birds on fire

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

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

Dora had the body

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

when Pablo found Francois
visiting his studio
wearing a youthful dress.

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

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

nor sympathize
nor encourage his grasp.

they soon became lovers.

eventually, 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,

abundant mystery in depth,
her Spanish accent on the Rue de Savoie
framed lonely pictures
which only she
could see.

in Paradise

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

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

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

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

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

"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

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)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

11/11/11

solitary performers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 wood fire
watching my empty cup.
i had expected him before seven,
and it was now eleven,
but his mustache told me he was
running late.
he said he had been trapped inside a woman's wall
where there is usually no escape,
unless one is an author
with a quick wit and an even quicker pen.
he settled easily on the floor,
and turned to face me before he spoke.
his first words softly whispered were
"Hocus Pocus."
his white hands cautiously folded in prayer.
i noticed a small atomic bomb on one index finger.
i told him i dreamed of time travel.
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."
we both fell silent.

transcendent

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

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

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?

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

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

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

GOD DAMN
violent concussive flames
silhouette a
smoking black mountain
with
sprays of raw dirty white explosions
shaking nervous bodies
underneath a gentle blue sky
where only faint hints of stormy weather
could be seen 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 flaring for a close-in landing while a
door gunner is resting his left hand on the stock
of an M60 machine gun, barrel pointed directly towards
the ground, eyes alert.
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 dusty doomed 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

and everything feels sad.

tango on the floor

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

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

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

sweet cathie brown
spread her reputation on the town

she showed her hand in confidence
appearing calm but she felt tense

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

she had a lover and a date
they both were waiting on her plate.

when i'm 63

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

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

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

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

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
hungry to please your hips

but you're cold

looking for some heat
taking everyone new you meet
and leaving them for dead

well, i ain't going down
into that coal black 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

you're making me 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 out the door

thinking nevermore

yeah, i wanna know whos' tattoo
is on your ass smeared in blue

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 crawl away with the score
or turn around to ask for more?

so sorry you've lost track of time
you once were a friend of mine

but i couldn't help

watching you melt

no it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring

you can't remember anything

white devil in black pants

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The watchtowers
and concrete blast walls
saw nervous travelers
coming in and going out to kill
or to be killed, black-smeared faces
or clean, some wearing helmets and others with hair.

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

During the day, an intense sunlight became a vivid,
shimmering yellow
which often washed the streets of happy life.

Soccer balls still bounced, but they made a heavy thud.

During the night, few slept peacefully.

Inside the Green Zone,
along the west bank of the Tigris River,
paper shredders sat ready while
truth and madness
grew fat wearing armored glasses,
playing cards and drinking American beer

Any dream of normal life became an intrusion,
as extraordinary happenings felt normal or
nothing would happen at all.

24 hours were never enough for a single day.

I once heard a bearded schoolteacher talk pointedly
about God while watching a man who was missing
his right arm looking at me as he slumped past, smiling.

The niceties of conventional life largely absent, no one
seemed to know where they were or how to get them.

Out of nowhere an AK-47 appeared, carried on the wind with dust and
dirt and the call to prayer, oiled and semi-automatic.

Nearby, a dead Iraqi was visible
in the shadows of the Baghdad zoo.

Other animals not yet dead
dreamed of suicide or living through yet another day.

Astonishing violence could sleep on many beds,
out in the streets, near the mosques, or on the beaches south of Basra
where modern tides experienced a steady flood of doubt.

beyond myself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

Blue Archer

blue archer
Daniel
midland Texas baby
pump me up and
hold me down
i'm mining gold with a navy friend of mine
we're gonna paint the whole town
all at the right time
in the night time drinking bottles of wine
polishing pitchers full of gin
keeping poopers out, letting dancers in
sitting on the piano in silky black
natural motion natural fact
the girl with the most beautiful brown eyes
whispering a Swedish accent
and Hell to pay but Heaven sent
i'm still paying my dues and collecting rent
flying through mist at 5 thousand feet
looking for a decent hole to the happy sea
just tripping on my airplane seat
a friendly stewardess and lucky me
a new Jane Russell or Monroe
a Hollywood Honey for all i know
and have you heard what's really funny?
a sweet tooth and the lady doctor
playing with my stethoscope
it may be chasing skirts but i'm no dope
pumping iron in a sweaty room
balanced on the edge of doom
now she's calling me and i'm out of breath
where can i find a lover
baby
where can i find a lover
underneath the cloud cover
with no escort?
an armored ship without a port
baby baby baby baby
blue archer
Daniel
midland Texas baby
there are bullets flying and i never
turned due north or headed south
me and my damn big mouth
i never dodged a fist that i could swallow
dove head first into every battle
and never heard my throat catch or rattle
the sound of ten thousand maniacs roaring past
i'm spinning the radio dial trying to make it last
tap tap tap tap on the spectrum key
while she waited ever so patiently
all these heroes keeping warm
on the far western edge of Pacific dawn
many will survive but many more gone
with eyes hooded over from the night
and the music of a rising sun
beating like a samurai until it's done
blue archer
Daniel
midland Texas baby
where can i find a lover
baby
where can i find a lover
underneath the cloud cover
with no escort?
an armored ship without a port
baby baby baby baby

to linger

the small hill
it was no match for our skill
you made it to the top
and we shared the bottom

and hemlocks
i kept on my grey socks
you kept on your smile
and we had to linger

on Thursday
you had something to say
and i had something to ask
and we were both gratified

resting feet
heading for a repeat
the sun was warming us
as we laid hot blooded

then the drums
like happy little bums
erupted in silence
and we rose together

Sweet Prudence

Sweet Prudence
so much older today
Sweet Prudence
have you found a new place to play?

