see the moon

you tell me i can't see the moon
but i'm watching from my darkened room
and holding on & won't let go
so easily from what i know
it bothers me you've shut our door
inside my head and said no more
i'm crying on a bed of flowers
missing you like this for hours
passing time and passing out
crazy with my lonely shout
wondering where you might've gone
without me till the break of dawn
and i remember how you smell
and taste and feel, life's hell
knowing that you've gone away
left me with this empty day
i'm crying on a bed of flowers
missing you like this for hours

Zelda was insane!

Zelda was insane!

she saved the last waltz for me
on her Turkish rug

while dreaming by
the Mediterranean sea
of a life beyond the doldrums

which pinch & heat & chill,

which can torment a sailors' Spirit
and break the strongest will.

but her finest point 

still spinning

surrounds my beating heart;

her secret jazz age dances

tear my stage apart.

Zelda was beautiful!

the Hawkeye shine was in her eye:

it could capture moments swiftly
as sharp talons from the sky!

it held tight & flew forever
over solid and imagery.

and i heard her bravest whisper
when she saved the waltz for me.

still dead

i saw a dead man's balls
sticking out of his head
after he pissed his pants
which were full of lead
from a claymore mine
resting in the mud
of South Vietnam
no, it wasn't a dud
it was a real man killer
but it never asked who
the hot metal bearings
would be ripping into
this hot summer day
in a cold body bag
on a foreign highway
for an imperial flag.
so where are you punk?
with your tidy white shirt
your pedigree stamp
smooth face in a smirk
just another adventure
to a rice paddy hell
pointed cute politicians
thought they knew it so well
but they didn't know shit
as it sat on their ass
while a down arrow pointed
to the fucked working class
who didn't know shit
yet they ate it all day
from their first morning coffee
to a late night souffle.

a woodland trail

a woodland trail
single track
ascending past paw paw trees
then turning back
when the bald eagle flew
along the river's edge
& i sat to marvel
on my leafy ledge
the brisk wind blow
of a thunderstorm
by a far horizon
the sky was torn
and the river danced
with a liquid light
while i walked away
before the coming night.

a woodland trail
blazed in blue
a natural place
to spend time with you.

i will see you again, Pascin

i will see you again but not yet a friend whispered several years after we'd met and i was dead not he or they or all else who came to play the many artists and hangers-on drinking and eating and loving till the early dawn they might say it was madness in my blood i wrote but i merely slit my wrists & hung by throat threw a bloody testament on the nearby wall before the solo show about Cecile and my downfall i knew triumph & color & whores with fine lines and wit or maybe duller but if you slept i was alert at Montmartre always the flirt never the serious painter as i wanted to be known so i fade, become fainter & wonder when between bottles of wine i will see you again

sonata, Moonlight

soft
& softer
with the moon
the stars deeply in tune
as tender lovers swoon
& clouds with drifting light
marry everyone in our sight
& gravity momentarily suspends
the music still floating here
far from any anchored pier
this sonota tenderly
wings the heart
& sets it free
to be
me

two halves

it's a lazy summer afternoon
and i'm midway between
two halves of desperately hungry
hoping that i'll get to see you soon
BUT
from my dream to the nearby bar
i won't have to travel very far
to kiss your luscious lips
& watch your moving hips
sense the appetite of my anxious fingertips
touch the sweaty smile of body heat
Yes, it won't be long before we meet

it's a lazy summer afternoon
and i'm midway between
two halves of desperately hungry
hoping that i'll get to see you soon
BUT
when you left me at the corner store
told me you'd be coming back for more
was it a lie you spoke?
some kind of silly joke?
should i just lay here until my body's broke?
i'm the loner crying in the street
Yes, it won't be long before we meet

Pictures at an Exhibition

i saw the pictures at an exhibition: 

no price was charged 

or admission ticket required

no stub 

or membership rules posted! 

i felt a moving mystery. 

it gathered all the straining ear

along a horned path 

with strings 

and played the famous Mussorgsky song in four parts 

an ethereal alien air grew louder 

but then soft; 

a tidal sweeping water spray of sound

& a flair for the flamboyant 

the kettle drum and french horn 

keys with flute attached 

the trombone blast and some elfish piccolos 

a large section of bass 

incessant rock knock and pound 

The Kingdom of finest woven lace weaving notes

of orchestral tempest 

escaping notes 

fleeing from excellent instruments 

& fingers of humankind grandly being toyed.

write & more

if you happen to live long enough
there's a chance of writing some pretty
good stuff
or die unsung
& much too young
without reporting anything of note
are you the goat
with a voice
stuck in your throat
no sound at all
& then the fall
to distant depths unknown
not shown
on any human map?
so, write
& write more, more
to stop a war
inhale a breath
comfort a baby
before death
whatever reason
or without one
proclaim yourself
it can be fun!

Gertrude Stein

her straight dark hair cut short & tight 

leaned closer toward me,

asking for a light. 

she smoked my name,

exhaling from the promising start.

she tapped her ashes directly into my heart. 

we were sitting warm at the best cafe 

on a Paris terrace.

 

we had clear words to say.

we heard a Piaf song flying slowly from the nearby boulevard. 

i scribbled je t'aime on a French notecard!

by the Eiffel Tower,

i sipped a small glass of chilled champagne 

underneath her watchful eyes and 

a soft afternoon rain.

i remembered a fine Cezanne 

yet couldn't explain 

why it was hung inside a fancy wooden frame.

and on the Rue de Fleurus 

drinking white wine, 

we saw approaching Gertrude Stein,

and she would certainly provide the answer.