hey pop; really, i wouldn't want to swap

hey pop;
really, i wouldn't want to swap
you had a hard time on the far side of the tracks
when the coal was black you piled it on your back
and when the ice was cold you went door to door and sold
and saw the good boys who had the better toys
and all those young girls with their fancy blond curls
telling stories from the river that always made you shiver
and there seemed no way out
no one would ever hear your shout
but in time there opened a dangerous door
everyone called it the Second World War
and you took it
and took the hit
with brass knuckles in your hand, a handsome face
drinking on a ladder to reach the old rat race
Naval pants and combat with a gun
not much you ever left undone
you carried the ball but finally let it drop
ran full speed and couldn't quite make it to the top
hey pop;
you took a good run and made one hell of a charge
ran a long way past that small town river barge
best-looking man (you said!) with an Earl Flynn grin
cutting the cards four ways to win
buying a new car to show everyone who you are
as you drove down every fast lane
turning from a side street onto Main
you never looked back at the coal and ice
felt the wind in your hair and thought it damn nice
hey pop;
where are you now and whatever else comes can anybody say?
i saw you disappearing softly but i can't go that way:
so toss me another pitch and make it straight
i'm heading for home and don't want to be late.

another shot of Gin

i know where the easy cliff ends and the hard stairs begin
it wasn't so long ago i took a stand
and took it on the chin
i wasn't afraid to lose
but i didn't expect to win
i sat down and poured myself another shot of London Gin
when i saw you come in
and then there rose a sun; it burned inside my heart
made a complete circle before it flew apart
one season came and soon became four
i heard all the stories of what came before
a Jack and a Jill and the Kingdoms of yore
the crown with thorns and the sharp thorns of a red flower
i saw a man consumed with thoughts of pure power
trying to kill the passing of an hour
he wrote a book with words he went to the central bank to borrow
a five year plan was to publish it today or sometime tomorrow
but i tried to play the game without having to slide
every time they gave an explanation i knew they lied
four thousand children on the streets bowed down and cried
the wailing of a father and the tears of a mother
a wheelchair once carried the weight of my brother
its' tires traveled a hundred miles before a quick U-turn
all is quiet on the western front but what did any of us learn?
i know where the easy cliff ends and the hard stairs begin
it wasn't so long ago i took a stand
and took it on the chin
i wasn't afraid to lose
but i didn't expect to win
i sat down and poured myself another shot of London Gin
when i saw you come in.

i questioned myself and i questioned you

the moon was an exploding bomb

deep in the distance a puzzling light
i looked left and i looked right
there was nothing special i wanted to do
i questioned myself and i questioned you

i hid behind a cellar door

asked a whispering ghost why he was so quiet
heard a news story about the Attica riot
saw a young boy he was crying in bed
read the latest warning but ignored what it said

the black swords flew out of the east

the swans flew out to the nearest river
a scarecrow stood naked and started to shiver
an angry young girl walked up to a tall ladder
she hit it with hatred until it started to shatter

the porch swing was like a white rope

on the way south it hung from a church steeple
black souls on ice kept looking for people
a shout in the throat kept getting swallowed
it wasn't history but everything that followed

and the good book on the sidewalk

each page and every chapter in fine print
hands waving to provide every eye a helpful hint
my own way home with a compass and a smile
and the park bench where i wanted to sit for a little while

the moon was an exploding bomb

deep in the distance a puzzling light
i looked left and i looked right
there was nothing special i wanted to do
i questioned myself and i questioned you.

Guinness isn't just a beer

there was a time in California
when i thought i had an extended reach
so i went walking with a musical woman
to the crazy Pacific beach
and we built a fire
and read Russian poetry
while watching the fiery sun
lower itself into the still-glowing sea
i asked her to sing
the Beach Boys who came first to mind
but she sang Dead Man's Curve
and I didn't want to seem unkind
so i had another drink
while she played her B Flat clarinet
like a famous French little bird
who escaped her net
and she started to dance
wet sand between her toes
i considered heading to San Francisco
to see the variety shows
but the wild surf made a steady roar
Big Sur darkness held me to the floor
and she asked for a foot massage
said both her feet were damp
so i lit a Coleman lantern
and settled into camp
i found another Guinness
but it wasn't just a beer;
she handed me oil and spices
and said "Any time now, dear."

