words are stone

words are stone

skipping across the water’s edge

sinking into memory

like a piece of hard coal

stuck in a seam

then found again,

held in hand, examined

before being burned on a hot grill

under the watchful eye of an

curious chef.

it was a sunny morning when i saw my first word

while sitting with my book open to page number

one, and i immediately rose

from the cafe chair to join the

merry prankster for a cup of her breakfast coffee

on the wood bridge which crossed a forest stream.

in the afternoon, the woman with brown eyes was sipping her red wine

while holding a clear crystal glass and

my blue eyes when she suddenly

reached for a smooth white stone

roundly polished by the passing of glacial time.

in the early evening, when we found ourselves in the kitchen reading the recipe,

our words kept skipping back and forth

and the aroma of animal heat made us both hungry.

it was a sunny night when we ate ourselves silly.

the tiny mosquito

the tiny
mosquito
in the bathroom
is no friend of mine
hovering or on the wall
in a state of suspended animation
dreaming of a drop of my blood or more
which i wholeheartedly refuse to donate or have stolen
by the quick penetration of a stealthy proboscis when I’m not
paying attention because there are others things to do in a bathroom!

when the day ended

when the day ended

i felt i was already bended

cut myself in two

wondering how i can ever make it through

without you

torn apart

i’m losing my heart

my blood can’t keep me new

if you only knew

there is so little of me left

i’m running out of breath

every time you cry

i’m about to die

beneath the weight of all the pain

what could i ever gain

without you

it would all be a sham

can you see me for what i am?

i would try to abide

ignoring those who lied

handing you the knife

offering you my life

if you would only try

maybe we wouldn’t wonder why.

walking the line

in the grassy field

under the solitary tree

lacking leaves

the picnic table sat unpainted

and heavy

as was the heart

near where the warm red wine

could be seen spilled on the ground.

a fine crystal goblet laid still

on its’ side

where a crack could be seen spreading

under the afternoon sun,

and alongside was 

a soft piece of homemade bread

with the visible imprint of a once hungry hand.

in the distance,

voices from a close river,

a motor,

ruins which once held a small cabin,

and the faint traces of a natural spring

where a willow hangs slender branches and weeps,

as do many willows.

a child walks past with a quick glance at the table,

and his eyes immediately refocus on a faint trail

which leads into the woods

and there he disappears with an audible sigh.

sticky fingers

tomorrow i'll be far away
the fates will hound me
out of town
into the city
people will smile and hide
pointing their happy fingers
it'll be said i lied
and as for me
in a private garden
reaching for a pardon
with my sticky fingers
tomorrow i'll be far away
like the ghost of a dog
out of town
into the cat fog
climbing up a bean pole
picking out a soul
with my sticky fingers
taking a quick bite
to satisfy my appetite
before i retire
with my sacred fire
into my new studio.

dressed as a fiasco

i can hardly get up and go
dressed as a fiasco
but i had my piano to play
which helped me to stay.
then, i fell on the lawn,
waited for the dawn,
but it proved tough.
i couldn't get enough
and fled the scene
with a fondness for morphine.
in the sky, the lark
still bravely singing in the dark,
meant me no harm
for i used character, charm
and intelligence
along with an extra few cents
of pocket change
to rearrange
the deck chairs to my advantage.

multiple shooters

multiple shooters
like dead-of-night hooters
stealthy and quiet
on the wings of a riot
holding an AK47
dreaming of a virginal Heaven
inside a shopping mall
watching innocent victims fall
in the new toy aisle.
and when the bloody bodies pile
a sullen smile
breaks underneath a black mask
running for a black SUV
from sea to shining sea.

Braque and his wife, Marcelle

A literary table in a Paris cafe
found Picasso on the sidelines
with surprisingly little to say.
Braque and his wife kept sipping their tea,
explaining the concept of ideal harmony:
"it's like poetry on canvas to form a new art;
a metamorphosis of rhythm which springs from the heart."
nearby hung a painting of two men reading from a letter,
arguing in jest about which one was the better,
but Picasso never wished Braque away;
although, in 1921 it certainly seemed that way.
Braque finished his tea and felt quite alive;
he had to break with Picasso is he were to survive,
and so off he went,
as though he were Heaven sent.
his studio was filled with tactile space
where curtains with irony and white lace
fluttered by the open windows.

mired in a slump

hey, isn't it time for a fast ball?
a heater low and outside
looking for a check swing
no place to hide
a strike anyway you slice it
punched out by the ump
walking to the dugout
mired in a slump
spitting out tobacco
kicking up dirt
tugging at the hemline
ripping off the shirt
water cooler flying
coaches analyze
offering suggestions
teammates sympathize.

into the deep

i followed her tracks into the deep
she took it to a higher gear as it grew steep
i saw her tires spinning on loose rocks as we approached the top
with concentration laser-like she did not stop
and blasting down the backside i barely stayed in touch
did i like the pace? she asked.  not very much.
but i liked watching her legs bulging with desire
mine own felt as though they were on fire
my only wish was to stay upright until the end,
by which time i heard her call me friend.

little by little

when the temperatures soared at the end of July
i sat inside and ate some homemade cherry pie
for the next three hours on my lap i held a book
while people outside made a noise but i wouldn't look
i read two pages and fell asleep by the back screen door
dreaming of bathers lounging on a distant shore:
they were sunning themselves near the water's edge.
i kept tiptoeing to a vanishing point on a steep cliff's ledge
my disembodied head way out to sea
i kept wondering but beyond a shadow of a doubt knew it was really me.
i saw other people reading and enjoying something to eat
when a swimmer with ivory hips came by my feet
she handed me my head and said she cared
she had one soft ice cream cone but we shared
we danced under the milky way when i heard her say
"i love the way you're holding me today
won't you stay near, my dear"
and when i awoke in the warm sand at high tide
little by little it dawned on me that she was still by my side.

in the shower stall

in the shower stall
she took another fall
stuck herself with a sharp pin
felt the warmth deepen underneath her skin.
so very very drunk today
well, at three in the morning
there was hell to pay,
but she gave nothing to her lovers
that she didn't take away.
an old mattress in the backyard
blood stains in her sink
spent time dreaming
never stopping to think.
schoolgirl and a track star
a sensation on the beach
needles and blue bottles
she kept them within reach.
playing with her postcards,
ripe bodies on the bed;
party goers sleeping,
there was nothing to be said.
in the shower stall
she took another fall
stuck herself with a sharp pin
felt the warmth deepen underneath her skin.
so very very drunk today
well, at three in the morning
there was hell to pay,
she gave nothing to her lovers
that she didn't take away.

someone to meet

riding the fair hills

out and in, up and down

counting the long days ahead

heading into town.

behind on my payments

walking the stiff dog;

my mind drifting slowly,

there's an invisible fog.

i follow the main road;

there's nothing much to see.

i can hear the angels singing

but they can't hear me.

it's almost midnight,

my favorite time of day.

sometimes i want to confess everything

but i have nothing more to say.

reading the papers,

looking for a laugh or two;

i'm not a missing person

even though the fateful winds blew.

they blew across wild rivers

with fresh jasmine in the air;

i wanted to capture the moment

but it wouldn't stop there.

the sun started rising;

i felt the warmth of a light touch.

i want to tell her everything i knew

but i didn't know much.

so i turned onto her side road,

running shoes on my feet.

i felt i was in a hurry;

there was someone new to meet.

