no Juliet

so
you're over there
blowing smoke in the air
and here
i'm thinking tv
flipping a channel
watching a movie
i'd rather be watching you
but i can't take off this damn shoe
can't tie myself into a knot
i guess i forgot
you're trying to run solo
a rich girl playing polo
happier without me
so completely free
i wish it was different
i wish it was clear
you'd need me on Sunday
keeping me near
we'd walk on the evening shore
forever and forever and more and more
i wish it was different
i wish it was clear
you're watching the sun rise
keeping me near
we'd sit on the mountain top
forever and forever and never stop
so
you're over there
blowing smoke into the air
and here
i'm thinking miss you
flipping channels
surfing without you

hey baby, i can't forget
this dance has no Juliet
there's no big pile of money
i can't call you honey
i can't laugh it's not funny
you won't call me Romeo
i guess there's no good place to go
so
you're over there
blowing smoke into the air

Superman's ghost

the total eclipse
as i walked home with a friend
discussing the virtues of obsession
was a tea party surprise.

it rushed towards us like an
earthquake wave in six dimensions;
like a confusing New York Times
headline in bold neon letters
being broadcast from the rooftop of
a Manhattan high rise on halloween night,
showering pale orange confetti slowly falling
onto the masked gobblins scurrrying far below,
past radiation detectors and their own
fading high school memories of acne and
heartache.

the cute little girl from
Delaware who dressed as a witch,
once upon a time,
maybe with Alice in Wonderland,
maybe with Sarah in la la land,
said never to masturbate
in public with your pants pulled down,
especially with a smile on your face
in the magazine aisle.
she dabbled in the craft of the coven,
while i dabbled in finger paints,
pushing Cindy away from my private
colors and giving young Billy a hard time
for baking a famous cherry pie.

Cindy became a poet, writing about
buttered popcorn and old movies.
Billy became a well-oiled stripper working under the hot
lights on the bronze pole at Club Avalon in Hollywood.

Sarah became a reality television star.
the people who watched her show said
she was better than Superman, yes sir!
i knew Chris Reeves and he was a friend of mine.
he had a terrible fall from his horse and became
paralyzed; yet in blue tights, he looked great!
The military would not want him to appear
in any recruitment office wearing his cape,
hands on hips, shaking bootie.
But he's dead now, so that won't happen.

Sarah is no Chris Reeves, although she probably
wears a mask while her sled dog husband
shouts Mush Mush Mush as she autographs
another book at a convention for the hearing impaired.

coasting down the street

you like to fire the wind into my face
expecting me to drop everything
and give chase
with my pants down on the ground
where i least expected to be found
but i'm on strike
i'm climbing the Alp d'Huez on my new bike
leaving you behind
it's an uphill grind
i can't tell you what i'll find
there are screaming crowds along my ascent
i never once wonder where you went
there's plenty of air in each tire
i'm pulling away, getting higher & higher
i love you too much to stop
maybe you'll be waiting at the top
maybe i won't see you on the victory stand
with a cold water bottle in your hand
so don't be angry
because you love me
and i won't get down on one knee
i'm a solitary rider with papers on my seat
forming words which i can never repeat
like a helpless whisper coasting down the street

something

i'll give you something to chew on,
a piece of fat or bone or this:

when young,
i pulled the wing from the body of
a Monarch butterfly and felt nothing.
i caught a yellow and black bumblebee
with my bare hand
and it stung me, but i didn't cry.
I tossed 6 colorful baby chicks from a 2nd floor
porch on Easter Sunday and
they fell to their death on the black pavement.
i didn't know why they died.
my mother chased me into a small
bathroom and i slammed the wood door
firmly shut
before she could grab me.
i watched her axe blade tear the door apart,
but had no where to run.
my father kicked me when he was angry
and he was always angry.
i got a surprise of Pennsylvania anthracite
coal for Xmas. It was
hard and dusty in a shoe box.
i have a knife tip scar on my right forearm,
but i didn't bleed.
i was a soldier in a war in South Vietnam,
but i didn't get an official purple heart.
i already had one.
Now,
tell me something.

Patagonia

watching Bert & Ernie
on a pillow
on the floor
while south of Argentina
there are mountains to explore.
the Gauchos love this land:
Pampas and Patagonia chill
where dams designed to rise
against the people's will
are sharpened like a spear
and hurled with blind intent.
yet the unspoiled land relies
on more than man has sent-
there are greater issues near.
the horizon distant and grand
studies the heart of kindness,
struggling to understand
the encroachment like a rerun
of a film noir horror show.
at some moment in the future
there may be no wild places left to go.

