair
near the sinuous wallpaper
and the blue space.

but the chair was unfamiliar to me
and my point of view.

moving forward, i held one peach
and took a single bite.

and as far as chairs were concerned,
i had made a choice.

we were forever changed.

Death of a salesman

2012-01-10T21:34:00.015-05:00

The death of a salesman
didn't come easily,
and it wasn't until i saw my mail
that i heard the thump
of his body being dropped to the floor.

I could have played A Day in the Life
and read the news today
a thousand times to fill the hole in my heart,

but still, the pain would have persisted.

Joan Didion cringed, watching me on my power chair
twist and shout, completely anxious.

You see, without the salesman, i am lost.

She was lost, too.

And being lost in our world full of sign posts
is not a good thing.

So now, no one even comes to visit without an invitation,

while we sit together smoking our cigarettes, blowing pathos
at each other.

She asks me what we should do between class
and i remind her it was pass or fail.

I heard her say she wanted to fail.

The Blue Owl

2012-01-04T18:18:00.005-05:00

The Blue Owl could not tell her creator
how she tried to fly at night,
but failed to get his price.

The task to tell the master
was left to a humorous Matisse,
who without reticence
spilled the news obliquely.

800,00 francs might seem a lot,
but it was a large canvas
and expected to gain an even bigger price
at auction.

Being emotionally insecure,
Picasso was in constant need of
reassurance.

So,
Matisse wrote that the beautiful blue
of the bird actually looked black
under the artificial light of the exhibit.

And birds in flight symbolize freedom.

They both loved birds.

birds on fire

2011-12-28T22:25:00.011-05:00

mountain view
anxious eye blue
symbol avenue
dryness and thirst
so i stare
heated desert air
insects everywhere
the birds are on fire
no water
random slaughter
Uncle Sam's daughter
but no female rain
methane cloud
arctic bubbles loud
the funeral shroud
sand like glass explodes
my running feet
bleeding at high tide.

Passion pit

2011-12-23T19:33:00.009-05:00

simple-minded faeries
facing an autumn afternoon
as quiet as ephemeral
but brilliant like the moon

where riot streets grow soundless
angry rebellions enter sight
Oh! an ice cream truck is singing
i think i'll take a bite

that reverend has ascended
wooden crosses top his hill
sharp armor slicing pathways
a legendary thrill

His rock still moves by dreaming
white garments pure and clean
some local girls were hungry
they loved what they had seen

simple-minded faeries
facing a winter afternoon
as subtle as ephemeral
but brilliant like the moon

Dora

2011-12-20T19:32:00.019-05:00

Dora had the body

but
with heated breath on the camera lens,
her smile like an enigma
faded

when Pablo found Francois
visiting his studio
wearing an innocent smile.

on his scenic Paris rooftop
he felt her swelling chest
with his artistic hands and began
to paint a dream.

she noticed his hungry face redden
but did not blush
nor squirm
nor encourage his grasp.

they soon became lovers.

they married.

they divorced.

then she wrote a book about
life with the great master
detailing his clever approach
to color,
to his love of the classic bull fight,
and himself.

but Dora had the body

and with dark eyes,
her Spanish accent on the Rue de Savoie
framed lonely pictures
which only she
could see.

in Paradise

2011-12-18T14:16:00.005-05:00

in Paradise
i fell into the blackest hole
and it was killing me
tugging at my soul
machine gunning the telephone
when i tried to take your call
there are so many lovers
i can't possibly love them all
in Paradise

in Paradise
i heard the restless lion roar
and it was scaring me
clawing at my door
insisting everything was fine
when i tried to have a say
there are so many mysteries
i can't possibly find my way
in Paradise

in Paradise
i felt a chill invade the air
and it was freezing me
deepening my despair
spreading ice on the avenue
where i tried to maintain pace
there are so many strangers
i can't possibly see your face
in Paradise

another dance

2011-12-14T21:46:00.004-05:00

she came
soft to me
with just one more tap
of her tambourine
and hiding under covers
i was never sure what i had just seen
while her words
bringing rain
gave each flower one more reason to smile
and the gardener pulling weeds
was tempted to stay just a little while
for her voice
like an angel
speaking deep inside my cave
came looking for anything
she felt that she could save
but that was then
and this is now
i know
i should figure it out somehow
the more i look
the less i can see
she offered the sun
but all i could find was the shadow of a tree
so i climbed to the top of the moon
and felt so good i didn't want to come down
anytime too soon
swaying
in a trance
she came to me and asked for another dance
swaying
in the breeze
and i said please

my chair

2011-12-12T22:37:00.007-05:00

the small curly white ones,
feathers dusting the air
like enlightened artists from an
underground movement,
played colorfully in their coop

and cooed.

in that same way i was welcomed
onto a chair in front of a mirror
where no date was etched on the
hard glass.

and sitting by the flower,

i reached out to their wired cage and
found the door handle easy to open.

the birds saw the mirror, too, but somehow
were not distracted and soon
took flight.

in their motion, a freedom my chair could not know.

happy hour

2011-12-06T21:19:00.025-05:00

at the cafe
when you came out to play

we all waited to hear you say
things would be different today

but small glasses full of life
a simple spoon and a desperate knife

one brown bag and happy hour
one sweet sun and soaking shower

on the menu by the kitchen sink
a sleeveless arm refused to think

a ruby orange cantaloupe
with stabbing little rays of hope

amazing pieces of mild despair
disguised themselves in heated air

closing time on Junk Avenue
in deepest dark i can imagine you

nervous people speeding by
none slow enough to hear you cry

in early morning happy hours
they cover you with passing flowers

at the cafe
when you came out to play

we all waited to hear you say
things would be different today

to make you mine

2011-12-05T20:41:00.004-05:00

when i saw you walk in
and heard the door close

just that quickly i forgot

i tried i suppose

but couldn't even remember
if today was the fifth of December?

or a moment out of time
and i could wear it
to make you mine.

the roads kept leading here
i was pushed along

and when i saw you smiling

i began to sing this song

but couldn't even remember
if today was the fifth of December?

or a moment out of time
and i could wear it
to make you mine.

The World

2011-12-02T18:50:00.001-05:00

"i don't know, man," he quietly said
while removing the smoking cigarette
from his tired mouth.

"they were here one minute, then they were gone,
like they just disappeared and it's freaky;
this whole thing is fucked up."

light and shadows played on his face as he
shifted his eyes, looking away, yet continuing to talk.

i don't remember which sound distracted me from
his presence, but something tugged at me and i
turned.

my curiosity about the war seemed to center on
the notion that men struck and maintained friendships
that i was priviledged to witness between 1969 and
1971, all the while consumed inside the belly of a beast
which could kill them with a relentless passion or
as an idle afterthought.

he shouted
"i'm already in Hell, man, so there's nothing else these
fuckers can do to me, right?" as i walked
back
to The
World.

Luisa Casati

2011-11-29T22:28:00.008-05:00

Venice never closes,
Casati never stops her flamboyant dance,
and Rome has monuments and artists in
narrow alleyways full of hope.

My broken camera captured her movements
in orange hair with twisted curls in front
of the ruins of antiquity, where her dark eyes
sat on the marbled shoulder of Hercules.

This gay Italian city watched her
in Medusa dress, stroll with jeweled leash
leading two borzois, one black, one white,
to an audience with the Pope,
but he was busy playing bridge.

Upon watching her pass, I went straight to my house,
hoping for an invitation to her dinner party, but it arrived
sixty years too late.