i'll have what she's having

i'll have what she's having
but in a more leisurely way!
no one is talking because there's not much to say:
there was no strenuous work to do
so we simply decided to play.
tall glasses of sparkling wine:
she's a famous literary friend of mine.
nearby people gathered from far around;
they said they heard the strangest sound,
something they once knew
when their food was served on a special dinner table:
he was happy Harry and she introduced herself as Mabel,
an old cowboy boot and a fashionable ladies' shoe.
their sky stayed bright as the walls turned blue.
i started counting and reached for number two,
held on as tightly as i could,
and thought it might turn crazy but it was mighty good;
applause came quickly and filled the air;
people remained curious standing there
so i casually reached over for my drink.
i found red lipstick on the sink,
tried to remember but couldn't think.
i'll have what she's having
but in a more leisurely way!
no one is talking because there's not much to say:
there was no strenuous work to do
so we simply decided to play.

oh Juliet, oh Juliet

i was moving in a hurry and ran
still cautious of what i didn't understand
out here where the chill wind blows
or was it inside behind stained-glass windows?
a brown haired lady or was she a true blond
i heard her voice float across the pond
she was calling me to her home fire
i kept running but was soon to tire
her book was turned to the first page
she asked me to join her on the stage
oh Romeo, oh Romeo, come show your head
the cat's in the cradle and i'm in your bed
the fox at the picnic would steal the egg
the bear at the doorstep would sit and beg
so i removed my shoes and grabbed a beer
oh Juliet, oh Juliet i am here!

turn the next corner

went to the store for a long drink
stopping along the way to think
well, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be
i felt a tap on my shoulder but it was only me
then a friend waved when she walked on by
i wanted to pour out my heart but only managed to say "Hi"
passing clouds stayed in the sky
the winds came in low
i wanted to follow her but which way would she go?
there was a streetlight and it blinked off and on
i watched her turn the next corner and she was gone
there were leaves in a side yard and the grass turned brown
i once saw her in my dreams wearing a beautiful gown
i don't see why i should even care
the weight of memory is sometimes hard to bear
i took an imaginary sip and put my bottle down
looked in reflecting glass and saw a man wearing a frown
i wanted to pour out my heart but only managed to say "Hi"
he gave me a second look before he walked on by
every time i remember his glance i have thoughts of a friend
she was writing a book and didn't know which way it would end
sometimes a blank page is a story waiting to unfold
there are secrets that even lovers can't be told
went to the store for a long drink
stopping along the way to think
well, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be
i felt a tap on my shoulder but it was only me.

Honey

Honey drove her new ambulance
all the way to the Friday night dance
on the far North Shore
she met her former lover at an open front door
where they locked wild eyes
under brilliant California skies
i heard they drove down to old Mexico
and watched an early strip show
they rolled in the sand on a resort beach
kept close together but stayed out of public reach
danced themselves into a rage
on a crazy Cancun stage
before heading to bed when their eyes turned red
the lights went low while they planned where to go
their next step was over the sheer canyon wall
in Arizona where a misstep would result in a fall
they went down a narrow path carefully and slow
Honey found a river boat and they began to row
crossing the blue Atlantic in a bit of a panic
they tried to get as far away as they could
into a Mediterranean island wood
garlic and bread,
on red wine and each other they fed
Honey found an ink shop and got her first dragon tattoo
her lover asked for one, too
in Italian they had words stenciled dark and fine:
"I'll be yours and you'll be mine!"
they soon surfaced in London riding a ferris wheel,
drove a 1948 Rolls Royce and made the white-walled tires squeal,
saw Sir Paul McCartney who played his bass guitar
on Saville Row and they didn't travel far
to get to the left bank of Paris where Honey wore a black beret
what more should i say?
Honey drove her new ambulance
to Stockholm from the border of France
and in Sweden they found a place to rest
they put on their Sunday best,
held hands and broke out in song.
it took years to get there but it didn't feel that long.

i'm not going anywhere

i'm not going anywhere
sitting on my stool
watching the clear water
in my backyard pool
reading a letter
she wrote it today
all she put down on paper
was she'd be going away
and i tried eating
even tried a drink or two
thought i'd be planning something
but didn't know what to do
the sun kept shining
everything seemed bright
the colors were spectacular
but i didn't feel right
i just felt lousy
then i heard children sing
i listened to their laughter
but it didn't mean anything
when i stood up
i felt my legs sinking low
thought i'd be walking somewhere
but didn't know where to go
so i held my head high
put her letter away
looked at the blue sky
and saw it turn gray
i never saw it coming
it came and it stayed
it asked me for nothing
and i already paid
sitting in my backyard
birds high in the tree
looking for happiness
and all they see is me.

Alone On The Street

I've been around for a tour of the whole wide world
saw a young girl mainly alone on the street
saw an older man use her for his afternoon treat
heard him moan and heard him groan
saw the young girl running away on bloody feet
i still have my memory from that day
find it hard to know what more to say
Went to a place which money people called home
saw an old woman mainly without any place to stay
passing people dealt her cards but she couldn't get up to play
heard her moan and heard her groan
saw the passing people look before walking away
i still have my memory from that day
find it hard to know what more to say
I went looking for a river flowing gently to the sea
found a little boy building castles in the sand and he looked just like me
in the shadows of the night he kept asking to be free
when the sun was burning red and the moon could no longer fly
he would still be lost in darkness and his mother would still cry
heard him moan and heard him groan
i asked him for another chance but he would no longer try
i still have my memory from that day
find it hard to know what more to say
Went to a battlefield where the hardest men killed the softest dreams
saw skinny lovers inside a tattered uniform
saw the barbed wire fences growing heavy and forlorn
heard them moan and heard them groan
tried to save their hearts but they were already torn
i still have my memory from that day
find it hard to know what more to say.

baby you're all mine

never once saw a new leaf fall
but i heard an old wind blow
looked out my bedroom window
and a woman with big brown eyes
came and took me by surprise
she said it was getting late
and true to form i had to hesitate
the rains came and i felt cold
i started wet and never got warm
all night we watched it storm
in the morning i heard her say
"Tell me baby you're all mine,
that everything is gonna be fine!"
and i heard music at my front door
it sounded good but i wasn't sure
from the back door i felt a shake
i took everything i could take
and ran naked to the street
she followed in the footprints of my feet:
a saxophone player played the blues
he wore a pair of blue suede shoes
he followed me with jaundiced eye
his drummer hit me with a stick
i watched him try a second trick
i dodged that blow and made him miss
the woman gave me a second kiss
"Tell me baby you're all mine,
that everything is gonna be fine!"
and i felt warm and grabbed my clothes
she kissed my head, i kissed her toes
she moved closer to adjust my tie...
it took some time and i wondered why.

in prayer

the first thing in the morning or was it late at night?
i opened a familiar door to my lost and found:
a red napkin with a woman's name fluttered to the ground
and the overhead light was dim.
i reached out for what i thought was a lollipop,
but instead grabbed a holiday magazine
inside of which was a black and white television, a TV tray,
and chubby checker all twisted up on a 60's dance floor.
at first, he looked like an old friend of mine.
i took a duffel bag, a two-person tent,
and dance lessons the very next day.
i wanted only a few more months to stay
in one place.
overnight i saw a face!
it looked like a little boy
and he ran into the thick woods
chasing a deer.
i could tell it was a doe
but what would happen soon i couldn't yet know.
the boy wore white sneakers and carried a map
which from my far distance seemed to be new.
thinking ahead,
i went to buy my ticket and the agent asked my name.
he also asked if i knew the magic word?
by his chair i saw a black cat on the floor who purred,
dreaming of fat mice and an oriental fish hat.
the rest of my dream was more of the same.
i opened a familiar door to my lost and found:
a red napkin with a woman's name fluttered to the ground
and the overhead light was dim.
wholeheartedly,
i paid a visit to my brother and his wife;
i ate on a brick patio and wore my pocket knife:
its' blade was folded in prayer.