What offends you?

I am not offended by cartoons.

I am not bothered by mushroom clouds
drawn to replace turbans
atop the head of bearded strangers.

BUT:

I am offended by the beheading of civilians.

I am offended by bombing attacks
against public buildings.

I am offended by suicide murderers.

I am offended by the slaughter of children.

I am offended by the killings of Catholic priests,
the burning of Christian churches,
the imposition of sharia law on non-Muslims,
the murder of film directors in Holland,
the rioting and looting in Paris,
the stoning of innocent women,
the calls for jihad from the mouth of the unknowing,
ignorance, ungratefulness, and misogyny.

I hope this doesn't offend anyone.

a ride

now leave me alone
i'll dig up my bone
don't even pretend
you're still my friend
don't telephone
don't tell anyone
we drove from home
a mere week ago
i missed you so
gave you a lift
and what a gift
you gave me a ride
invited me inside
of course i wanted more
so i opened the door
and climbed all those stairs
to be with a friend who cares
and what a view
when i finally had you
wearing those high heeled shoes
it's hard for me to choose
5 foot seven and hips of heaven
or bourbon whiskey and the open sea
leave me alone
i'll play with my bone
don't even pretend
you're still my friend

don't vote for Jack

hello,
my name is wayne
la pee air.
i'm the gay haired blonde
skin headed tattoo drunk
neo hot shit lobbyist
wunderkind breast man
who called last night.
my voice was full of deep sexual
undertones and soft moans of
sitcom repetitions under the
cobwebbed rising of a panting moon
in an x rated television sky.
my buddies and i need your political support.
it's guaranteed hard-on erection viagra-colored
4 hour rock solid penetration ice age
global warming is a hoax
permanent orgasm urgent that
you vote for tommy dickwad
for state senator.
everybody agrees.
you think so, too.
tommy wants to ensure that all men,
even those with severe mental retardation
and a propensity to drink lots of Jack Daniels
are allowed to own modern assault weapons,
taking them to the church of their choice
(for communion, if necessary).
hello,
my name is wayne.

don't vote for Jack.
he's on the road again.

Janice

i've never taken a second glance
never thought about a quick romance
and yet this girl on my lonely street
always asks me for something to eat
all i could offer her was my silver spoon
tempting beneath the summer moon
but all she ever wanted to do
was chase away the color blue

i saw her running down the railroad track
a screaming monkey riding on her back
and climbing up the Hemlock tree
reciting soulful poetry
she'd wave her arms looking back at me
never seeing the stop sign on the hill
she'd pass the hat but not the chill
wanted me to love her but i never will

her eyes were Heaven but they looked like Hell
she might have been lovely but you couldn't tell
a broken beauty inside a graveyard dream
she'd toss and turn in her silent scream
hungry for a lover who would never cry

i watched her fall and i watched her die

her eyes were Heaven but they looked like Hell
she might have been lovely but you couldn't tell

base camp

sitting on this steep rock pile
below the south face of Everest
after i climbed a tough last mile
and thought i'd stop for a little while
ah, base camp with toilets and trash
hung over, ready to crash
so close to China and
Burma and Tibet
i really should be going and yet
it's icy cold and i'm incomplete
out of luck and with sore feet
checking out the sherpas
but it's a girl i'd like to meet

hikers are singing some tune
below the south face of Everest
inside a tent of the blue dog moon
i should get started again real soon
but never thought it would go this way
you phone, i've got nothing to say
Buddhist flags are flying today
thought i'd stop for a little while
after i climbed a tough last mile
it's icy cold and i'm incomplete
out of luck and with sore feet
checking out the sherpas
but it's a girl i'd like to meet

Where was Einstein?

When Daniel Ellsberg
went looking for his bus,
he saw the war,
felt the sun turn cold 

and ugly 

with political lies
falling from a deceitful sky
like incendiary bombs over North Vietnam,
spilling onto the streets in front of the White House.

near central Saigon on Tu Do street,
a flow of blood dripped constantly from the sharp teeth
of slippery men wearing their helicopter smiles,
trafficking dope 

from a railroad town in Laos
down the trail 

under a heart of darkness:
their American machine guns shooting up
the hard thin arms of Oriental hunger.