Posing on her polar-bearskin rug
as others took siestas during the renaissance,
she heard The Volga Boat Song and on the first playing
noticed a bold red circle with an empty center
smeared on the title page.

It was Picasso pimping for the Bolshevik
uprising against the Tsar, dabbling in paint,
while his friend Stravinsky scored that tune for
the Ballets Russes, where Olga played a part.

Later in Paris, the largest cloud in the world
sat on the waterfront near Montmartre
where tourists spent their day with wine
and local cheeses, learning French.

Nearby, Casati's Palais Rose was built of red marble
and was naked except for images of herself,
many tall and skinny.

If she were insane, as rumored, she would have had more than
two arms smelling of incense and a necklace
of love bites underneath her river of pearls.

She died in London on June 1, 1957, many years
after Shakespeare, and is buried at Brompton Cemetery
with a taxidermed Pekinese dog
resting at her feet.

Tet (February 1,1968)

2011-11-26T22:35:00.016-05:00

Johnson shook my hand
with his sneaky Texas smile
and hissed me off to a land war
in a small Asian country where
there was no home front and US Marines
killed everything they could.

My screen door wasn't able to keep
the bugs from escaping when the bombs
began to fall and huge explosions
filled the humid air with their death
march and the tides of the South
China Sea seemed so far away.

"Born to kill," he said before he died in a
fast ambush with a slow M16 still warm underneath
his young hand as the music from the helicopter blades
reminded him of the end when an impulse
from a single cerebral nerve fired a last burst.

The embassy compound in Saigon was overrun and
microphones appeared to interview the MPs wearing
flack jackets pointing at the Stars and Stripes where moments
before a liberation flag hung with smoke in the indifferent air.

Nearby the National Chief of Police held his revolver to the head of
a man in a plaid shirt wearing nice navy blue shorts but
no shoes and the bottom of each foot was black when the bullet
punched a hole in his head just before the
spurt of red blood stained the street when he fell without
a trial and without a sound. Eddie Adams working for
the Associated Press received a Pulitzer Prize
for his photograph of this frozen moment, which he never forgot.

General William Westmoreland wore a braided military cap and gave
encouraging reports while bodies were still being pulled from
the rotting paddy soil.

On time, the jungle animals chattered at and scolded the French and American
soldiers, carrying their shoulder fired weapons onto the pages
of the New York Times, walking over a street without joy,
looking in wonder at a land they could not own.

Dead babies were seen on white sand beaches.

Their black bodies were burned beyond recognition.

Skeletons walked from an open fire without expression.

Shadows failed to hide their pain.

bake me a pie

2011-11-25T21:36:00.005-05:00

she had no money when
she came to my door

acting friendly

she told me she was poor

but on her arms were bracelets
a shine in her eye

smiling brightly

she would bake me a pie

and in my kitchen was a spoon
and a pot

steaming visions

she told me she was hot

and the television channel
was a dud

playing dirty

she covered me in mud

while she looked good
and was everything i dreamed

breathing deeply
it wasn't what it seemed

with my rifle and
camouflage underwear

hunting trouble

she filled me full of air

cutting me

2011-11-24T00:07:00.009-05:00

the thing that annoys me the most
when you treat me like a ghost

before the afternoon is tossed away
and i'm on empty for another day

is when i happen to close my eyes
and i can finally see between your lies

and i'll try to care
but you're just not there

i'm falling through the lonesome air

your cutting me
like you cut your hair

and if it's a beautiful day
i can barely hear you say

you might find time for a morning walk
if i was good but you would't talk

and your hands were large and mine were small
so naturally you watched me fall

and in fact that memory
which you drew oh so carefully

cheered you up when i was down
i never heard a more unfriendly sound

the thing that annoys me the most
when you treat me like a ghost

before the afternoon is tossed away
and i'm on empty for another day

is when i happen to close my eyes
and i can finally see between your lies

and i'll try to care
but you're just not there

i'm falling through the lonesome air

your cutting me like you cut your hair

the first moments

2011-11-18T21:12:00.003-05:00

soft breasts,
washed and firm,
lightly cupped under his hands,
reminded him
it was not yet time for lunch
on the rooftop terrace
of a flat in summer Paris.

not suddenly
the ripe peaches were left
as his slightly flushed face smiled,
and she walked to the ladder
to descend through the forest,
wondering what she should learn,
considering her next return.

dead birds

2011-11-17T20:19:00.010-05:00

moon owls
fire dragon

naive boy wondering

tugging his
little red wagon
over some dusty road

just an empty load
of horizons
beneath his feet

his modern hair curled neat

his melting ice growing warm
to the touch

they don't say very much

together they skip ahead
following a trail dipped in lead

and crashing on a sandy shore
where dead birds wash their wings

a drunken sailor sings.

barb and kenny

2011-11-16T20:27:00.005-05:00

under the yellow moon
you wanted me too soon
rain kept pouring down
so i left that lonely town

so now
i'm on the run
looking for my loaded gun
the one i used to own
when i was all alone

strangers
out on the street
everywhere we meet
pointing at the sky
and never asking why

inside
i never write
my stories in the night
dark and without you
telling me what to do

i know
when the morning rises
heart break and surprises
emptiness and black
keep riding on my back

under the yellow moon
you wanted me too soon
rain kept pouring down
so i left that lonely town

calling
no one can hear
the crowded station near
lots of pretty toys
barbie dolls kenny boys

dressing
in suits and ties
exchanging happy lies
talking on the phone
while i am all alone

under the yellow moon
you wanted me too soon
rain kept pouring down
so i left that lonely town

art school

2011-11-11T19:00:00.007-05:00

on the first day of school

bits of limestone and raw clay
took my normal shyness away

and i became the baker with his bread
using time and patience and my head

to knead you.

rising from a heated kiln

one piece off the top shelf had cooled
and i was initially fooled

into thinking i could never learn to fire
or to apply thin glazes with a wire

to pot you.

then, even the fresco on the teacher's wall
became damp and started to fall,

but i watched it take another form
when dried and reapplied warm.

and i was very happy to see
the complete unity
of my final piece.

November 11th

2011-11-11T09:48:00.001-05:00

11/11/11

solitary performers

2011-11-09T20:09:00.010-05:00

you walk in front of me
toward your own death.

i am not able to help
or hold you back.

i take a deep breath

and you have something to say
as you pass an old
red-leather trunk.

i consider the morning drunk

in his good mood all day long,

another actor in search of himself
singing a Marquis de Sade song.

we can't put a stop to it now.

we saw scenes like that a dozen times or more
after the most recent war

when the fuses kept blowing and there was no more light.

our street had at least fifteen people with nothing to do;
each face with a green, a mauve, and a blue,

and you thought there was no such thing

but now admit frankly in one fashion or three
that untroubled creativity will keep you free.

i petitioned but you would not yield,

left your straight jacket in the wheat field

where only color had the power

to command your attention after an hour,

and went your separate way

where, at the local town hall,
for a long time there was a big crowd without any real dialogue.

each of us carried on a personal monologue
in the direction of the other

while miscounting money on a cold afternoon.

i thought i wouldn't miss you so soon.