with expensive grownup toys
making lots of sunny noise
and you've found a new man
a Beatles fan
and he came looking for you
when you were blue
Sweet Prudence
what was he supposed to do?

Sweet Prudence
he found your smile
Sweet Prudence
but it took him a while

he found you hiding from the sun
you wouldn't walk & wouldn't run
and you stayed inside
lonely and cried
but he came looking for you
when you were blue
Sweet Prudence
what was he supposed to do?

then the guns went bang
while your sister sang
and the gurus bled
before the party fled
you were wearing white
dancing at night
won't you let me see your face?
has it disappeared without a trace?

Sweet Prudence
so much older today
Sweet prudence
have you found a new place to play?

Operation REDWING 1956

Trinity scared me
when I went shopping for a film
and found the bomb.

In radioactive sunlight
a Pacific cloud
swirled and roared
insanely loud.

The Navajo
near Dog Island
north of Bikini Atoll
saw the white sand.

It was piercing my eye
while exploding nearby.

I wore dark glasses
and felt the sting
of this incredible thing.

My flesh burned
by super-heated air
once loved

now no longer there.

A kiloton
became a megaton

before the testing was done

and the dirty device
became clean

but what did that mean?

The dragon breath
meant an early death

in a roll of fire and scorn
crushing a rose
snapping a thorn

and a thousand or ten
or a million or five

living now

would be barely alive.

sugar bum fairy

sugar bum fairy
criticizing my long hair
but it's just another day to them
now why do they care?

sugar bum fairy
it simply grows crazy on top
and no matter how i style it
they never stop.

it's like my door is open
and the lock and the key
they use them whenever
and never ask me.

sugar bum fairy
i'm floating on a river
with yesterdays' news
not asking permission
to go wherever i choose.

sugar bum fairy
across the universe
in a cloud of circus hair
i'm floating in orbit
won't find scissors there.

sugar bum fairy
sugar bum fairy

27 to 12

twenty seven to twelve
and i'm still in bed
watching you
waiting to be fed
and we just met
on a sidewalk
and all i said
was we should talk
but i'm always lonely
and you're no stranger
you like the risk
thrive on the danger
listen to the sound of heat
escaping my open window
you grab me high
i wrap you low
as the hours slowly slip by
and the sun disappears
you tattoo me
with your tears
i'm sure it's all fun
if i knew your name
we could say hello
and do it all again
but then i hear the phone
calling in the night
a friend wanting to know
if i'm alright
and then i'm gone
and you're a pet
out on the street
getting wet
you walk up to a car
and drive away
i hear a voice
but can't hear what you say

sweet Sam

sweet Sam
from your high rise window
standing on the top most floor
can you see me in my uniform
marching off to war?

can you see my tiny fingers
with youthful polished nails
flipping silver treasure coins
calling heads or tails?

i'm not sure how to choose
as you're pointing down this road
i keep looking for the question
which no answer ever showed.

sweet Sam
what is this foreign floor?
i can see it far below.
go faster is all you said
and just enjoy the show.

can you see me tremble?
i'm in black smoke and noise
resting like a baby now
with my little childhood toys.

remember when i gave it all?
marching to triumphant songs
i still felt strangely missing
having righted all the wrongs.

so, remember when you see the sky
the sparkle is my eye
and when you're feeling proud
i'm somewhere in the crowd

and the song
which everybody knows
millions of roses and yellow bows

i sang that once before
when i was marching off to war.

the scar

my dad kept brass knuckles in a bedroom dresser drawer
underneath my mother's white panties.

he had a temper, that's for sure.

he was a fist fighter, i was told.

once, during a baseball game he was catching for his Marietta
team, a local cop arrived to arrest the second baseman.

when the cop walked onto the field to get his man, my dad flipped
his mask and ran to get the cop.  And he did, so I was told.

and later, he got me, more than once.

but i don't want to talk about my childhood.

well, there is this:

my first three speed bike was too big for me.

but i rode it to elementary school anyway.

i watched a girl friend of my mother after she took a shower at our house,
peeking in from outside while she was drying herself.  Those were the first
real breasts i ever saw, and there was nothing special about them.

i was curious about a female body, but can't remember why.

i have a long very visible scar on my right forearm.

the scar has a history, but i can't remember what it was.

i was a good high school wrestler.

today, i continue to watch my weight.

i shot at frogs along the shoreline of a large pond, using
a BB rifle.

no frogs shot at me.