Neptune's Inferno

Neptune's Inferno

proximate to the Admiralty Islands

the waters run deep 

the ships sunk

sailors drunk

on a weekend pass or out of fright

and the tattoo inks bleed on a young man's arm

scratching a short story between the lonely bicep and wide-eyed homesickness.

his Mother calls

Dad rises from his seat and sets the course of a radio dial

Rita Hayworth

Veronica Lake

something to be fighting for

in the South Pacific of the second world war

northwest of Guadalcanal

IronBottom Sound

the Japanese navy 

Rabaul

Bougainville

cursing Marines and young medical personnel busy on the beach

dreams of home cooking 

the smell of real gravy

night engagements between destroyers and those being destroyed

oil-slick foamy seas and USN guns firing smoky blasts.

Mother reads the morning paper and cries

Dad just shakes his head and adjusts his brown tie:

they look at each other and wonder why?

in the South Pacific of 1942

the ocean was blue.

i wanna make love to you

i wanna make love to you
before the backyard brawl
i want you in my hip pocket
down at the old pool hall:
i got me a new woman
she's my new number eight
when i call her to my room
she better not be late.
she comes in early,
never mind knocking on the door.
i ain't too proud to be asking,
she likes it down on the floor.
i wanna make love to you
before the backyard brawl
i want you in my hip pocket
down at the old pool hall:
i got me a new woman
she's my new number nine
when i'm too tight to be gentle
she says she likes it just fine.
she comes in early,
never mind knocking on the door.
i ain't too proud to be asking
she likes it down on the floor.
i got me a new woman
she's my new number ten
when i tell her i'm too tired
she wants to do it again.
i wanna make love to you
before the backyard brawl
i want you in my hip pocket
down at the old pool hall.

solace in her lap

one laundered sports bra draped over the leather chair,
a damp towel on the linoleum floor,
a gas fire lighting tempered glass,
jazz standards like a fine mist spraying the locked front door,
massaging my neck with slower notes...
a complete memory that simply won't sit still,
tumbling over and over again down an untamed hill.
i heard the 'Midnight Train to Georgia'
in an old El Paso bar;
i kept reaching for her shoulder
but her chair moved just too far.
there were avenues filled with watchers
when the marchers played their game;
i saw the bands approaching,
all the music seemed the same.
a deer skull nailed to a tree trunk
fell at night and broke in two
on a sharp stone in a wind storm.
i knew immediately what to do.
from a tall bridge in New Mexico
over a rift which tore a hole
down below i saw the children
and each one held a soul
and i jumped into their laughter
found the humor and took a nap
saw a woman like my mother
and found solace in her lap.            

Merhaba

a twenty three cent soldier
spoke his foreign tongue in Korea
with the taste of morning honey
still bright upon his goat cheese smile
so many miles from his native land
where olives calmly grew on ancient trees
and women sat talking on the second floor of the mosque
after working to make gozlemes in an oil-burning
cook pot for the men wearing knitted caps
and woolen jackets smelling of cheap cigarettes.
he saw the dead American bodies twisted in the broken mud
and thought of his mother sitting in another room
not too far from the Black Sea
in a country where Asia and Europe meet
where tradition and change have been at war
for longer than the fight he now found himself bought into
and he thought he might like to pray
but he didn't have the time.
for him, it was too expensive.

the Earth was rebuilt

on my land voyage to the center of a mature forest
where i once upon a time lost my beating heart
there was a feeling somewhere on the side of the road
and i stopped at the closet service plaza
where i reasoned to find it.
you might not know where to look
but i saw the sign warning of high wind gusts
and knew it was nearby and since
it was growing dark and i was tired
i scaled the adobe walls of the restored Alamo
and saw Colonel Travis who held aloft the lone star flag
and it reminded me of the wound i previously felt.
when Jim Bowie drank mission water from his old canteen,
a determined Mexican army grabbed his sharp long knife
which they used repeatedly to stab my back.
i subsequently awoke along the Rio Grande river with a
mountain lioness by my side, a beautiful feline,
and she wore a soft gray cap and gave me a new heart.
i placed the happy heart inside a bear-proof container before
the next days' hike around Emory Peak and knew
that i'd eventually return for a cup of hot coffee and my evening meal.
at night the stars above Texas are as thrilling as the brilliant stars
above the lakes of New Mexico and the sky was brutally dark.
under sunny skies green birds would sing "Oh, Susanna" and the land west of the Pecos
was mostly dry even though people still cried with the remembrance
of a lost band of fallen heroes or having eaten too many refried beans.
sitting in my captain chair i sipped white wine with the lioness who read me an article
from the New York Times and pointed her paw to the metal box where
my heart was still securely stored.
when my glass was finally emptied, i walked to a nearby ghost town,
and followed directions to the historic cemetery where the dead stayed dead
even underneath a blood red moon in the month of October.
i had carried my healthy heart in a camouflaged day pack along with a
tattered army blanket i brought back from the long-ago Vietnam War.
i went missing for a total of seven days and when i returned
the Earth was completely rebuilt, my heart was once again inside my chest,
and the lioness snuggled up against my side in a leaky tent.
i was still horny for life and so was she.

a big bear came and shook his head

seventy four black bears were sitting on the outside deck
twenty four were hiding behind the club house door
each one was patting a fat and happy belly
empty jars of ripe strawberry jelly
each one licked clean and sloppily spilled
appetites brought in were eagerly filled
when they stood up and walked away
the neighbors agreed to have a say
no more trash gets tossed around
no more garbage on the ground
two sly fox heard what they said
seventeen more were still in bed
they all had thoughts of stealing jam
a rental car and slice of ham
but a big bear came and shook his head
every fox turned a crimson red
the animals held a quick pow wow
they agreed to share the peoples' chow
but people cared about the wild
they told adults and every child
pack it in and pack it out
love the Earth and leave no doubt.
they left no food for the lazy bones
the forest heard and filled with groans
ninety eight black bears ate a perfectly normal meal
not a drop of fast food did they find to steal;
nineteen red fox admired the clean streets;
they looked high and low but found no sweet treats!

champagne corks

an illusion
a fantasy friend
all the way to the bitter end
we talk at night by candlelight
when i open my door
once i found a foreign war
a song played
i found you hiding in the rubber tree shade
and it was cool
we swam in the pool
life has never been the same
no longer the routine game
a helicopter ride went nowhere
the spinning rotors kept us suspended in air
you smiled and poured the wine
i walked the straight & narrow line
feeling completely alone
chilled to the bone
i was just a foreign guy
under a distant Asian sky
the popping sound
was more than champagne corks.

on the plaza of Santa Fe

i talked with an Indian selling jewelry on the plaza of central Santa Fe
near his heart were hammered silver pieces and colors of turquoise
his pueblo memories of younger girls and boys
stirred a feather as i watched the old winds blow
soon new sign posts pointed to which way i might now go
and down a mile long canyon road where buffaloes still roam
i found a rattlesnake woman sleeping underneath an old oak tree
by her side was a postcard which she handed to me
and a large tarantula with black legs full of desert hair
it was only for a moment that i questioned what it was doing there
but spiders don't contemplate and they certainly don't speak
and i was already on the high road for more than a week
sitting on the tiny balcony with a croissant and a history book
where i read the first chapter and became angry about a current war
i dreamed of traveling to the ancient Mediterranean shore
between bites of a raspberry and lime tart
i finally looked at my watch and knew it was time to start
so away i went
in a hot air balloon with a spicy bowl of green chili
to follow the Rio Grande river whenever it grew hilly
and into the wilds of an artistic town where an old tomb stone
hardened by the past released a sad and mournful moan
i tried to find an historic hotel close by highway ten
but a thin mountain lion and a hungry black bear
slowed my progress and implored me to share
and that's just what i did in the basement of the Gopher Hole bar
sipping tequila from a Mexican mason jar
two cups of morning coffee followed by a day long drive
with a little paper map to help me safely arrive.
the vigilant highway cops just stood around and waved
they couldn't know it had been weeks since i last shaved
i removed my running shoes
which i donated to the local Good Will.