"let me bathe myself in your eyes
like a newborn surprise,"

i said. But now you're dead.

a blue vest

2011-11-05T23:51:00.010-04:00

she came in a blue vest
wore it close to her throat

laughed when she told me
she liked rocking the boat

yes, she had soft red hair
wore it straight when she could

asked me to play her
and i promised i would

took me down through the door
where i liked what she showed

she gave me a ride
but i wanted the road

so i thought i'd linger
watch my world passing by

before she disappeared
with the next lonely guy

and her music ended
with the cold rushing in

bought a new blue vest
wore it close to my chin

this party was over
wore me down to the bone

she gave me advice
more than i've ever known

i don't need anymore
and i don't want to stay

it's only a bad dream
and should be over today

black limousines

2011-11-03T22:16:00.006-04:00

without seeing the green lawn,
the white shirt,
and clean pants,
i heard about their private game:
the rich sporting an expensive stance.

different from you and i,
bent over their
colored ball,
lining up for another shot:
claiming victory and taking it all.

fifty senators packaged;
red white and
blue wrapping;
bells, whistles, and black limousines:
the working poor busily napping.

the cultivated money,
crystal glass,
and tight smile,
enough for most satisfactions:
for a lifetime or a decent while.

for everything

2011-11-02T20:36:00.004-04:00

thank you for everything
especially the special stuff
now is it time to be gentle
or do you like it rough?

thank you thank you
there's not much more i can do
once i had a woman
that i didn't believe was you

thank you for the great show
it's really amazing to see
but when you're looking for a stranger
will you still be looking for me?

thank you for everything
so glad that daddy was away
we had hamburgers on the grill
but i knew i couldn't stay

thank you thank you
there's not much more i can do
once i had a woman
that i didn't believe was you

thank you for the heart felt
for the dish served on the floor
it was more than i imagined
when you opened up the door

thank you for everything
especially the special stuff
now is it time to be gentle
or do you like it rough?

her colors were nearly perfect

2011-10-30T21:05:00.008-04:00

a juicy little number
which one i can not tell
her colors were nearly perfect
inside her oyster shell

behind the door to Heaven
a full red glass of wine
her colors were nearly perfect
revealed in her design

we tripped into a concert
sound poured into my eyes
her colors were nearly perfect
they painted her in sighs

the bright cloud full of rainbows
each one a lovely sight
her colors were nearly perfect
i watched by candlelight

with morning soon approaching
i saw when i awoke
her colors were nearly perfect
delightful as she spoke

a stupid joke

2011-10-27T21:52:00.017-04:00

white knights
heavy in armor to the burning town
they rode uninhibited
smartly up the wasted hill
looking for another thrill
red-eyed charging down
slashing sword cuts and falling heads
young ladies
swept from beds
dust panicked by the winter storm
cold bodies once warm
oh, the blood blowing in the grass
blindly moving
traveling fast
and the drums and horns fingers playing
flags flapping in the breeze, swaying
the crippled air no flowers there
no pretty people stopped to stare
underneath their fallen sky
no effort to explain
no one left to try
that last bite of bread around
each mouth without a sound
an element in the darkest smoke
a distant laughing
a stupid joke
"dead dirt roads lead nowhere,"
said Mr Hungry to I don't care:
and this became the final end
my bewildered friend.

Fall just takes my breath away

2011-10-24T20:46:00.019-04:00

Our beginning wasn't really the beginning;
it only seemed that way since
the eye was fooled by the rising tide.

Your mind reassembled traditional
elements and showed me a completely
new composition, which helped
conquer my fear of the impossible sea.

My mind wondered what was real
between the said and the seen.

Your colors unique,
circled my listening ear.

The quiet bedroom wall and
the stone fireplace beside the
extraordinary autumn rug,
kept us rapt.

One hard head and one bright egg
wrestled on the soft fat pillows
in front of a red oak blaze, where
only the most prominent
could tickle the Universe.

And i believed in you completely,
because no abstraction walked in hiking shoes
instead of conservative sneakers.

When a person emerged from between the lines
it was hard to say who imitated nature best,
but we sang full-throat ed and
never the same song twice.

Moments began to pass when I would
gasp for air without you.

It's impossible to escape the questions,
but it is possible to find tension
where the sun
becomes an expanding green spot
on a strange white canvas with a
painted black curve reaching inward.

Your words in my throat,
looking for their answer,
know i am back from the war.

But when you want to see me, you can call me and
tell me so.

Fall just takes my breath away.

Pablo before 1943 or after

2011-10-20T21:40:00.015-04:00

When his beret basque tumbled,
I saw the minotaur
Down on his knees
With a young lover in his head.
Moments before he
Had been sitting
With an older fur coat, her square
Shoulders set by a heavy jaw
Inside a small restaurant
Much-frequented by
His friends.
This Paris cafe sold everything in limited quantity,
Even refugees from
The history of art.
Near it's front door
A pair of blue windows
Against the slight evening breeze
Stood open.
There, warm flesh and
Cool champagne
Talked of anything on
The interior courtyard where
Pigeons with peas,
One fair and one dark,
Were disguised as young girls.
Miscellaneous clutter
Atop a checked tablecloth
Included the sculpture of a skull.
White costumes and pale faces looked
For the slightest gesture
To take on meaning.
An other-worldly atmosphere
Could be felt on the winding stairs,
where Matisse went to find an idea
about something French.
A yellow lemon and many glasses
Remained on the long table,
under which Malraux could be seen hiding.
"Come," the wounded minotaur finally
Whispered to her tapering fingers,
"Because you find me interesting."

not missing the two

2011-10-19T21:02:00.004-04:00

look to me

i can give it to you

no one will notice what we're doing

they haven't a clue

walking to Paradise

while missing a shoe

but we're not missing a beat

i felt you

heard you come on to me

my wooden spoon fell to the floor

i enjoyed my tea

watching the water boil

while missing the three

but we're not missing the two

I can feel the hug

2011-10-14T21:26:00.005-04:00

It's what is felt
That hurts the most,

And not having you
Except as a ghost

In private moments
Short and spare

When I allow myself to know
That you're not there

You won't be coming home again
Late or soon

But I see you smiling
On the rising moon

I'm alone and was given
No simple choice;

Yet when the room is quiet
I can often hear your voice

Then looking everywhere
Under chair, and bed, and rug

I can't find you anywhere
But I can feel the hug.

was his art

2011-10-10T17:46:00.000-04:00

The cigarette
near the coffee cup
on the square white table top
exhaled toward Picasso
a puff of anguish
for his heart.

A salty tear
rising from one chair
wore the hideous mask
and an immortal series
of a weeping woman
was born in torment.

She saw Mother
and dead Spanish babies
underneath the rubble
of a democratic dream
bombed in 1939
by a Fascist imbecile.

And the painting
became a statement
before the sudden fall of Paris in June
and his fading thought of Dora:
a lonely eye drawn on her sobbing cheek.

In fact he knew
with more than dreaming
that the only thing that counted
in his life
was his art.

when the music stopped

2011-10-06T20:47:00.003-04:00

Near the shadow
long legs of an Argentine dancer
under breasts without a cover
lift for my inquiring touch.

Behind me in the soft twilight
the marble stairs
and Greek Doric columns
smell old and masculine.

And she formed a simple tango
with her musical movements
on the second step
while I held the note.

On the near floor a white piano
with black keys
to open her heart
if I should want to.

Two swans appeared
on the terrace
which she noticed
only moments before.

Two sides of the same coin
rolled over
my tapping foot
without making a decision.

A bowl of cherries
held in her hands
was offered to me
along with three glasses.