under blue skies

it's not funny
when the waterfall spills
between the sharper rock
and the steeper hills

under blue skies
clothed in gray perfume
between the shouting crowd
and the silent room

finding cover
wild pleasure around
paying full attention
not hearing a sound

drifting on air
while paradise sleeps
between the sad Angel
and the God who weeps

it's cold comfort
that heated blood flows
when everyone's lonely
and everyone knows

turn down the lights
remember the sun
and do unto others
what needs to be done

it's not funny
when the waterfall spills
between the sharper rock
and the steeper hills

under blue skies
clothed in white perfume
between the shouting crowd
and the silent room

nothing much to say

these clear tears were so heavy
they were impossible to lift
but seeing you smile by my side
was a special gift

a memory of a walk through the woods
in a creek and over trees
i wanted to tell you how much
you please

the green field and yellow flowers
our time spent in lazy minutes
turned slowly into hours

while the sun warmed the soft air
watched us quietly explore
straying from the narrow trail
we had enough but wanted more:

cars and the noise they make
in exhausted life seem so fake
i called you closer to my side
there was no where to hide

so i had you in the meadow grass
i the lad and you the lass
hearts content on an April day
there's not much more to say

the fiddle head ferns and property lines
little yellow signs
nailed into thick bark
but just a momentary mark

and cutting our initials into wood
thinking we should
we tumbled like little elves
far from our serious adult shelves

story in the air

when the wall came apart
and i slipped and fell
i lost my head and my heart
but who could really tell?

no message could get through
but i heard the cry
then i couldn't find you
and i didn't know why.

there was a story in the air
everybody was afraid
they went looking for their share
but it hadn't been made.

and the radio went dead
mountains of smoke and fire
exactly like the old books said
the oceans were growing higher.

danger like an angry snake
coiled with a baby in his bed
and i ran and had nothing to take
i talked but heard nothing i said.

a creek washed over my feet
i went into water to find you
but there was no one there to meet
i wondered if you always knew

when the wall came apart
and i slipped and fell
i lost my head and my heart
but who could really tell?

nothing ventured, nothing gained

and when i saw you last night
you saw me for the first time
then you saw the door
a short walk across the floor

you were looking for a way
to avoid that awkward glance
but i always found the pain
since you never looked back again

and you always cast a shadow
but i never tried to hide
no matter how it always seemed
oh hell, i guess i always dreamed

what had i ever said, i wondered
what could i ever do
there never was an easy way of knowing
which way you planned on going

and i don't know why i needed you
when you found it hard to say
just call me back tomorrow or some other day

it wouldn't help to know i really pained
well, brush it off
nothing ventured, nothing gained

and i don't know why i needed you
when you found it hard to say
just call me back tomorrow or some other day

it wouldn't help to know i really pained
well, brush it off
nothing ventured, nothing gained

Playing in the street

It seems as though it was only a year ago
But it was so many more
And i really didn't know
Looking out my front door

I saw you playing in the street
Laughing at the simple air
Smiling at those you'd meet
Juggling life without any care

As though you were a circus clown
But nobody knew who you were
An adjective or a pronoun
A satisfactory him or a silly her

You danced with the moon and cried
As loves you knew flew away to war
Some still living but most have died
Wondering what the fight was for

Left with questions and a simple thought
In traffic where the light shines green
Looking at the happy things you've bought
Wondering what can it all mean

You're dreaming on another boulevard
Looking at the sky for another moon
Trying to take it easy but it's too hard
Waiting, wanting it to be here soon

And it seems as though you're getting old
The dancing step is hard and long
Getting boxed up and rolled and sold
Wondering if maybe it just turned out wrong

Judas Priest (has a gun)

Judas Priest
liked his liquor straight

and he partied hard
and he stayed out late

he wore his beard
on every Saturday

and peppered God
on the kitchen tray

but he never missed his time to pray

Judas Priest
worshiped his warm gun

like a man of war
he shot out the sun

he wore his hat
on every Saturday

and turned out the lights
just so he could stay

but he never missed his time to pray

Judas Priest
liked his women cold

and he treated them
like they're bought and sold

he grabbed a girl
on every Saturday

and he frightened her
so she wouldn't say

but he never missed his time to pray

Judas Priest
liked his lonely shore

and he never cried
but he wanted more

he slapped a child
on every Saturday

and he hated it
when they ran away

but he never missed his time to pray

McNamara: The fog of war

the fog of war spread on Robert's face
it wiped his smile away
he said he had a better plan
he'd try it out someday

meanwhile men were dying fast
on patrol or in their base
they often died for nothing
it spread on Robert's face

he counseled Mr. President
and showed him progress, too
with numbers and amazing charts
inside the White House zoo

meanwhile things were going wrong
men dying without a trace
just sickening little smears of blood
it spread on Robert's face

he thought he had the answers
his data showed the score
as soldiers kept on fighting
an Asian civil war

the suits he wore were useless
no victories came with a tie
he counseled Mr. President
and formed another lie

meanwhile years were passing
explosions came and went
more lights were seen in tunnels
more thousands of soldiers sent

the fog of war was vicious
it set a furious pace
and when it wanted victims
it spread on Robert's face