Vera Savina (nee Vera Clark)

At the Arc de Triomphe
the sun was streaming
early one morning
when Massine could be seen dancing under
the arch.
he was looking for Vera Savina, with whom
he had recently fallen in love.
Diaghilev was furious, and went racing down
a nearby flight of stairs determined to keep them from meeting.
Picasso kept quiet, as though he knew nothing of ballet.
And soon, Vera found and took Massine by his hand to her bedroom.
Again, Diaghilev was furious, and said "Hadn't [I] made him?
What had Massine...been?  Nothing but a good-looking face
and poor legs!"
But soon a young refugee from Moscow arrived in Paris and visited
unannounced in Diaghilev's suite at the Continental.  He was a
seventeen-year-old Russian known as Boris and
Diaghilev instantly became intrigued.
This all happened before the company traveled to Madrid, where the gypsies poured in to dance.

Pretty Woman

gripping the wheel
pretty woman asked me how i feel
into a corner a hundred and five
hell, i'm lucky to be alive
but it felt damn good
just like i knew it would
(when) she picked me up
tossed a whiskey cup
told me to drink
enjoy it, baby, don't even think
'cause we're heading for a thrill
here, swallow another pill
grab me tight
we're crazy tonight
two wheels spinning top down
heavy metal satellite sound
so how's it feel
behind the wheel
screaming down the avenue
hell, i hardly knew what to do
Hendrix Cheap Tricks Hot Licks
and she picks
me and i'm sitting shotgun
Bonnie and Clyde run, rabbit, run
across the desert our mad dash
running low on gas but lots of cash
the stars dancing on the highway
Roy Orbison thumbing a ride heading our way
gripping the wheel
pretty woman asked him "how do you feel?"
into a corner a hundred and five
hell, he's lucky to be alive
dreaming about you honey
love me like it isn't even funny

the Preservation Society

the lady from the Preservation Society,
knocking on my green door
with her hard hand and midnight feet,
never saw the scooter driver
even though she heard his approach.
he turned abruptly from the river road
onto the cobbled street where i still lived,
and pushed an autumn breeze over his face.
he sped closely by her indifferent look, and never
thought to pause or stop.
an open cafe was serving late drinks in glass mugs
and he was thirsty, finally slowing to find a safe
place to park his bike.
when the motor cut off, he could hear her
hard hand knocking on my green door, but did not turn his head.
inside, as i closed the shutters before walking slowly to my bed,
i watched the night air brush a chill onto the hallway walls
and for a very long time after, i tossed and turned, and
felt sad to be alone.

my garden

there's fear on the front page of my newspaper.
death is spreading over the editorial page.
they're both falling in pieces
onto section B C D and
even the comics have any weapon at hand
i can think of:
12-gauge shotguns and .22s are the little ones.
they're coming in with one motor gone and
a wing and a prayer
on their lips, but they're coming like a star-spangled parade.
and in Washington, D. C., no one is home.
the big bodyguard is on the news and we all watch his lips move.
he is often heard saying "I am the perfect shot."
kicking in family room doors, his arm moving at lightening speed,
he is looking at his usual target.
it's you.  hey, it's Y O U.
"but i'm only a reader," you squeal, trying to keep the home fires burning.
it does no good, since this is a war/fear planet.
and you wanted Utopia, but Tommy doesn't live here anymore and the neighbors
are under the Witness Protection Act far from where you are, getting it on
some place else.  they even have satellite TV and a flushing toilet.
"Phew!" you exhaled.  and for a moment there, i had you worried. 
you stood, hands on hips, and looked at me with that slightly nervous look, but i
didn't say you were incredulous.  or disbelieving.  no, never disbelieving!
i said you didn't have to live like this.  read that again.
now pass me the bottle, so I can take a swig and let's talk.
you:  "God damn you've gone crazy!"
"Ha, I'm only waiting for the boat."
you:  "There's a boat?  What boat?"
i wait for the boat.
and that's it.  i'm waving and waiting for the tide.
you, on the other hand, should go back to wherever you came from.
oh, and take your fear and death with you.  they're messing up my garden.

in a good mood

i have
no midnight sweats
when the bed pillow is soft
and freshly laundered white sheets cover my head.
even in the dark
my flashbacks would not flash
and some dreams,
being ordinary,
come on like a childhood lullaby,
and that war was over, after all.
so,
in a good mood
when i was sleeping with somebody,
that God damn grief might not squeeze me by the throat
and ghosts, silently, one by one, might  make no noise
while floating by with bloodshot eyes, watching me.
i always try to get out of their way,
letting them speak,
to not interrupt them as they tell
each story as it should be told.
one walked colorless with a fine needle stuck in his swollen arm
as somber music played without rhythm,
and he tugged at the sharp stick and tried to make sense of his addiction.
another swallowed a live grenade and began to sing in a foreign tongue,
squatting as though to take a shit just as the explosion ripped away his ass.
and a third had no voice at all and kept looking at me with eyes out of register,
her lips moving in the candlelight, soundlessly.
and after they file out, and others join them, there is no comfort in my room.
then my mood becomes tight, like the taut strands of a hangman's noose.
in the morning mirror while brushing my teeth, i see yet another ghost.

ask the clerk

and even if you didn't want to know,
it's time
beyond time past
in the here and now
before we go much farther
the result will always be the same:
a standard M-16 gas-operated
assault rifle weighs 7.5 pounds unloaded.
Packed with a full 20-round magazine it weighs
8.2 pounds and you will carry it everywhere
in combat.  this is a combat weapon.
of course, available newer rifles are much better and lighter,
but i never owned one or cleaned one or even held one.
i see them in glass display cases at local dealerships and in
glossy pages of masculine hunting magazines.
there is maintenance gear necessary for the care and feeding
of this gun, while there might not be anything for the care and feeding
of your soul.
you will have to ask the clerk.

and your brown eyes

and your brown eyes
moon lit skies
under the covers
contented sighs
and just when the sun
comes
satisfied hums
and we took it all the way
the length of another day
far into the night
i could hear you say
with delight
it was never too much
fingertip touch
and then some
such and such
we made the bed
got up got fed
went ahead
and made the scenes
don't know what it means
don't know what it means
blue jeans
and your brown eyes
moon lit skies
under the covers
contented sighs

Summer at Juan-les-Pins (1920)

the Two Nudes were magnificently
conceived as life-sized torsos
with astonishingly perfect breasts
schoolgirl toes
volumetric classicism
imagined at a school in Holland
in 1905
with a corpulent rear end
on both
arm in arm
a full painting
not made for alarm
but to hint at sapphic sex
to polish a classic subject
in a modern shine
and yet
one wonders
who was inside the glass?
was this a picture of Gertrude Stein
and Toklas?