But nothing kept her happy
when the music stopped.

this intersection

2011-10-06T11:21:00.000-04:00

the dials on my watch
pester me
with an urge for speed
instead of languor.

it was so when i thought
of the twinkle in your eyes
as i slowed
into this intersection.

the mid-day traffic
honked like geese
on some confusing journey
without a map.

their flight leader
twisting his head
looked for the horizon
which wasn't there.

i sat in my car
in traffic
when i saw your face
through my rear view mirror.

in this short period
i heard their motors reverberate
with anticipation
while you fell asleep.

farm boy

2011-10-04T20:46:00.004-04:00

farm boy came with his plow
the girl pointed to her garden
a red dawn tickled the hillside
where they stretched
hand in hand
watching for snakes

they were a good match
digging in the dirt
pulling weeds
planting seed
and watering the grapes
before a harvest

mushrooms grew on their feet
when they ran into the woods
cheese crumbs on the trail
where they walked
smelled of winter
as they stopped to drink

Kurt

2011-10-02T20:58:00.000-04:00

On a snowy night mid-December
Kurt Vonnegut
climbed into my room
with heavy heart and a deep sigh.
i was sitting on my folding chair
close to a raging fire
waiting for an empty cup
before retiring to bed.
i had expected him before seven;
it was now eleven,
but his mustache told me he was
running late.
he was earlier trapped inside a woman's wall
where there is no escape,
unless one is an author
with a quick wit and an even quicker pen.
he settled on the floor
and turned to face me before he spoke;
his first words softly spoken were
"Hocus Pocus."
his white hands folded in prayer
when i saw the atomic bomb on a finger.
i told him i dreamed of time travel
as my tea kettle whistled
in the darkness.
he wished me good luck,
no matter how bad things got.
i asked him about his wounded knee,
since i saw him limp.
he told me about Dresden
and in a voice filled with ghosts,
said "It was a crematorium."
i made no reply.

transcendent

2011-09-29T21:01:00.001-04:00

transcendent
in my dream
you sang a song
and i heard every word wrong

walking alone
wherever i go
and it doesn't seem to matter
if i can never know

into the sky
under the rain
you're laughing at me
but never explain

well i always answered the call
riding my horse into the storm
where you tempted me with your embrace
but it never kept me warm

there is a shadow on the road
but it doesn't look like my face
and when the sun wipes away your smile
you're gone without a trace

transcendent
in my dream
you sang a song
and i heard every word wrong

walking alone
wherever i go
and it doesn't seem to matter
if i can never know

into the sky
under the rain
you're laughing at me
but never explain

Coyote was running

2011-09-27T20:39:00.002-04:00

Coyote was running
under a Comanche moon
over the drifting sand
of a Texas coastal dune.

Small horses charged
into a settlement,
killing and stealing
and off they went.

Rifles were firing;
Indians disappeared,
but no one was chasing
since scalping they feared.

Northwest of Austin
into expansive plains,
riding their mustangs
with Buffalo reins.

Arrows and lances,
horsemanship skills,
whooping and charging
over Red River hills.

White man was coming
with Blue coats and schemes
into this frontier
rolled American dreams.

Flooding the prairie
were cabins and farms,
destroying the tipis and
medicine man's charms.

Reservation living
but barely alive,
beaten into submission
by the Colt .45.

Jersey Girl

2011-09-27T13:19:00.001-04:00

on Saturday night
i took my Jersey Girl to a local fight
she used to have an overbite
but her daddy paid the doctor's price

he worked to make her postcard right

but now she finally tried to see
another man to enslave was me
as we walked the streets of center Philly
and i didn't have a single cent

though she certainly had more than three

she wore her thick & wavy hair
in the Hollywood style of debonair
always checking that it was there
she stuck bright extensions in for fun

demanded attention everywhere

her dancing friends floated and smiled
acting silly like a pampered child
if things were normal they went wild
she tossed me like a ball and chain

even though we've reconciled.

whose sustainability is it?

2011-09-19T20:32:00.000-04:00

it totally depends on the energy
and the population

because when energy declines

as the global population continues its'
exponential growth trajectory

the shit will hit the fan

the collapse will be swift

the fall treacherous

the die-off immense

no, you will not be able to buy another
box of Cracker Jacks

or a shiny new Cadillac Escalade.

learn to plant and cultivate and
harvest on a small piece of fertile soil,

for a first step.

a slow journey

2011-09-17T21:10:00.000-04:00

everyday of my life i wonder why
i have one blue eye

and one green
which can't be seen

and when i stop to turn
i wonder if i'll ever learn

when i want to share your walking
i'm crazy to hear you talking

but when i think i have no choice
i can always feel the softness in your voice

the warm touch
it feels so much

the smile
and i'd gladly walk a mile

to have you in my arms as i awake
anything will do if it's not fake

a dance in the rain on our private shore
by the ocean where we search for more

on a slow journey
of discovery just you and me

there are no reasons to wish for speed
each moment together is all i need

a finger hold while standing near
little things i most treasure dear

everyday of my life i wonder why
i have one blue eye

and one green
which can't be seen

"a little nation." LBJ

2011-09-14T22:07:00.001-04:00

that last night
i wrote you a letter
before i fell
i told you war is hell

but you were far away
preoccupied
how could i know
i had one more day to go

to learn about war
the hard business
of killing men
over and over again

in uniform or not
mostly unrehearsed
i wore my boots with pride
weeks before i died

not too old
still young and strong
but had you seen me die
there was no question in my eye.

"We do not want a war." JFK

2011-09-13T21:09:00.000-04:00

GOD DAMN
violent concussive flames
silhouetting a
smoking black mountain
with
sprays of white explosions
and shaking bodies
underneath a gentle sky
with only hints of cloudy weather
in a disturbing combat zone.
LATER,
i'm resting on my right knee in
a half squat near a hard-packed dirt road
surrounded by a score of uniformed
young men without hats holding safety-off
automatic weapons.
with side doors fully open a single huey helicopter
is flairing for a close landing while a
door gunner is resting his left hand on the stock
of an M60 machine gun, barrel pointed directly towards
the ground.
we are American soldiers far away from our home listening to the
wild thump thump of the rotor blades while waiting,
waiting for a ride out of this place.
i notice the dirt on my boots is red,
the dust is red,
the surrounding air is red.
my face is red,
the grass is red
but my mouth is dry.

tango on the floor

2011-09-12T19:50:00.000-04:00

the tango on the floor
two by four

near the bay window on the far side of a wall
you asked me if i wanted more

and i wanted it all

oh, i knew the game was being played in full view
the dancers in the ball room acted like they always do

but
i wanted to think like a star
streaking across the sky
never to feel another hurt
never to hear another lie

you said you wanted me again but i couldn't tell
would you always love me if i tripped and fell

i saw a portion of your book and tried to read a page
you said you were thinking of love but on another stage

there was music flowing on the wind like heated air
i could taste the kisses but couldn't find you there

but
i wanted to think like a star
streaking across the sky
never to feel another hurt
never to hear another lie

the tango on the floor
two by four

near the bay window on the far side of a wall
you asked me if i wanted more

and i wanted it all

the fat man

2011-09-11T20:40:00.001-04:00

the fat man sat
on a trail-side bench
while he sang to himself
'It won't get dark"
at 3 o'clock on a sunny afternoon.

he had no other words.

he kept repeating his refrain.

he tried to convince me of this
prophesy

while I was

walking past, and i saw the king's tower
straight ahead where i had parked my car,

so i kept walking.

now, hours later

it is dark and raining, which i can
see and hear and feel and smell.

i wonder where the fat man is.

