what to say

there was a time not long ago
inside a working day
i spent the night not long ago
unsure of what to say
but i'm not denying
there was magic in the air
i saw lightening striking
and confusion everywhere
& angry crowds of people
screaming in the street
protesters defiantly
refusing to admit defeat
all moving like a tidal wave
inside my head
stopping for nothing
an old Monarchy said
and then i drove my car
for another tank of juice
underneath the summer sun
when i heard your next excuse
with wind blowing through your hair
whisky on the floor
it's so much easier denying
than to open up the door
and then you're snacking
on your favorite smoke
flipping through all the channels
searching for a joke
and we're cruising on electric avenue
where i'll be sleeping tonight
since you left me at the dealership
claiming "Everything's alright,"
and last time i saw you running
into a movie with fading lights
waving to lonely children
taking in the sights

there was a time not long ago
inside a working day
i spent the night not long ago
not knowing what to say

riding with Hunter

riding bike with Hunter
in a soft rain
we were on a narrow trail
about a single lane
through the woods
near a grandmother's house
hardly any other people
but we did see a mouse
the ground was wet
some snow still around
we managed 16 miles
before we unwound
my face was splattered
with little sprays of dirt
and bits of gravel
it didn't hurt
i felt strong
thinking of you

bright white

a busy east coast
city street
faces long and beat
nothing sweet
no one to greet
tired feet
walking westerly
into the setting sun
nothing fun
no gun
almost completely undone
on the run
dreaming of
Saturday night
black light
bright white
delight
out-a-sight
on some ballroom floor

my champagne glass

your lipstick mark lingered on
my champagne glass
and you took a sip
thinking you were high class

and i thought so too
what else could i do?
i was looking right at you
everything i saw was true

when i asked you for this dance
you raised your eyes
and i reached for you
like reaching for the skies

but i held onto you
and when i pulled you close
there was a feeling
and i liked it the most

and there went my heart
pounding in the musical beat
swaying in the breeze
i could feel the heat

your smile was giving me thoughts
and i knew
when the dancing stopped
i'd still be holding on to you

your lipstick mark lingered on
my champagne glass
and you took a sip
thinking you were high class

and i thought so too
what else could i do?
i was looking right at you
everything i saw was true

my boat

it's not a prison
it's a boot
& there is mystery
while the black cat rests
curled in mouse dreams
with tuna on his breath
the New York Times
paging noiselessly nearby
full of hubris
casts shadows on the floor
i myself can bleed
but not every crossword puzzle
is as obvious
as my pain
not every movie is as happy
as a stranger's smile
the forest squirrel spinning
his tail like a revolving Earth
watches my body for a sign
there is no sex no proclamation
he eats his food
without disturbing the cat
his clawed feet tiny upon scattered leaves
alert eyes penetrating
i am asleep nearby as water
fills my boat.

whisper (zelda)

my girl friend's name was zelda
and she acted like such a bore
i talked with her on Sunday
but i couldn't hear her anymore

i'd see her reading magazines
flipping pages of her life
looking at all the advertisements
for a husband or a wife

and dancing down a busy street
dressed in diamond rings and furs
she never cast a worried look
'cause everything she saw was hers

& i followed with my open book
writing every word she said
but even when my book was full
i couldn't raise her from the dead

she gave me sexy games to choose
no strings attached i couldn't lose
she played her hand and pulled my hair
i looked around no lover there

my girlfriend's name was zelda
and she had star dust in her eyes
but it wasn't how she looked at me
that told me everything was lies

we used to sit and dream of love
and she'd whisper in my ear
but when i asked to share her soul
she wouldn't let me near

& her party postcards faded
with colors dyed in black & white
all the signs found in her eyes
were pointing to midnight

my girlfriend's name was zelda
and she acted like such a bore
i talked with her on Sunday
but i couldn't hear her anymore

she gave me sexy games to choose
no strings attached i couldn't lose
she played her hand and pulled my hair
i looked around no lover there

a bit of earth

La Boutique Fantasque
and the silver pipe beneath the derby hat
the dandy little guy with his deep sharp eye
his formal tie
black before a bright white light
tied tight
inside a blond French mistress
with a youthful hunger for his cock
his fast brush and his wry smile slide
wide
with practiced pomp past the Russian dancer
into the wilds of Provence
and parade
the woman in tears displayed
on his Spanish canvas
weeps with magnolia memory
pure as a lake bottom
the sun cold with shades of nuance

the kiss of Tosca!

this is the kiss of Tosca!

they were all dead by 3 o'clock on a fine afternoon 

no one expected so many to be gone so soon 

in the early dawn children at breakfast a mother busy with her knife in hand: 

silent Enola Gay high above in her silver chariot drunk on hot jazz 

heavenly wine stored deep inside her belly 

her horses pulling onward into the great wide open 

Morta listened for a cry from the singing diva 

wailing above the home of 100,000 deaths like Roosevelt

fatherly in his easy chair

rationalizing

behind a somber podium 

the great white hall silent behind his back 

his skinny hard tires black 

and rolling 

towards the Manhattan Project not in New York City anymore

then Truman with his hand on the pen 

writing the white lie which would open the box of hell 

and offer howling ghosts 

screaming in full throat 

in mushroom cloudy smoke

the balled fist reaching ever upwards

hot exhaust on the crisp desert air 

Trinity 

like a horrible nightmare 

burning every migrating butterfly into a dream shadow

blooming cactus flowers falling to desert sand

the barbs remaining sharp

and ashes like dusty tears  

and the experimental little boy of all big bombs falling indiscriminate 

targeting and tumbling and preparing to explode over a huddled mass

soft people awake or asleep, restless or comforted

their suddenly revealed skeletons boiled and basted and bombed 

the troubled disbelief 

a sudden cry

thinking the unthinkable 

and to Gods or spirits they called and begged in anguished Japanese, 

moaned on the currents of flaming air

staggering beyond the city limits

past the graves of dead gardens,

what? 

why did we have to die? great Earth were we not great, too? 

will there be a second chance? any chance? 

what do i do? 

am i the butterfly or the flower? 

or a passing memory or a missing hour?

50th anniversary night

The celebration of the 50th anniversary
of the wrestling program is scheduled for
Saturday, February 5th. There will be a
meet and greet for current and past wrestlers,
followed by a buffet in the cafeteria.
No one will be required to make weight.