the gray door

the door to the studio was painted gray,
a privileged color if i ever saw one.
i knocked and knocked.
it was unwilling to open.
even in the face of multiple entreaties
or vocal threats, it did not move.
hiding behind it,
the mercurial woman was almost the same age as me.
she occasionally took pleasure in fishing the local stream,
but still would not open the door.
outside, against a large Sycamore tree,
her heavy boat was overturned in the yard,
it's keel a cement line meant to harness effort
when maneuvering around rocks in fast current.
i had an idea and tried the window
at the neighboring property.
a contractor had installed it only last week.
he said it was a celebrated picture window.
it was to the front of a biggish gabled house
on a hill facing the sea.
i faced the sea when i was at the window.
i pulled the sides and the top and the bottom,
but it, too, was unwilling to open.
frustrated, i had an idea.
i pushed her boat across the lawn
to the water's edge and stopped.
i spent a night thinking about the door and
the window, while sleeping with the boat.
at first light, i went looking for a set of paddles
and found none.
i soon walked back to the door to the studio.
it was painted gray and i began to knock.

we are all ex-lovers

you've all seen the film
a razor slicing into an eyeball
the opening shot
one of the most memorable in cinematic history
i have not seen it for a year
although it is a favorite scene
when i am about to sit down for a meal
with several of my closest friends
Atom Heart Mother is the music we hear
while the mashed potatoes are still warm
and the wine a sweet red
gone before the tea is served
i have no time to spare
with all the innocent bodies
chilling in the morgue
so i rush to wash and dry the dishes
all my friends have the same desire
nobody knows what we are up to.

like a virus

Tender is the night!
No matter how old the dream
There always seems a bigger bite
When your mouth is full of peaches and cream:
Sitting near an open flame,
A game show on my tv,
Tanks roll across the kitchen floor
Aiming their hungry barrels directly at me.
Airplanes fall in pieces from the sky;
A double vodka tonic in my hand
Enticing sweet lies and gentle lullabies.
Oh, Alice and her friends trashing Wonderland,
Soon shouting near my open card table.
Their game runs from ten o'clock until four.
In the afternoon i'm dealing peace;
In the evenings they're playing for war.
And it keeps getting hot in the local cemetery;
the color and texture of coffee grounds.
I hear in the sky a thunderous gray
and a glimmer of mercy in the sounds.
my chair like a cage,
i stare numbly out to sea.
the large crate of words in my mouth
remains sealed inexplicably.
Unable to stir up any further mischief',
the scarlet letter has no time to spare;
it proves submissive when compared to death
which is spreading everywhere.

a game of Jacks

No one talked on the sidewalk
And the bedroom seemed as quiet as a church mouse
I went outside at noon to water some plants
It looked just like a normal house
From my perspective
holding my rubber hose
I saw a frightened man speaking in foreign tongues
He was rubbing his powdered nose
Running down the center of the street
I heard him say he was in a hurry
I aimed my water at his face and hit him dead center
I told him not to worry
For a limited time only it was sacred stuff
It would heal the pain he felt in his heart
Without missing a beat and spitting wet he said
It might be a good place to start
I noticed weeds growing in the road
And at the intersection a young woman held her rake
She asked me if I wanted anything
And I carried away everything I could take
There was a picture window taking pictures
Of everyone who ever claimed to know
Without a treasure chest and without a car
Without a map they still knew the way to go
And a little boy tugged my sleeve
Asked me if I wanted to play a game of Jacks
I handed him my rubber hose
And told him water was the only thing it lacks.

Buffalo Ranch

Judy played at the Buffalo Ranch
rode a sixteen hand horse
on a straight and narrow course
her saddle a pair of burning pants

she smoked red hot lipstick with her smile
a cowboy for each wrist
manhandled not kissed
she stuck it to them for awhile.

she had a poet in her left hand
a tattoo on the right
a sailor every Friday night
with his mind blown proudly in the sand

they tried to talk but Judy said "NO!"
"NO!" bleeding on the shore
"NO!" eyeballs rolling on the floor
looking for a safer place to go

her skinny body like a cage
squeezed on her own crib
a kiss and protruding rib
wooden balls and passion filled with rage

Judy played at the Buffalo Ranch
rode a sixteen hand horse
on a straight and narrow course
her saddle a pair of burning pants.