by his side

2011-09-10T21:31:00.002-04:00

you are with someone
by his side

i have no where to hide
feeling the flames of a fire
as they grow higher

in a cabin by the lake
in the night

i still see candlelight
and your shadow on the wall
i can not see it all

i can see your voice
and your smile

i'll just stay here a while
counting petals on a rose
as desperation grows

you are with someone
by his side

i think that i have died
underneath the North star
wondering if i've come too far

i can hear you say
time to leave

and i can barely breathe
watching slowly as you rise
i can see your brown eyes

you are with someone
by his side

cathie brown

2011-09-08T21:57:00.000-04:00

sweet cathie brown
spread her reputation over town

and showed her hand in confidence
while seeming calm but she felt tense

said she came from out of state
would love to talk
but was running late
couldn't really concentrate

she had a lover and a date

when i'm 63

2011-09-06T22:10:00.001-04:00

flowing white cape
deep dark nights
a band uniform with red stripes
playing in the streets
until i'm 63
when i saved the Queen
and she saved me

deep in my heart
i'm in a good mood
outrageous not randomly rude
spending my money
until i'm 64
when i'll find pennies
left on the floor

won't you come close
to my bicycle
it's my soul duty to tickle
piano keys and ladies
until i'm 65
while i'm still living
and fully alive

love slowly

2011-09-05T19:56:00.000-04:00

johnnie and millie were paranoid
sucking on their Valium thumb
they didn't act like grown-ups
thinking that would be dumb

so softly walking thru the waste land
in a stormy night they'd pretend
and they made love slowly
hoping it might never end

why did they want to leave this place?
they didn't hang around
and they made love slowly
never making a sound

i saw them dance around a wild fire
they told me wait a while
and they made love slowly
only wearing a smile

what did they see in each other?
their breathing full of charms
and they made love slowly
always in each other's arms

i heard them promise everything
laughing beneath the moon
and they made love slowly
never ending never soon

i could wish this for everyone
special gifts romantically
and they made love slowly
drifting out to sea

something clever

2011-09-04T21:48:00.001-04:00

well, i did something clever today
sipped my wine without the cork
used the glass like a trampoline
bouncing until i couldn't be seen

and the top looked like the bottom
and the road looked like a sky
and the lines of paint on the V8 floor
disappeared so i asked for more

and bullshit formed on my running shoe
i scrapped it off inside the store
cranked the amp on a 10 foot pole
but didn't fall into your social hole

and told the bartender happy day
and removed my shirt and tie
i asked the lion in the zoo
but he refused saying "who are you?"

and with my pants around my head
i guess you're wondering how
and searched for the dirty little thing
didn't succeed but heard you sing

"hey stupid i found your forehead
it's rolling through the neighborhood
there's fault lines on your shiny car
now no one cares who you really are!"

well, i did something clever today
sipped my wine without the cork
used the glass like a trampoline
bouncing until i couldn't be seen

limp toast

2011-09-03T20:52:00.000-04:00

bacon and lettuce
hiding inside limp toast
like Casper the friendly ghost
slipping down my throat
Guinness on the deck
aw what the heck
i'm checking out your neck
and don't see you looking
back at me
well, what the hell do you see?
it's what i need to know
picking at my ripe tomato
and eating cold french fries
listening to all your usual lies
bouncing off my umbrella
am i your god damn fella?
or just another silly joe
bouncing on his piano
licking the sharpest keys
chasing you on bended knees
hearing myself say "Pretty please."
well, take this microphone
to the center of the stage
escaping your princess cage
with your best dress on
my Guinness is completely gone
do you want to go to bed with me
or is this all a fantasy?
cooked shrimp and steaming rice
it once all looked so nice
an empty glass still full of ice
but ultimately i'm empty handed
without fuel supplies i'm simply stranded
so i pay the sweaty table bill
and walk away i've had my fill

if you wonder when i'm looking back
i never will.

so sorry

2011-09-02T21:57:00.001-04:00

no it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring
it never meant a thing
you skinny little bitch
doing coke-a-cola in a junkie ditch
yeah, i wanna know who's smoke
is hanging between your lips
sorry to please your hips
but you're cold looking for some heat
taking everyone you meet
and leaving them for dead
well, i ain't going down
into that coal black loser town
i'm looking for a piece of air
and i won't find it there
so sorry there's a needle in your head
but it's not my stick
and you're making me so sick
lashing whip on a hard afternoon
coming again but way too soon
no it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring
it never meant a thing
you skinny little bitch
doing coke-a-cola in a junkie ditch
kicking a habit and out the door
yeah, i wanna know who's tattoo
on your ass smeared in blue
has their name outlined in red
and i wonder what he said
and i wonder how you felt
as you watched his rocket melt?
did you keep that ribbon in your hair?
did you walk away and know the score
or turn around to ask for more?
so sorry you've lost track of time
you could have been a friend of mine
no it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring
you can't remember anything

white devil in black pants

2011-09-01T21:06:00.001-04:00

you're a white devil in black leather pants

not so young anymore
still looking for hard romance

dancing on thin ice
still taking a chance

and when the boys come calling
you're still for balling

and when the lights go out
i can hear you shout

hey where did everybody go?
but that's not for you to know

you're the fancy girl at the rear of the pack
singing the blues with the Queen and her Jack

all you're ever doing is walking the street
smiling at tall the hunger you meet

breaking their hearts and all the rules
pointing a finger at passing fools

hoping in wonder for one big break
but unable to tell if it's true or fake

you're a white devil in black leather pants

still taking a chance

not so young anymore
still looking for hard romance

i'm watching you dance
still taking a chance

the small woman

2011-08-29T08:36:00.005-04:00

she might have fallen
down the stairs

a broken neck killed her
no one cares

her hair once red
turned to stone

she became sharply bitter
left alone

she might have faded
into age

her romantic passions
simply rage

but brilliance there
came undenied

it doesn't matter
how she died

what you're bringing

2011-08-24T21:13:00.009-04:00

it's time to
capsize

i'm drowning in your hurricane lies

abandoned on a sandy shore beside a tidal pool
you think i'm like Wonder Woman but who's the bigger fool

i've stalked this apartment floor in the sweat of a summer afternoon
counting down the seconds wondering if you'd be coming home soon

and a lonely bell keeps ringing,while my courage keeps on singing
it's not what i'm leaving with, so much as what you're always bringing

yeah, i finally looked under the scarlet rug and found the jungle key
and out of the doorway escaped none other than simple me

and i found a pretty boy who is more than just a pretty toy
he carries my heart inside his little wooden cart

and there are flowers with their petals watching how we dance
the garden path is wandering in a circle called romance

and a lonely bell keeps ringing, while my courage keeps on singing
it's not what i'm leaving with, so much as what you're always bringing

yeah, everybody thought i was just a crazy girl with a rose tattoo on her hand
as if i had no backbone to confront you and take a stand

why didn't you notice i was lonely for far too long
when time passing talked to me and wrote this sad love song

and a lonely bell keeps ringing, while my courage keeps on singing
it's not what i'm leaving with, so much as what you're always bringing

green tea

2011-08-22T08:10:00.001-04:00

front stage
near the center board
purple haze in my eyes
hearing your exhausted sighs
helpless on the floor:

i can't lift you anymore.

green tea
cooling in my hand
a puff of smoke rises
as though it finally realizes
linger and you sleep:

it's just memories that i keep.