a second week

you're not my mother
not my little brother
yet so much more than a fish i met
my favorite pet
is not a dog or a friendly cat
more than a this or a silly that
i feel you are looking my way
leaning in for what i might have to say
but the great books have all been read
i thought about what you ultimately said
when the afternoon winds began to form
i walked outside into the gathering storm
you sat on an easy chair
a homemade granola bar with hiker's hair,
water bottle and apple core,
i should have stopped but wanted more.
an unexpected rain took your sandals away
i wondered if i'd have to pay
for my best effort to get a peek?
i could get lost for a second week!!

you won't think about me tomorrow

you never see me for who i am
my blue eyes could be hopelessly red
you might not miss me
even when i'm long gone and dead
i'll be so far away
you won't think about me tomorrow or today
we pass in front of an open door
you don't kiss me anymore
all the days i thought forever would remain
you don't remember my name
when i walk i no longer hear you talk
when you laugh i hear myself cry
there must be an answer but i can't figure out why
my hands reach to touch you
they find nothing solid and pass straight through
there is thin air
once we had each other and now there's nothing there
you never see me for who i am
my blue eyes could be hopelessly red
you might not miss me
even when i'm long gone and dead

you asked me to stay

it was a rainy day
i was walking away
you asked me to stay
now i don't believe i'll ever stray
hey, when you look at me
what exactly do you see?
well, there's love in my eye
it's there when i sigh
you won't have to wonder why
when i smile it's for you
it's the best thing i know how to do
there is a gentle wind to the air
i watch it tickle your hair
you say we make such a perfect pair
the night feels soft and fair
when i look you're everywhere
it was a rainy day
i was walking away
you asked me to stay
now i don't believe i'll ever stray.

she came in red

she came in red
stood the crowd on its' head
i can't remember what it was she said
she asked for a drink
i tried to clear my head to think
she gave me a woman's wink
and i began to swoon
felt myself flying to the moon
it happened in early June
and now it's July
i can't remember why
i gave her my best sigh
and my, oh my,
she took me by the hand
but i was a player in the band
maybe the guys would understand
as we walked softly to the door
i couldn't ask for any more
she swept me off the floor.
she came in red
stood the crowd on its' head
i can't remember what it was she said
but i couldn't ask for any more
she swept me off the floor.

sometimes everything makes sense

sometimes everything makes sense
looking over a backyard fence
a music jam is not for toast
Hunter is renting a house on the coast
Katie was married yesterday
her phone has more to say
Jon is her drummer
he'll be faster all summer
Dylan is now yesterday's news
Led Zeppelin is more than one man if you choose
the man in his blue dress is a cop
the Donald had a boardwalk casino flop
Peter kept growing ever sweeter
with Sally in her parents' alley
but nobody should be surprised by this:
Miss Piggy grabbing Kermit for a kiss...
in church the organ music played a lively tune
Neil took a mind-blowing trip to the moon
Timothy ingested LSD
they both ended up on lowered knee
somewhere in upper Manhattan
wondering what the hell is a board and batten?
my kayak and canoe in the river
in the winter they both shiver
because sometimes it's just too cold
if you're skinny and old
or fat
and not wearing a hat
a friendly gent said he was from Naples
his war wound was stitched together with metal staples
and he said he loved GIs
both gals and guys
all those who liberated Rome in June
singing a Yankee Doodle Dandy tune
the world was indeed saved countless times
counting pennies and Roosevelt dimes
sometimes everything makes sense
looking over my backyard fence
the yellow cab at the corner
driven by little Jack Horner
who sat eating his curds and whey
throughout the wedding day
on the phone he had so much to say
talking to Katie
who was waiting for Jon.

still sleeping on the shore

i talked to Mandy as she was driving east
her current lover called and promised her a feast
but she was in Ohio and looking for a room
he promised her a virgin gown if he could be her groom
she told me she felt neglected and was searching for a drink
that she couldn't find her marbles and needed time to think
an hour's drive from Toledo she saw a motel sign
it said that Elvis wasn't really dead but this was his tribute shrine
she had at least two husbands and she didn't need a third
i told her hope was all we had but she was nervous with that word
the lights went out near Cleveland as she headed toward the lake
i promised her my new canoe but she told me it seemed fake
i felt even more responsible when she told me she was lost
she wanted to own a fancy house and i asked her what it cost
but her map seemed so confusing and she took a dreadful turn
on an avenue to Philadelphia where there was nothing new to learn
she drove her car to the Jersey coast where a fisherman came near
they spent one night together and drank warm beer
when i asked her what it was she wanted she didn't have a clue
if i had any answers i said "i would share them with you"
i heard her mumble something she once read in a book
but at that point i lost connection and couldn't bear to look
the tide rolled in, her car went out, and our conversation failed
i called once more and heard her say her boat had finally sailed
well, i looked around and realized i couldn't hear her anymore
so i imagined she dropped her anchor and was sleeping on the shore.

the children with colored eyes

when you dream
don't dream of me:
the screaming horse at lunch
didn't die for free
the final cost was a question mark and a Chinese penny
buried underneath the spreading Chestnut tree
where an electric black guitar
found inside a wooden box with stainless nails
played reruns from The Tonight Show with Jack Parr.
you quickly lost sight of all the famous trails
and returned to where it all began:
the mass media found a woman picking flowers who was actually a man
sweating in the afternoon heat.
he was soon drinking at his own funeral;
both eyes on one side of his nose shedding tears over his feet.
and the smiling harlequins and clowns
were wearing bright pants and silken gowns,
their faces painted brightly with splashed food.
of course they were in a humorous mood.
when you dream
don't dream of me:
the children with colored eyes
didn't die for free

Carnac, France

they might have been rocks
but were clearly voices of the dead;
druid tombstones.
rows of large flat stone and past days of glory:
invading soldiers from a failed conquest stopped
now and forever in their tracks filled by myth
and mysticism amid
ancient groans and ghosts and under blue skies
which resonate with crashing waves
and are at night lit by bonfires roaring on a prehistoric coast.

Federico Garcia Lorca

i decided to attend a movie preview
and it was a total flop:
the film,
not my being there.
it was simply beyond lackluster!
later, i heard the producer would henceforth
abandon cinema and
that's a good thing.
the money backers fell into a panic
when they saw actual stones being thrown
from the audience.
yes, it was that bad!
the opening scene might have been of a razor
slicing into an eyeball,
but no,
not even as memorable
and thus history was deprived
of possibly another surprising moment.
the most interesting person in the audience
was Federico Garcia Lorca and not only because
he had once been an erotic friend of Dali,
who was now living with Gala.
Lorca was the highly esteemed Spanish poet who imagined
himself a literary critic, 

but who knew little of imaginative painting,
which was Dali's great strength.
Gala was good for Dali, too, or so he said.
And Dali knew he needed to distance himself
from his ex-lover, so he refused to attend the preview.
Picasso also kept out of sight.
He was busy elsewhere with his private auditions of a young blonde.
she would get the part.
Picasso's wife would get the dog.

Lorca would eventually get a Nationalist militia bullet.

he's still being looked for.

i hate golf.