On a plutonium pathway the buffalo grass turned shit brown
with the CIA and Agent Orange
locked in a fatal embrace 

from the Plain of Jars
to the Central Highlands,

to the DMZ,
picking pure white daisy petals
while counting down from twelve 

to four and finally closer to zero:
under a cloudy mushroom afternoon,
Nixon was inaugurated to deliver
PEACE 

while fighting for his golden Crown
in the slaughter hallways of Pennsylvania Avenue.

Where was Einstein?
when Daniel Ellsberg
said there were no winnable options
for a WAR 

in jungle thick with sudden death
and monsoon confusion?

A thousand western schemes floated beguilingly,
mingled with autumn flower petals 

on the Perfume River,
past the starving bones of an angry Imperial ghost,
to their lonely grave 

in the South China Sea.

Cincinnatti

you don't know where you are going
you're not happy with where you've been
you spent your lifetime flirting
with a tonic and a gin

and when you chased me down that alley
with an angry bottle in your hand
past the mother with her daughter
as her son played in the band

i could read that whiskey label
when it flew over my head
i had dreams of Cincinnati
and i knew then i was dead

hear me playing your piano
fingers touching all the keys
but you've stolen all my rainbows
and i'm asking for them, please

hear me playing your piano
fingers free as winter air
but you've stolen all my memories
i can't find them anywhere

you don't know where you are going
you're not happy with where you've been
you spent your lifetime flirting
with a tonic and a gin

and when you pulled a gun and shot me
with a painted target on my back
past the midnight stand on Main Street
as the road sign flashed to black

i could feel that bullet flying
when it flew over my head
i had dreams of Cincinnati
and i knew then i was dead

catch the sparrow

how can you catch the sparrow?

the bone separating from the heart
of the marrow,

and can you hold an angel in your arms
when she's afraid to surrender all her charms?

where does the day go when it's gone?
are we just waiting for another perfect dawn?

are you there to remind me of who i am,
so i can come back and love you all over again?

simple sunshine and a gentle shower
a kiss a lifetime a day an hour
i knew i loved you on the avenue
in a dream i felt it all come true

two together souls and a hungry kiss
a memory saved for a future reminisce
i knew i loved you on the avenue
in a dream i felt it all come true

how can you catch the sparrow?

the bone separating from the heart
of the marrow,

and can you hold an angel in your arms
when she's afraid to surrender all her charms?

where does the day go when it's gone?
are we just waiting for another perfect dawn?

are you there to remind me of who i am,
so i can come back and love you all over again?

a happy toy (acoustic)

i was just a little boy
underneath my Christmas tree
wanting to be carefree
looking for a happy toy

yes, a little bouncing boy
holding in his anxious hand
a sack of coal, a bag of sand
still searching for a happy toy

looking for a warm embrace
from a stone cold dad
and wanting to feel glad
needing to see a smiling face

looking for a woman's touch
from a hard mom's hand
and i can't understand
why i ask too much

i was just a little boy
in pj's and bunny shoes
already singing the blues
instead of sounds of joy

a silly wondering tyke
with blonde hair over my eyes
looking for an early prize
never finding the bike

i was just a little boy
underneath my Christmas tree
wanting to be carefree
looking for a happy toy

yes, a little bouncing boy
holding in his anxious hand
a sack of coal, a bag of sand
still searching for a happy toy

a pumpkin head

a cool ocean of air roughs up my hair 

i'm coasting down the steep driveway

i make an abrupt left turn and i'm saying hi to Frank as he checks his mailbox and throws away a bill or two and suddenly i think of Chris when i pass the place she once called home 

there are hints of ice on my face 

i feel the temperature drop from our Martian heat of mid-summer which melted skin and sagged spirits there are deep brown leaves and random tiny sticks 

a frosty litter drifting and shriveled like dehydrated dreams from once upon a time 

discarded by mother and tossed and turned cracking with the weight of their dying and being crushed underfoot 

underneath my tires a rubber blur to their sad unapologetic eyes the hard macadam hums 

i see the corn fields freshly cut and a few bright yellow ears yet remain survivors of an obliteration campaign on this Saturday afternoon bicycle ride on an early October afternoon of late autumn 

i feel the frozen locker of winter down the aisle 

i see it's face in this harvest 

am i ready for the change? 