CO highway 70

2011-08-11T10:29:00.005-04:00

an awesome hike
and mountain bike
Vail Pass
Buffalo and Quandry and Holy Cross
Copper
the Gore Range
Continental Divide
Keystone
A-Basin
Silverthorne and lake Dillon
Loveland
there is a reason
for high peaks
the meadow flowers
clear creek canyons
rushing water
wildlife
the fresh air
verdant
greenery
abundance everywhere.

lotus flower

2011-08-05T09:13:00.022-04:00

i'm standing here
in my Christ suit
face pulled tight
none too cute
hands hardly bricks
playing hot licks
while another lover
makes me pay
i don't have time for that shit today
my mescaline mind
ain't worth a dime
floating over Cloud City
breaking my silence
seeking titty
at the traffic light
searching in August air
i see there
tight leather blond hair
hungry eyes
i surmise
wine glass
i'm raising the bar
thinking ass
when Moon comes closer
with her big bass drum
and her guitar
begins to strum
for over an hour
lotus flower
inside a big brown bag
on the sidewalk crack
she's offering me
her tempting snack
& i thought of the many places
i've used rope and laces
searching for truth
in and out of frenzied youth
when explosions in the sky
frighten my appetite
& you know why
sleepless in the night
i still open the door
an endless blast of endless war
is kicking at my memory door
i sit down hard
face the wall
wondering if
you'll ever call.

how we kiss

2011-08-04T17:26:00.008-04:00

my Prozac fool
skinny little disco queen of nowhere
in your favorite cup of tea
you won't find me

carrying flowers to your birth
with all my teeth inside a cup
your cold dark eyes
still see shadows in the skies

i'm losing everything on Earth

my blue steel breast
sad sun prosperity lady
all i could hope to be
is something which you'll never see

a foreign beggar in a French lasso
finding pleasure by a camp fire dance
your black bear teeth
constantly grinding me into grief

i'm losing everything i know

between the hurried and the dead
there is no random sweetie talk
and so this
is how we kiss

continue to coast

2011-07-31T22:34:00.027-04:00

Patsy was reading my book on the train to Philadelphia
at five o'clock in the morning

and i gave her fair warning
there would be clever turns of phrase
mostly stories of my younger days

i've come a long ways

since pulling pony tails and playing ball in a driving rain

my neighborhood was big but everyone had a name

and a place

we watched the first man journey to outer space

and i used to watch when people on a television high
heard the news

wearing factory shoes
they listened to modern American blues

thinking they had nothing to lose

their cars made of steel and chrome sang on the road
the world outside their windows always showed
their lawns were always mowed

but they didn't want to know the fatal game
assuming everything would stay the same

from our train window we saw true love slide
as the sun broke in the morning at 5

i heard a conductor walking down my aisle
inspecting the passengers he managed a smile

he put all the tickets inside his vest
he wanted to get them off his chest

i saw him trade with Eleanor
she wanted less, he gave her more
it was very busy on the floor
not like it was ten thousand years before

now all the people devote their thought
to what they want and what they bought

an engineer waved to the passing crowd
his steaming whistle ungodly loud

the station appeared as we finished tea
and toast

the engine stopped

we continued to coast

but that's what i feared the most

Fire Eyes

2011-07-28T20:44:00.016-04:00

i drove a jeep where a man shouldn't go
far from the high mountains of central Colorado

i took a taxi into a city of South Viet Nam
after a little man on a motorcycle planted a bomb

and i saw a wall where four once stood
and a bleeding boy cried it wasn't good

the small girl running down a country road
was in pain and on her face it showed

her dark eyes were on fire
and screams from her frightened mouth
kept shouting higher and higher

and in the morning paper
i read about her in their report
but they kept it surprisingly short

all the Vietnamese people, it said
were glad i was there
or they'd be dead
without a home, without a bed

lost in the heat of an Asian civil war
and they needed me, but what exactly for?

they spoke French and English and never once
said i should beware

there are things being broken here
which you can never repair

there are crazy men with crazy trigger fingers
and thick mad smoke which chokes and lingers

and hungry soldiers sit shooting the dawn
when the movie's over and the popcorn all gone

and i saw a wall where four once stood
and a bleeding boy said it wasn't good

the small girl running down a country road
was in pain and on her face it showed

her dark eyes were on fire
and screams from her frightened mouth
kept shouting higher and higher

and in the morning paper
i read about her in their report
but they kept it surprisingly short

i feel better

2011-07-26T20:12:00.003-04:00

shades of blue
are covering me
making it impossible to see
what it is i'm supposed to be

you're wondering what i do the most
while acting like a ghost

wearing my watch and chain
it's never easy to explain
but if you misunderstood my intentions
you won't hear me complain

just don't call on me today
i've decided to move away
and if you think that i'm feeling better
that's not what i meant to say

i'm standing on a lovers' avenue
hesitating, but if i only knew
i'd find an impulse of the heart
and for that moment think of you

but
shades of blue
are covering me
making it impossible to see
what it is i'm supposed to be

The Horn of Africa

2011-07-25T16:19:00.010-04:00

tiny puddles of time
bagged orange fishes
cold chicken wings
hot fast food dishes

ginger snapping fingers
drifting sea of life
traffic circle bunnies
Plastic Ono knife

streamlined high tech
replacement knee
One Market Under God
minimally invasive surgery

International Herald Tribune
interstellar light ray speed
disposable friendships
trajectories of greed

meaningless diagrams
theories of complexity
a colorful idiot box and
an artificial tree

management efficiency
deregulation finesse
cell phone galaxy
fetal position caress

Banana Republic
Ann Taylor breath
Liz Claiborne & Enzo Angiolini
Horn of Africa death

tiny puddles of time

Heraclitus

2011-07-24T19:41:00.002-04:00

what is more important than a palette knife
when the evening becomes the first day
for an abstract mask of
whatever colors
you wish to smear
on your
face?

the red change will come
to the green cloud and the
yellow will sing
to the blue sky
with a photographic
memory
of fire.

many hands old and young
finding a role in
gravity feeding
the center of
each soul in
tiny fractions
of an ounce:

but change is the only
permanence,
Heraclitus said.

Kerouac

2011-07-23T20:57:00.007-04:00

Kerouac
Jack
lit another dandy cigarette

his smoke exhaled loudly
speeding like a Pontiac Safari sports car
curling around her breast
for a full lap

the erect nipple passed some beat poet test

but he couldn't get his life back

so he spat alcohol on the floor
threw a Bat Man comic at the door
told everyone else to shove it
but they wouldn't hear none of it

so he went out on the road
to find what was behind everything that glowed

and it became an innocent page in a library book

now, no matter what you think or where you look

you just can't find him

Barcelona

2011-07-22T20:00:00.011-04:00

The New York times came inside my room,
Her silent slice of genius
And laughter full of mirth
asking me "Is it time to buy some art?"

I could taste the sticky smell of seduction on her breath.

"Is it time to buy some art?"

Strolling to the nearest gallery with her
temptress fingers stroking my hungry palm,
I thought of Barcelona.

When the door opened, we could see a jazz quartet
playing music on an open stage.

Red wine was poured.

She asked to drink my lips.

I asked to drink her hips.

Nearby, a boy discovered that a girl could be more
Than just best friends
When his radiator hissed.
Presumably his motor was overworked.

But no one was dancing.

Inspecting the hanging art, she read my mind and heard
A song she could not sing.

But I had no mind.

And the song was an Andalusian tune the flute player was having fun
improvising.

His smile reminded her of Utrillo, she whispered.

That evening, we cooked Spanish rice.

We sipped good wine.

No, we bought no art.

We had our own paints to play with.

"Drink to me!" he said

2011-07-18T12:46:00.009-04:00

With a clever cock
of the black beret
tilted casually
atop his famous head,
the plaid jacket with a gypsy smile
walked into the paradox.

There, the 4 Cats in Barcelona
wore blue bare feet
and spent some time
on a desolate shore,
ambivalent to all who lived.

When the whisper finally appeared
behind the lady's back,
a small square fountain
cooled the day
with magic rumors.