Herb thought i was being rational
and i think that meant the left brain
but i've always written with my right hand
and didn't want to hurt his feelings,
after all it was his office and i was sitting
by the only desk lamp
in an antique green upholstered chair which
reminded me of the ugly one i had always avoided
in my grandmother's living room
but since i was paying Herb 130 dollars an hour
for the privilege of being in that chair,
i told myself to like it.
He was a nice man, too, taking notes when something
i said seemed to pique his interest which
was often and now that i reflect he was scribbling
furiously for the hour we were together with but
a few nods and ahems and quick questions to
alert me to his continued grand interest.
what was this all about, anyhow?
Six years after being a participant in a soup kitchen
experiment i continued to feel a driving attraction
for the head chefs and their love of Chardonnay although
for the life of me i think i've come to accept the taste of
an interesting Merlot or perhaps it was a Pinot?
no, the difficulty was a penis.
yes, that was the root cause of my problem although it
wasn't a problem it was an issue and if we're talking
newspaper, an issue is usually delivered daily but i've
always preferred the Sunday Times and not
simply because it was expensive but because
i like the writing and the writers and their subjects.
so basically i had a bicycle seat which over the many years
of riding both mountain and road bike etched a deep welt on
my ass which extended frontally and it became painful but
i ignored the pain and then i think i became impotent.
but i had an abusive childhood, also, and learned how to
live with people who took advantage of me in ways that they
may not have even been conscious of and i never knew what
i did to trigger their persistent needling and clever hurtfulness.
i became melancholy.
i wanted an experiment, say perhaps a changed life or one more self-compassionate
or is that too muted, well regardless, one is certainly not available at a car dealership
or is the subject of curious conversation in a neighborhood man cave,
and certainly not at the tavern among the guys who only want to talk
about a different type of handicap.
i hate golf.
i love the chef.
mostly, there is a lot to be said for creating original recipes and sharing common
interests, but more can be learned about someone when the emotional honesty
is first and foremost an important ingredient of the relationship dish.
did i mention that i love food?  good.  it's true.
if you were given a second or third chance in life, what would you choose to become?
consider this:  you won't have to ask Herb for permission.

Keats said he knew me

Keats said he knew me
but not really.
it was nearing the end of August
and i wanted to visit Russia
to tour the hospitals
and the rest homes.
no, he said, he didn't want to accompany me,
saying the world was too miserable,
that he didn't have much time to write anymore.
and i believed him!
there was a lot of sorrow going around,
and it was simply awful news about Hemingway,

damn shotguns,
but it hadn't stopped me from feeling all right.
so, let me know what your plans are, i said.
my own feeling was that we should go together.
no, i didn't imagine he'd die anytime soon, either;
there was still time to change the road
we were on,
and i wanted to do quite a lot with him.
i remembered all the good of our past times together
and asked him to reconsider.
i told him to let me know very soon,
but i never heard from him again.
i traveled to Russia by myself.

no time

no time
for a trench dug deeply in the backyard dirt
no time
and yet my hands finally begin to hurt
yes, sentences form inside my book
one page finally becomes a seventh chapter
and i give it a second look
i'll work even when i'm afraid
i talk with Doris my therapist
she said she doubts i'll ever get laid
but i might take a lover
inside a sea full of goldfish
underneath a star-filled cover
no time
for the dozens of possible stories
throughout a sad city
whose heroes once had their glories
no time
for the Beatles and other British bands
no time
and yet i leap to my feet and clap my hands.

don't go making me blue

you won't have to beg me please
i'm already down on my knees
looking up while you're looking down
yes, i'm tired of painting the town
i'd much rather paint you
you'll be sweating when we're through
so don't go making me blue
paint me red when i'm in bed
i'll remember every word you said
and i know your momma was young
she knew every song that was sung
and every guy who gave her the eye
well, they didn't really have to try
very hard
she didn't have a full deck
it was only one card
and it wasn't you
so don't go making me blue
what i like is what we do
you won't have to beg me please
i'm already down on my knees
i won't be a big tease
looking up while you're looking down
yes, i'm tired of painting the town
i'd much rather paint you
you'll be sweating when we're through
so don't go making me blue.

don't want any more assholes

i don't want any more assholes
inside my paintings or in my morning cereal;
and no more spilled milk or cold water on the floor.
i tried to tell myself everything was super cool
but knew i just couldn't take it anymore.
maybe i ran out of gas or imagination
while walking on the frantic eastern shore:
i tried my hand at an expensive vacation.
i tried to persuade a fantasy
to run away with me,
but as luck would have it i climbed to the top
of the nearest witness tree.
i bought a blazingly fast racehorse and then bought ten more
and soon they lost all my money;
i was reduced to sweeping up shit from their apartment floor.
i handed over my trusty Bowie knife,
grabbed a favorite wooden spoon to stir up another crack at life
but it was all done tongue-in-cheek
with a recipe i tried to sell in Philadelphia at least once a week.
never did i doubt that those damn horses could run
or that a mysterious woman could be an exceptional artist and want to create
a masterpiece if it wasn't too late.
and in my new venture, doubtlessly inspired,
i wanted to be the next President but i was just too tired,
washing away all my post-depression fears
with shots of Irish whiskey and snorts of bubbling coke.
someone on the street corner said this all must be some kind of joke!
i found fresh memories from a distant past
laid them out in a neat row in front of my empty alley home;
i told everyone i was packing bags and headed out to roam;
and then she reappeared on her totem tree making extra room for me;
she called my name while dusting off a stressless reclining chair,
so i took her to the shower and asked if i could wash her hair.

Olga and the 11th moon

while the snows fell heavily upon the ground,
the eleventh moon
turned to face Matisse
in his famous studio near Paris.
but the flower seller walked away with his basket full,
his scarlet eyes silent at the end of the day.
a skinny body stared numbly out to sea
to watch the moon's reflection on the turbulent waters,
her angular arms clasped in the fifth position above her head.
the northern light, a thunderous gray,
showed no glimmer of mercy
when the ballet season ended in a pillar of chalk
carved from the cliffs of Pourville.
in a steady rush of solitude the solitary person
withered and fell on the vast Russian steppes.
the moon slowly rose like a bird in a cage,
puzzled to discover there was no easy way to fly.

i was happy to love you

when you lowered yourself
to my mouth
north came heading south
your hands steady against the closed door
i stretched excitedly on the floor
a towel placed underneath my head
like a soft pillow from a nearby bed
might have been comfortably blue
i was happy to love you
in one way or another, too.

the status quo (did not fit)

the status quo did not fit

her tight jeans

nor the lacy Victoria Secret

underwear

nor the French kiss sweetened by the clear

stream waters nearby

where the meditation rock sat impassively

waiting with infinite patience

for the two naked people who eventually came

giggling

slipping

giggling

slipping

over the newly laid wood of a moonlit deck.

a tongue filled with intensity

redder than her blood

crawled inside an orange and white

tent

once it was fully erect on the deck

by the kitchen wall

under the spreading hemlock tree

(and no easy feat that was

without instructions!)

and sought the mother-earth

of the warm woman

who in her suggestive energy

triggered a landslide of desire

(which shook the soft tent)

as it buried itself

deeply inside her mouth.

she remained still like a Goddess

carved from a different light

with strong arms

listening to Mozart and a perfect piano,

or searching for a meaningful book,

a poem, perhaps,

an unfailing mariner,

an ever clearer sky.

her thin body 

cloaked in nothingness

and yet with everything real

trapped his head with her hands.

then the slow morning 

made famous

by the sleeping beauty

who discovered his hunger where her ass

had only recently been

ticktock ed

paused

giggled

and eventually slipped

into its' own quiet afternoon

when two smaller cavorting dogs

with no hint of solemnity

walked into their cages and fitfully slept.

