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.