Her one eye black,
and one eye clear,
knew the green nails held an opium pipe,
and full ripe lips grew blissfully alive.

White-gloved butlers saw the show,
helped to spool the film and pour
some drinks.

The yellow spot became a sun.

The key to the door of a nearby cabin
was in his hand,
between the sea and the savage rocks.

Madonna and the whore
sat and played their instruments of war
while he made intense love
to the females on his bed.

His sword fight ended
in scandal when a silhouette was found.

Then, several little bugs crawled
on a fireplace wall
and the universe was illuminated.

Mountain View, CA

2011-07-17T22:28:00.002-04:00

Mountain View
just for you
a book is resting on your table
left unread by lady Mable
she's the one you'll need to know
by loving softly head to toe
without an anxious awkward glance
you'll succeed inside her pants
but that's not important anymore
for when you close that bedroom door
what you'll get is what you've earned
that's what i've finally learned
just a simple human touch
it's not asking very much
and hearing what she said
will calm you in the bed
and you'll feel better
in your varsity sweater
So Mountain View
this is direct from me to you
and don't sweat the small stuff
know when enough is enough.

miss me

2011-07-17T22:17:00.000-04:00

it's not like it used to be
as maybe you can see

not in the hours of daylight
or even late at night

when i hung the picture of your face
on the wall near my resting place

i reached to touch your hair
and when i looked
you were not there

and when i thought i couldn't miss
you walked away and took your kiss

so you don't miss me
confidentially

like the tango would miss a beat
or a hot rod might miss the street

it's not for certain in my heart
how this stop can make a start

when i saw your smile on Sunday
it was gone again on Monday

i reached to touch your hair
and when i looked
you were not there

The American Occupation of Iraq

2011-07-12T20:43:00.017-04:00

Under cover of darkness,
the Assassins' Gate
had a terrible eye
and a commanding presence.

Its' watchtowers
and concrete blast walls
saw travelers
going in and out to kill.

In the first few hours
of my visit,
the atmosphere was physically cool;
then it became intolerably hot
between the hours of ten and six.

This intense sunlight became a vivid yellow
and washed the streets of life.

Inside the Green Zone,
along the west bank of the Tigris River,
truth and madness
grew fat while wearing designer glasses.

Their dream of normal life became an
extraordinary happening and then
it simply didn't happen.

I remembered a schoolteacher who talked
a lot about God when I saw a man who was missing
his right arm. When he saw me looking at him,
he smiled.

The niceties of normal life were gone, and no one
knew where they were or how to get there.

An AK-47 appeared.

Nearby, a dead Iraqi was big
and visible
in the shadow of the Baghdad zoo.

Other animals not quite so dead
still dreamed of suicide and
astonishing violence
on the beachhead
where modern tides experienced a flood of doubt.

beyond myself

2011-07-10T19:37:00.002-04:00

i'll tell you how it is
about midnight
i turn out the light
and think of polka dots
and flowers
for hours and hours
i see the shadow on my wall
of another
invited under cover
the conclusion of this dream
is intense
so hence
there is body stretching
as i toss and turn
what can i learn?
i like polka dots and flowers
& night time dreams
and what it means
to see possibility
resting on a shelf
beyond myself.

mister nice guy

2011-07-06T21:22:00.002-04:00

mister nice guy
isn't it such a nice sky:)
you've got that new tie

and tailored suit and shoes
i never heard you sing the blues
or argue with dissenting views.

clean sheets laundered well
you never meant to give them hell
did you ring the dinner bell

comfortably resting in your bed
on your ass but in you head
did you think your wife was dead?

mister good fellow
never an assertive angry bellow
why so fair and smoothly mellow?

could you show a woman truth:
leave your armored circus booth
and risk behavior deemed uncouth?

abstracts

2011-07-05T20:30:00.006-04:00

abstracts
simple x's and o's
fancy red and tasseled yellows
those little black witches
cowboy riding baby blue stitches
the pink kitchen sink in the center of a great room
and a vibrant sunset in full cherry bloom
where an unknown gnome steals a golden flower
marking time inside his orange hour
and a lovely pear tree
by the heaving shore
my view is blocked by an open door
a foreign woman inside her silver cave
was painting landscapes with her favorite stave
as her good light quickly filtered down
it smeared her face with gentle brown.

dancing mists

2011-06-30T21:44:00.001-04:00

picnic at pillow lake
four feet in the sun in the morning
where the evergreens shade the sand far from shore
we rest by Sentinel Fall
in the early summer
before the cottonwoods bloom
along the waterline
my hand extends for your kiss
the high forest watches the embrace
in an angle of full repose
we pause under the towers
of the north wall
the white day of noon
after the rain
heats our basket of fine fruits
and the dancing mists
cover your hair with jewels.

The Valley

2011-06-28T09:25:00.008-04:00

Paradise Valley
the turquoise waters
rising temperatures and soft light
hard granite rock glittering in white
precious gold
meadow flowers unfold
in the early summer sun
frolicking frisky and fresh
Yosemite Fall
roaring echoing teasing it all
clouds of screaming blue spray
greening the eye
the eternal Ansel sky
a prolonged hush
whispering
quieting the rush
where lady bugs swarm
flying spinning sighing
red and yellow and wings
these are some of the many things
orange and purple and awe
it's not just what i saw
it's what i felt
the Zen masters teach
while eyeing the peach.

silly dog

2011-06-22T11:29:00.029-04:00

deep into the windy spell of late autumn
the quiet reflection of an ambushing spider
climbs the bark of a silly dog

it falls on the still waters of a hand-dug well

a foot step nearby brushes the silence

in sweet soprano
i hear a cry

blushing softly the girl

with a blue tattoo
of a white tiger
on the prowl
walking over her left breast,

moves furtively.

the startled spider is trapped in the web
where a morning drop of dew
struggles.

the soft tattoo has no name
as the girl looks anxiously for the dog

who is now stalking the tiger.

silly dog.

ENJOY THE REVOLUTION

2011-06-21T20:05:00.019-04:00

the revolution came;
the revolution ended
and on a January morning
by an unkempt bed
a radio with its broken dial
hissed the resignation noise at seven.
Tahrir Square emptied in a languid hush.
after the celebration and the great storm
ordinary people went hauling the dead, the dying, and all that blood;
the discarded papers, the unofficial hopes, the ideals
sat waiting for a taxi on historic Cairo street corners.
nearby a tea vendor sipped his brew, wondering.
i too watched them, under tattered banners.
meanwhile, waiting for the cleanup crew
were men in army uniforms with sharp interests
and even sharper wit with tanks.
then, later in the cafe
near the green cellar door
by the red vinyl Coca Cola cover
curious faces were sketched in black and white
as fate would have it.
simple martyrs drawn on an old concrete wall
their rows of eyes in shaded light watching near my empty glass
which i held loosely in the curling smoke of
frequent customers who were
opening and closing new packs of lucky cigarettes
all black hair and boasts of brotherhood
exchanging glances and twitter posts.
their ash trays were empty
but the air was full of dreams.
soon, the military council would watch a new sun rise
where once the desert sun watched millions
of protesters from Egyptian cities and towns
who now rested on hard curbs and flat roofs
where Al Jazeera satellite could find them
underneath their ancient pyramid shadow,
still searching for honest work and a simple piece of bread.
tear-gas canisters rolled from view
leaving a scar on each forehead.
the revolution came,
the revolution ended
and it was crazy for a time
with women out at night, unafraid,
and young men in cars honking at the dawn.