i could love you even more: revisiting a dream

from the armchair to the sofa to the floor,
the bed to the balcony,
the kitchen and the shower
where we lathered gleefully for an hour
with oil rubs and soft voices:
we gave ourselves multiple choices,
always reaching for the more adventurous dream
behind the discreetly simple privacy screen.
in another room you appeared to me as a secret
in a bright orange wrap, no less,
while holding a volume of true desire.
i felt your fire!
i came almost last
but you loved me
as though i were the summer breeze
and you the shore.
i took you again by the hallway door,
telling you i could love you even more.
it was true.
you stood naked and i was disrobed
when a song like a disco theme
or was it a beautiful philodendron
moved our feet together,
in  spite of the humid weather.
and i knew the name of the band
when i kissed your hand.
you listened like a mountain in the morning light
while i climbed to the summit
and kissed those lips which i so adore,
telling you i could love you even more.

twenty pound bag of ice

i
saw you working in the yard
with a box of flowers by your side
and nailed to a tree the polished skull of a random deer
that had recently died.
his antlers painted white, his nose was gone
it was rumored that years before he had been a happy fawn
but now he stared so vacantly
while there was nothing more for him to see.
he looked forward only to a lovely rest
you provided company and welcomed your new guest
gave him drink and offered him a simple bed.
when you spoke it was obvious he didn't hear a word you said.
he was a wilderness head with complacent eyes
he wouldn't speak any future lies
even if he imagined he could.
so i grabbed an axe and started to chop wood
hoping you'd see me for another hour or so
but with your company about to arrive i knew i had to go.
i drove away in a heated car and blew my windows down,
looked into my mirror and saw a frustrated mans' frown
but what i didn't know and couldn't remember twice
is that i'd stop to buy you a twenty pound bag of ice.

i can make it!!

i won't make it until tomorrow
i can't go on no more
my knees are weak, my heads a mess
i'm crawling on the floor
just thinking is often painful
it hurts to lend a hand
my body is in limbo
on some distant Never Land
you said you'd always love me
i meant the world and more
then why am i so lonely
and crawling on the floor?
is this what's meant by sadness?
where music fails to sound?
if color has no meaning
why does it hang around?
to touch your face was heaven
to hear your voice was joy
now everything is changing
i've transformed into a boy
and in my childish fever
i cry a wailing whine
my loss feels overwhelming
and nothing sure seems mine:
a box of coal for Christmas
a cold slap on the face
a friendly touch one moment
then gone without a trace.

you turned out the light

i wore my white shirt
had the new blue tie pulled tight
came to your front door
and asked you for the entire night
and i saw you hesitate
how far would this go?
is he a serious suitor
or is this all part of a carnival show?
and there was late traffic
everyone had a Friday head in the air
but i kept running after you
i didn't want a casual affair
the street noise was too abrupt
i already saw your fleeting smile
if you wanted me to
i'd walk another hundred mile
and i'd bring flowers
and a heart designed solely for you
i'd want to know exactly
what more or else i could do?
and then the rains fell
and we stood there with eyes searching for more
i wore my white shirt and new blue tie
meeting at your front door
asking you for the entire night
and when we went inside
you slowly turned out the light.

i gave you more

and i placed my finger on your lips

watched you adjust your hips

there was a cloud passing overhead

you whispered and i heard what you said

"take me to another shore"

i hadn't heard that one before

my hands picked you up from the floor

you had a terrible appetite

come to me hungry every single night

knock on my door or ring my favorite bell

do what you want 'cause i'll never tell

just as sweet as a smoking gun

i'm not finished with you until i'm done

the clock is ticking it's almost four

you whispered "take me to another shore"
and baby, yes, i gave you more.

to sleep in your arms

when i came to sleep in your arms
your door was closed but your heart was still open
i went to find the key
it could have been in an adjacent room
instead of across a raging sea
where i found myself tied to the turning mast
and my ears were full of woe
i heard you give your sage advice
but wasn't sure which way to go
honey i was your mariner
and i braved the steel-eyed storm
i led the way across a battlefield
and saw the sad forlorn
i hiked to the nearby mountain top and grabbed a lightening strike,
mixed it into a rainbow that i thought that you might like
i stood in the middle of the highway
and braved a thousand stares
and made a fancy salad with crumbly cheese and pears
i traveled to the ends of the Earth and listened to the tides
tried to find the answer but all it does is hides
and all along the twisty path i kept looking high and low
i heard you give your sage advice
but wasn't sure which way to go.

How did i get here?

once a boy
in a far away land
traveled across a lonesome ocean
which he never did understand
and at age sixteen
he lit out for the territory ahead
no thoughts of mortality stirring his head
he looked instead for a perfect love
in the distant sky,
wanted a safe place to rest
where he might never die;
and he toiled and then he bled.
he went looking for a cure but it was all inside his head.
he found one answer that he hoped to trust:
why turn to stone before returning to dust?
and he found a long lost memory;
he hoped it would give him some security.
a woman alone on her trail also on the run
and they drank to health and loved
wrapped together as if they were only one.
but then aging is perplexing;
it infects our very air
it puzzles every one of us
who are lucky enough to get there
and so the kissing mouth went brittle dry.
the man, like the boy, never did understand why
and suddenly the sun forgot to rise
Pascal's Wager proved to be another surprise
as well as those Dear Uncle Sam's and all the applause
written in small print at the bottom of each clause:
love goes where it wants and carries us along,
even the adventuresome boy and his song.

Walt and the leaves of grass

why not?  the bike ride was about to begin.
Mr. Pump House went straight for the port-a-potty
and, once inside, peed on his feet.
like a rain forest the interior was hot and dark,
overly damp,
and smelled of cheap perfume.
but he shook his feet individually, impatiently, and left,
leaving the toilet's black plastic lid erect and untouched.
he was briefly curious of the Grateful Dead poster
he glimpsed hanging on the urinal wall.
he went to a companion on the outside and complained
about the foul air inside.
the companion was a Grateful Dead fan, but didn't hear
of the poster so entered an adjacent port-a-potty.
this adjacent port-a-potty had no posters.
it had no paper, either, and the work sheet indicated
it wasn't due for a cleaning for 5 more days.
the group ride was scheduled to begin soon and Mr. Pump House
was determined to be among the first to leave the staging
area, with or without the company of his companion.
but just then,
Walt Whitman rode past the start line on his new Trek,
not having to pee or anything else.
Walt thus became the first person to randomly begin the
Preservation Trust 51 miler, as the official team sponsor
was having their promotional picture taken by a paid photographer
and other riders simply deferred to this group being the
opening act.
in fact, a sizable queue had formed, waiting for some official signal to begin.
so Pump House was thinking the ride hadn't started, either.
and good Walt never stopped, floating over the cow patties
and past the hanging wash, taking quick corners on
the inside with a significant lean, all the while imagining himself an insightful poet.
unfortunately, no one was nearby to see him ride 

over the famous leaves of grass

scattered wildly on the open road.

he dreamed of individual freedoms while
speeding on his Trek which had the new electronic shifter system
and he didn't really need to know much to make it work,

so he pedaled furiously with his Oakley sunglasses catching the buzzing bugs.
when the ride officially began, next to the big green John Deere
tractor and the circus tent, it was like a gold-rush
and a folk-rock festival rolled into one and it smoked.
but no one could catch Walt, who was writing a novel in his head
as he rode while screaming at the top of his lungs.

he was making up songs,
and no one seemed to notice he wasn't wearing a helmet.

his beard was bigger than an Amish buggy.

