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.