spicy hot and mean

2011-06-19T20:40:00.003-04:00

i didn't like the painting
maybe the proportions were wrong
something too big or too small
a woman too fat or tall
a canoe beached without a paddle
a girl riding without a saddle
it's hard to finger exactly why
the lines are low when they should be high
or perhaps the oils were smeared
anyway, it simply felt weird
i think my preconceptions
interfered
i wanted something from Sweden
what i saw was a sunset
with a gorgeous white egret
in the shallows of a calm tropic sea
the yellow bill, black legs and feet
were drawn well and neat
but the composition was too serene
i was in the mood for something spicy
exquisitely
hot and mean

the critic

2011-06-16T20:36:00.005-04:00

while the critic ate his worm
he liked it most in a cold steady rain
upon the hour of a last hot meal
or a warm and tender embrace
which he never seemed to try
his hair was always dry
as a crowd of athletic walkers
walked on by without a wave
as they were looking for the group park bench
underneath a heavy-leafed tree
maybe an old stately oak
to escape his depressing soak
Brahms first symphony in C minor
could be heard by their kitchen door
as the oatmeal raisin cookie smell
tickled vibrating strings and a fancy kettledrum
atop an open summer meadow air
there is never an endless ghetto there
for the maker of the fresh peach pie crust
the tuner of a Steinway piano and a treble clef
or a painter with her colors and her calico cat
or a clever strategist and a scribbled score
for the flute player fingering with a strong heart
each important note escaping at the whistled start
while the critic ate his worm

sudden fate

2011-06-12T20:52:00.007-04:00

the blue French Citroen
at the curb
in the dead of night
still missing one headlight
was idly waiting for the absent driver
intently knocking on the main wood door
of a grand city Maison
the entire reason
for his visit
was the slender beauty
and her long black hair
but the servant said she wasn't there
she was with her father
far away by many miles in Hue
the mother too was gone
and wouldn't return before the dawn
so the young man went to the Caravelle Hotel
and had a drink at the bar by twelve
he tried to sleep but couldn't
thought of driving north but knew he shouldn't
after all, there was a war about
& the hope of finding gas supplies wasn't great
so he fitfully tossed and turned
with visions of Thich Quang Duc calm and burned
who earlier seated slowly onto the cushion
in yogic lotus posture
inside his final pillar of fire
where the saffron flames danced ever higher
in an electric silence a hush
as monks and nuns pressed together
hands folded in prayer
crowds of Vietnamese stopped to stare
and soon a corrupt regime would end
but the war would continue
with more bitterness and sad tears
more horrible deaths for many more years.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

2011-06-01T19:51:00.004-04:00

he had no heart to burn
and only one to give.
it was said by some
he lost the will to live;
others say his ship was rammed
or simply poorly built
in Genoa where wild roses
bloom but never wilt.
but what did he see
under the waves being tossed
that could have spoken
to the radical genius lost?
was there a last strong line
of allegorical note
he might have uttered
toward the bottom of his boat?
was Lord Byron mad that Don Juan
was no longer floating?
the Tory newspaper
The Courier meanwhile was gloating:
Shelley has been drowned
and "now he knows
whether there is God or no."
but they were foes
not friends
as were his beloved Mary and Claire
and John Keats and Leigh Hunt
of a literary circle in England near where
he wrote The Revolution of the Golden City.
Prometheus Unbound was completed in Rome
before he set sail from Livorno to Lerici.
Tragically, he did not get home.

you know, don't you?

2011-06-01T07:39:00.003-04:00

you know, don't you?
the roots are in a fertile soil
share the nutrients
suck the sun
sip the water
deflect the shade
or cry for more
with a voice that has cried before.
you know, don't you?
in every garden a good thing grows.
the hour for the gardener is always
the hour for the soil.
every flower appreciates the toil
the effort
the pruning
weeding and feeding.
will my flower laugh when I giggle
in passing
or am i asked to be the flower?
you know, don't you?

all the applause

2011-05-30T21:14:00.004-04:00

unrelenting
beyond timberline
beyond reason
beyond cell phone service, OMG
the chilled air of nowhere
the heat of personal ambition
driving the hard effort
to ride a bicycle to a summit
Everest base camp in a damn white-out
black out
brown clouds above the white lines
passing lanes
passing out
out of breath
out of control
but not out of road
more impossible effort required
with the unfocused eye
the goal
far ahead inside the upper branches
fatigue robbing the lower limbs
the imagination
more pleasant than the actual physical effort
but not as rewarding as conquering this pain
the heavy weight
turning an incredible resisting pedal
gravity laughing at the joke
listening to the hypnotic voices of a splendid chorus
their music drifting sweetly
above the waves of the tender ocean
each urgent whisper singing
quit quit quit the whispers quit quit quit
but at the top
triumph
full relief
with a slow bicycle
and a fast heart
finally completely
more than satisfactorily
the legs walk away with all the applause
and the beer tastes all the more rewarding.

roll on Columbia U

2011-05-27T19:27:00.009-04:00

the God of war
isn't inside your nose

its snot and disgusting
undergraduate brain matter
witless on an early Friday afternoon

the white tiger stalks

the blue dragon pausing in attack
hears your juvenile rantings to wonder
after all that Blake has said
has it really come to this?

the Pagoda of Ravens
isn't the harbor where you dock
the ship of fools

the Lake of Scintillating Brightness
points to the near hill and mountains
visible in a forested distance
mock your childish NewYork babble

scorn?

there is no time for laughter
while the beautiful jade tree mounts
the granite steps at the entrance door
of literary study

so enjoy the sublime adolescence
sucking your wrinkled thumb

the lotus flower watches in amusement
from a ferry near Staten Island

the red-crowned turkey struts to your simple music
beyond the pulse of a Beethoven beat

the Gate of Dazzling Virtue
shades her eyes
pointing along the wide terrace

you are alone as you stroll
but you cannot pass through

the garden will not wait.

no one asked

2011-05-22T21:18:00.005-04:00

when he walked into the bar
he hadn't traveled very far
and he didn't want to think
took his first mind-altering drink
then his second and a third
and being good to his word
people listening heard
complaints about personal poverty
and sexual highway robbery
and he wailed about the boys
jealous of his hot rod toys
girls who straightened curls
and TVs and killer bees
and the early death of Elvis
and his unappreciated pelvis
the blue suede shoes and Memphis blues
and tiny purple fishes
laughing at his southern dishes
in the seaside village of gloom
he kept looking at the room
but it kept spinning inside his head
no one heard a word he said
so he sat down on the floor
no one asked for any more
and he didn't want to sing
threw away his wedding ring
he tossed aside his wife
then he threw away his life
when he walked into the bar
he hadn't traveled very far
but he thought he knew the score
no one asked for any more

high at noon

2011-05-18T21:49:00.003-04:00

if you think i'll go crazy when i decide to leave
don't be too quick to guess what you believe

i won't be picking up a spoon or jacking a knife
throwing it at my heart but sparing my life

if you think i'll cry,
or that i might die
when the clock strikes another high at noon
a new beginning might be coming soon

i can stand the flood of time
roaring inside this skin of mine

my world always felt strong
even when you done me wrong

and i was always guessing smart
when you said i was off the mark

i always dressed up real good
even if you didn't think i could

so what was it about love that i didn't understand
when i felt the lack of your loving hand?

what was it about time when i felt out of place?
you tied me in knots of ribbon and lace

not quite a prison and not quite a chore
what was all the wondering for?
if you think i'll go crazy when i decide to leave
don't be too quick to guess what you believe

and if you think i'll cry,
or that i just might die
when the clock strikes another high at noon
a new beginning might be coming soon