the Strait of Messina

her slender fingers were digging into my head
her eyes were closed
we had no thoughts of the nearby bed
several times i heard her softly say
this was nice
and it was nice!
"I wish you were mine."
well maybe i wouldn't want to be hers:
limos, diamonds, mansions, and furs?
i've been to Passport Cafe parties before
they've emptied my pocket of coins
in search of perfect passing loins
and still she tried to get closer to me
and spilled her coffee
i had been rubbing her arm
she said with no hint of alarm
but i wanted her breasts
she showed me where the spill was
between her legs
and i wanted to suck her pants dry
why?
i support life, i suppose
and to water my rose.
Plus, i wouldn't let her down
but she wouldn't let me up.
so i went to get her another cup.
her one glass of white wine became two
me, beer!!
and we both became in good cheer
i have a theory for you,
my dear,
we are who we are
sitting on the sofa by the fire
discussing travel and books,
culinary notions,
the Strait of Messina and ancient potions:
running barefoot in our dreams on the sand
waking up after the storm on dry land
hardly worth mentioning
we are both looking for a place
and i hope we find it
a copy of Bohemia was on the table
her head was on my shoulder.
no limo, diamond, mansion, or fur
i simply wanted her
because of who she is.
n'est pas?
how's my French?

saw you today

saw you today
watched how you smile when you're at play
noticed the way you put up your hair
before you come down the stair
heard you sing your song
you asked me to sing along
i felt you had the better voice
but you had a different choice
and complimented me
while we were standing by the moving sea
but sorry darling my eyes were entirely on you
i can't help myself it's always been true:
there was a time when you came and i went
but i always felt you were Heaven sent
and i looked you steady in the eyes
and then to my big surprise
you gave me a favorable look in return
so when will i ever learn
there must be a way to keep the air in your tires
to stoke the embers and light your fires
why does the day seem so long when you're away?
saw you today
watched how you smile when you're at play.

when she called my name

when she called my name
and i heard her small talk
when she asked me if i'd enjoy a long walk
her hand is in mine
and all the words rhyme
she was happy to be
it was just her and me
and the moonlight each night
she still held onto me tight
stars in her eyes and the sun on my head
every song sung and every book read
remembering everything that she said
these thoughts remain inside my heart
now it might be time to make a new start
when the music changes tune
i would be happy to see the new moon
when she called my name
it was familiar and yet never the same
and i heard her small talk
when she asked me if i'd enjoy a long walk
and i'd grab my coat and shoes
chasing away any temporary blues
her stocking cap pulled on tight
walking across our private prairie at night
when she called my name
and i heard her small talk
when she asked me if i'd enjoy a long walk
her hand is in mine
and all the words rhyme.

she'd be there by the dawn

she came in from San Francisco
mostly heading east
looking for a new place to go
her travelings had to cease
and the next bus stop was frozen
her hands were turning blue
she looked at me in desperation and asked "What should i do?"
but i didn't know which way was Memphis
and my voice was turning hoarse
so i pointed her to a statue of a poet
who told her to change course
her smile became wild and simple
i recited my favorite verse
and when she heard me mouth the words
she never once heard worse
so we headed to the nearest saloon
where pretty girls sat sipping wine
i poured her two full glasses of Chardonnay
and she soon was feeling fine
a speaker paused to give a speech
she wanted to hear each word
i told her he was just blowing smoke
but she loved what she just heard
there was dandruff on his shoulders
flesh heaving through his shirt
there was something we could agree upon
he was a smiling genius flirt
so insecurely at my table
i grabbed a bottle of sweet vermouth
paying closer attention to the gentleman
and found him long in tooth
but she said he was a famous painter
and suddenly she was gone
down her long road to Memphis
and she'd be there by the dawn.
so i took a clue from her absence
took the next swift boat to France
where i found a romantic studio
and taught myself to dance
Susie was in the Russian ballet
her hands where turning blue
she picked me up and tossed me
and asked me "Just who are you?"
i said i give a great speech
in both fair weather and in foul
i was wondering how far it was to Memphis
and if i could get there soon somehow.

the blue house

so when i came home
my house was blue
i looked everywhere
i missed not seeing you.
the last time i saw you
you where waving goodbye
and i couldn't help but
start wondering why.
so i took the long drive
it was already getting late
what i didn't know
that was our final date.
yet you were amazing
as we read and we spoke
then you were gone
and i awoke.
but in my dream
soft and strong
i saw you walking
i wanted to tag along.
you told me
you were in no rush
and when i held you
i noticed you blush;
everyone would notice
if we walked or ran.
you would be my lady
and i would be your man.
and then the sun rose
my alarm bells started to ring
and i looked everywhere
but couldn't see a thing.

to love forever

no more digging in the dirt
no more walking around with the hurt
i got tired staying down on my knees
how many times was i supposed to say "Please?"

i had a dad who was an old street fighter
he'd hit me and kick me every other day
i saw his fist begin to roll even tighter
i'd run and try to get away
he'd grab me and say i was really gonna pay.

i joined the Army to see what all the fighting was about
shot my way into the center of town
saw people pointing but couldn't hear them shout
they kept looking up while i kept looking down
i knew i wanted something that couldn't be easily found.

no more digging in the dirt
no more walking around with the hurt
i got tired staying down on my knees
how many times was i supposed to say "Please?"

i had a woman tell me i was a special man
she kissed me and she loved me every other day
it took awhile before i could fully understand
if i lost her i would have nothing more to say
i'm not religious but i'm staying on my knees to pray.

wounds which may never heal

passion in abundance
but lacking in common sense.
it'll be me.
the blood spilled by my feet was my type
my pain vivid, intense,
unnecessary, perhaps
unwanted, i knew
undeserved, i felt,
and at such a time
that the shock was stunning, awesome,
simple and complete.
how can one love without undefended vulnerability?
someone must have once made the comment
that perhaps the pain of loss
exceeds the rapture of togetherness.
maybe i said it.
from the parking lot,
i once remarked
"See you around!"
she replied,
"We must communicate!"
how easy it should have been in retrospect to keep
emotions in check,
entanglements at arms length,
maintaining that critical distance,
the detachment,
a cool reserve,
a preserving space,
while still having her
in an impersonal fashion.
oh, nostalgia!
i so wanted to trust someone,
to have help with every door,
to allow,
to risk everything for.
look, i heard
you and i wanted
a meaningful connection,
an honest embrace,
a fundamental relationship
without pretense or phoniness
no holding in reserve
and i gave you my word:
no secret part of myself
would be hidden
and i willingly gave to you
and flew
at every altitude
free-falling
walking on air
and always there
feeling that special breeze
which can only appear with abandonment
a ghost and a solid thing once and for all
steady
continual
and most certainly
vital and alive.
we saw things most clearly.
now am i the fool?
i am on the verge of closing myself down and
tending to wounds which may
never heal.
where now is the knock-out rose?
only the arborist knows.
the hand-formed candle resting on my glass coffee table
is in danger of losing its' dancing flame.
the fireplace has grown cold.
oh, perhaps the gas cylinder is empty again?
the nearby wall of glass no longer holds a view
of the near shore.
what is all this for?
the shore itself has disappeared.
that's what i feared.
the creek no longer flows.
someone else one said
"And so it goes."
even the simple flowers have lost their bloom.
you've already left the room.
any color appears drained from my face.
you've left without a trace.
or is this an illusion?

brown eyes blue

on my fall from the highest star
i passed a friend who had her brown eyes focused
on the far side of the street
it was a Tuesday when we had first arranged to meet
and we sat down together
didn't give a damn about the weather
we climbed a hill and rolled underneath the full harvest moon
she took my hand and promised i'd get it back sometime before June
but it never came and she went
when daybreak finally arrived i was spent
there wasn't a single penny on the floor
i saw her just before she shut the door
Fleetwood Mac was playing on the radio
i didn't really know why she felt she had to go
alarmed by another landslide
i wanted to get away but my hands felt tied
if you see my friend she might have her brown eyes blue
her painted nails stick out from the front of her shoe
she'll be carrying a smile which lights the new dawn
and when the time comes i'll hope to carry on.