an cloud of minor thought escapes from my nostrils as I exhale,  condensing as trailing crystals a premonition of February perhaps and the snow 

i pedal i pout i ponder i pursue 

i am riding directly across the great western prairie under an American sun on a college football day 

past blue houses with argumentative gasoline mowers cutting grass and weeds and into time which will not return however much their is hope  

i wave my hand, no one seems to notice 

no atomic bomb blast blowing hot annihilation winds has brought this farmland to an early end no plague nothing unclean no evil minion no desperation no panicked scream 

these corn stalks were man-cut brought down to Earth with a single-minded purpose 

i watched a Ford convertible drive out of Rheems with three riders inside bundled in their winter wear with hats and neck scarves tuning their radio to tune out their thoughts they seemed very serious about musical enjoyment as the car's heater warmed up, bobbing and bouncing and solemnly nodding they drove toward a small star sitting high over the distant horizon radiating indifference

i could not maintain their pace, but i could smell the exhaust from their chrome pipe as the car disappeared from my view 

as this was the month of Halloween and transformation,  i considered a neck pumpkin (my grandmother Esther had a recipe for a pie and it always went well) as i weaved in and out near a pumpkin patch with orangeade filling my mouth 

i wiped my chin, then saw an open backyard pool it had two chairs close to the diving board where a poetry reading was taking place:  they were empty, but i saw a beard floating on the turquoise waters 

it pointed to the east toward Mount Joy, a neighboring town,  so i went in that direction 

a flower fell on the road i stopped to pick it up 

the street sign said Whitman Drive but it was a dead end, and suddenly the traffic came close and a red stop sign at a difficult intersection became my warning to slow down i looked right and left and straight ahead and considered turning around, but decided to rest under the shade of a nearby tree, up a slight rise,

where i could sing a song of myself 

the shade was of a soft grey 

the leaves of grass

i decided to wait for a friend and no one passing by seemed to care that i was wearing a pumpkin head.

A regular guy

Steven was a regular teacher 

just a regular guy 

with no thought of moon walking into moving traffic 

his contract schedule obliged him to cover for my break.

he came into my classroom with his quiet shuffle 

(damn, wasn't he the band director?) 

and sat his thin ass on the thin chair spinning it to an exact spot 

a spot he wanted 

and faced the wall of windows without looking outside 

without seeing the dancing cars 

or the blue sky 

unfolding flowers 

and cumulus clouds tapping their happy feet northeasterly 

to party the night away on the Lower East Side 

with Patsy and the Nighthawks. 

 he placed his grey laptop on his lap 

his hair was thin and short and dark 

his eyes dark 

his mood dark dark, too, his shoes tied with dark laces 

his suit dark his skeleton dark 

inside crawling across the dark mental desert searching for some holy waters. 

he told me he would babysit my kids for 45 minutes. 

 fine. okay. 

who wouldn't want a chance to play? 

but before I walked away toward the noise of the cafeteria, 

Trent said goodbye Angie said goodbye Nick said see ya 

Trent said alternative ed sucks 

Trent also said it's a good thing Mr. Hollman isn't teaching again this year 

Trent said shit 

Trent said when he was no longer on probation, 

he'd be drinking beer on the weekend, 

licking foam from the lips of girls he'd like to fuck, 

being a good student of animal behavior Trent liked to smoke pot 

and he bragged he could roll his own with one hand, 

his fingers being limber and full of fun. 

 after I walked out, Steven wrote a message 

on yellow lined paper-notes to himself-which he later used to compile an incident report 

he slid it into the high school Principal's inbox 

his report complained about Trent and his casual display of disrespect, 

Trent's use of profanity 

nor did Steven appreciate the veiled threat, as he understood the comment, 

towards another conformist regular teacher, 

another regular guy, 

another paid bully operating as a part of the great American educational bully machine 

Steven was sending his paper missle strike at Trent's walled compound, 

using a joy stick to bring pain. 

later, I was called into the Principal's office. 

what the hell was going on? 

I told the Principal that Steven was exaggerating!

that everything he said was more than what he heard 

So screw yourself Steven 

You're just a regular guy, 

A regular guy

still squeaking from that cold morning shower, 

with your shaved American smile, 

no perfect tooth misaligned 

I want to puke on your shoes, 

remove the fancy laces, 

& shine a light on the darkness in your eyes.