it was a Tuesday

there was a partially eaten hamburger
a warm Guinness
a bright Chardonnay.
it was a Tuesday.
the sun was shining
outside the window.
the lunch crowd was in
drinking fresh tonic and gin
water with ice and sliced lemon
and i could touch your hand.
sitting knee to knee
you leaned over and spoke to me.
tears on the plate.
the waitress asked how was everything?
balsamic vinegar on the floor.
walking to the side door
we were still tasting the atmosphere;
i watched you,
that's something i need to do,
all the way to the parking area
where we saw our cars.
you went one way.
it was a Tuesday.
and i followed until i ran out of gas.
there you were with extra fuel
in a hand-held can.
"so let's get this show on the road again."

no one behind the wheel

driving alone
no one behind the wheel
starting from a beach front hotel
a strange woman i didn't know well
her red stop signs and red street lights
tall towers and tender sights
her doggie style wild cat fights
but no accidents
no one behind the wheel
a letter said she was too tired
without laughing i said she was hired
her red stop signs and red street lights
tall towers and tender sights
her doggie style wild cat fights
driving alone
no one behind the wheel
a woman with her dark back seat
asking if i'd like something to eat
driving alone
no one behind the wheel
her hand on my keys all night through
couldn't get lost so what should i do
driving alone
no one behind the wheel.

an eagle with a woman's breasts

one more drink:
will it be bourbon or wine?
well, the grey-haired woman
thought everything was fine,
but then her tires went flat.
can you imagine that?
her corns began to burn,
her demeanor caught cold!
is she a bust on a funeral pyre
or simply grown too old?
the following Sunday
more lessons came my way;
i sat calmly reading the papers
to pass another day.
a long bull's penis
was in the morning news.
it was tipped with a ribbon
of more reds than blues.
three years went by
while i stayed firmly on that chair;
she said she looked around
but couldn't find me anywhere.
hell, then the window opened;
an eagle with a woman's breasts
offered me a challenge
and i passed her tests.
when i rose from my seat
to stretch my bones,
she grabbed my arm
and we erupted in moans.
we didn't have far to go;
we wanted to feed the birds,
and our bag of seeds
did more for them than words.

johnnie's blow

hey Joe,
i've got a pocket full of johnnie's blow
he tried to fill me with his candied red
i found him shot and bloodied on his bed
once a shit from 43rd
everyone knew he was a little turd
and that's the latest from what i heard

hey Jane,
i've got a plantation full of sugar cane
it'll rot your teeth and blow your brain
your head will split and nothing will remain
once and done and overall
they're looking for johnnie to take the fall
and that's the latest i can recall

hey Jack,
i've got a warehouse full of whitie's crack
it's pure and simple and smells like gold
one pinch and you're hooked and then you're sold
try a sample in the park
almost nothing you can't do after dark
and when you do it'll leave it's mark

hey Joe,
i've got a pocket full of johnnie's blow
he tried to fill me with his candied red
i found him shot and bloodied on his bed
once a shit from 43rd
everyone knew he was a little turd
and that's the latest from what i heard

it just felt right

her fresh hair
would i dare?
play the strings of her heart
listening to the tune
i watched a quiet moon
floating in the night sky
not for me to sit wondering why
it just felt right
she picked up my smile and took a bite
but i headed home
it wasn't very far
there was my old piano and a new guitar
on the kitchen table a piece of flat bread toast
i thought of beginning life out on the west coast
she wouldn't travel in a car
and sometimes that's just how things are
i had her in my head
it must have been something that she once said
i thought of myself going to bed
and she would be between my sheets
lithe and trim
it was a game i couldn't win
i remembered back to when we met
she was young and i wild
a military man and a flower child
we got a good seat at the local bar
and sometimes that's just how things are
i watched a quiet moon
floating in the night sky
not for me to sit wondering why
it just felt right
she picked up my smile and took a bite.

all i want to do is say hello

i've found a climbing stair
it's leading me straight to nowhere
but i keep on walking
convinced that i'll find you there
and it might be dark
you might be playing games in the park
swinging on a set with your legs kicking the air
shaking your head no
when all i want to do i say hello
take you to the nearest motion picture show
down the road past the local rodeo
where a lucky cowboy gets to take a dangerous ride
won't you walk with me close by my side?
i've found a climbing stair
it's leading me straight to nowhere
but i keep on walking
convinced that i'll find you there
and it might be wrong
this might not be your favorite song
but it's all i have and i've sung it everywhere
shaking your head no
when all i want to do is say hello
take you to the nearest motion picture show
down the road past the local rodeo
where a lucky cowboy gets to take a dangerous ride
won't you walk with me close by my side?
i've found a climbing stair
it's leading me straight to nowhere
but i keep on walking
i keep on walking
walking and talking
and it might be dark
you might be playing games in the park
swinging on a set with your legs kicking the air
shaking your head no
when all i want to do is say hello

instead of television

the first time that i saw her
she came to me when i moved away
i was very shy and worked very hard
and didn't know what more to say
there were easily restraints
i never asked her what she knew
when she finally told me the truth
i didn't know what else to do
she had the strangest eyes
occasionally wore a bright red rose
i had no idea what it meant
and it was impossible to suppose:
a kid sister or a saint?
the barbed wire twisting in her hair
at times intimidating
other times completely fair.
black and cream
like a monumental dream
but at the same time
i was hers and she was mine
instead of an individual dance
we moved into a mutual trance
i loved to tease
she loved to perplex
instead of television
we both loved sex.

accelerating to highway speed

fine
sitting on my sofa with rich dark coffee and thoughts
spilling
over the hardwood floor
like spent shells ejected from the slide of a small handgun
still smoking
like cold raindrops hitting on a hot summer tar road.
i watched her get naked in front of a tall mirror
turning the tap for more warm water than cold as she stepped
into the hard white porcelain tub;
a thick rubber mat kept her from slipping if soap bubbles
would form underfoot like memories
dangerous in the dim light of the steam-filled room.
i knew she would shampoo her short hair.
later
when it was dry it smelled like an early spring morning.
disturbing
current events are uniformly awful and my current book is filled with stories
of a mad Moses and an unhappy Abraham picking sand fleas one after another
from their crazy beards, looking always for a safe place to toss them and finding
nothing but candle grease, cheap wine, and refugee camps filled with
cotton canvas tents
and aging black-eyed children who
once upon a time would have been in a school.
i showed her my book and it was written in Chinese or Japanese, I can't
remember which, and we spent a long time trying to translate it,
alternating places on the sofa, finding extra time to feed the starving chickadees and
adding wood chips to the nesting site for the colorful wood ducks when we
occasionally walked outside for a breath of fresh air.
contemplating
chasing a great romance on a well-tuned Harley Iron 883 and
never missing a shift while cruising the grand boulevards in search of
the love of my life and feeling the wind in my face and big breasts, sturdy thighs,
and chocolate brown eyes and a voluptuous body wrapping her arms
around my waist and even deeper into the garden shed,
all the while i'm accelerating to reach highway speed.

A Fitzgerald moment

Isadora Duncan,
with her purple hair,
sat dining at the Colombe d'Or
wearing dark aviator glasses.

Scott rushed to her side,
fell to her fancy feet without his famous book
or his crazy wife,
and pulled out his sword.

"My centurion," she said
as she played with his head.

Zelda, watching from nearby, rushed from her chair,
which had recently been used by a Riviera celebrity,
and flung herself off a nearby parapet.

Her drink remained untouched on her table,
but when she miraculously reappeared,

famously alive,
she downed it in one gulp.

Her hands were blood-smeared and left
red streaks on the polished crystal.

Isadora smiled at Scott.

He leaped up and danced across the floor,

ignoring his wife, who continued to bleed.

His dancing was nothing to write home about,

but later he told Hemingway it was great.