Red Mountain

i saw her on Red Mountain
but no one knew her name
how far she had wandered
or from where she came
no one would ever say
but i'll never forget that day
i know she treated me like a stranger
and at first i didn't walk so fine
there was a strong wind blowing
which knocked me off my line
and i started out fawning
and she might have been yawning
but we watched the stars overhead
they kept spinning in their night sky bed
and heard a wolf pack prowling
and a dark bear somewhere growling
and she put her hand on my chest
she felt my heart and i guessed
but i believed everything i felt
kept playing all the cards i was dealt
well, i awoke on a stone cold mesa
and down in the valley far below
the wagon trains kept moving
i didn't know which way they'd go
looked around to see Red Mountain
and it seemed mighty proud and brave
there was one lonely feature
a small tombstone on a freshly dug grave
i saw her on Red Mountain
but no one knew her name
how far she had wandered
or from where she came
no one will ever say
but i'll never forget that day.

you are a God

and tonight
you are a God
or a Roman Catholic priest
with a small dog on your lap

instead of an innocent child waiting for a father-figure.
you dream of riding a white horse in
the woodlands of upstate New York,
having fled the midtown scene
because you were down on your cultural luck.
you are NOT a naked Allen Ginsberg
descending an ornate stairway with Peter
to greet an irate Gordon Liddy,
who would soon leave empty-handed,
laughing all the way to the bank.
in the morning, you are noticed:
wearing a new psychedelic beret
with slender, sparkling strings of golden beads
dangling from your neck,

smiling like a Cherokee with wise eyes and an insomniac heart,

resembling the most dangerous man in America
surfing chaos
marveling at grains of sand on a fantastic beach,

running for governor of California,
singing autographs for the unclothed members of a lost Berkeley tribe
and praying with your alter ego friend, Jim,
who said his real name is Timothy Leary.
he would soon donate his brain to medical science,
which he did.

you moved quietly to the Taos Pueblo,

married Juanita, a native Indian woman

and tonight

you are a God.

i can't walk no more

i lost both legs in a war
now i can't walk no more
and i want to know what for
all the sweating and the blood
the rain forest jungle and the mud
earthquakes and the rising flood
how could i ever know
which way the wind would blow
before the new day began
first i walked and then i ran
through crowds of people pointing everywhere
some of them cheating (and) some playing fair
hard strangers in uniform marching down my street
they're searching but still can't find my feet
no welcoming hand for me to greet
only an eerie noise erupting from fancy toys
and lonely women with their blue-collar boys
and a loud call from the dark city tower
i hear it most every passing hour
a silent lovely flower
hoping for a drink
it almost has no more time left to think
i lost both legs in a war
now i can't walk no more
and i want to know what for
all the sweating and the blood
the rain forest jungle and the mud
earthquakes and the rising flood
how could i ever know
which way the wind would blow
before the new day began
first i walked and then i ran.

a final caress

and a young girl removed her wedding dress
she folded the memory
gave it a final caress
the lamp light growing dim
she wasn't thinking of him
inside the room and by the four poster bed
she read a book instead
tossed her head and gave a laugh
smiling as she slowly slipped
into a warm bath
and the soap bubbles blew
like noses with a head cold
what would she do
when the water turned cold
well, her skin softened
her story got told
and she slept like a beauty
she felt it was her duty
to have her own life
it didn't matter much if she was a wife
she had a direction on her own road
so i was later told
down on one strong knee
she buried the anticipation key.

Lord Byron

i wore black
(and) that's a Johnny Cash fact
but he's not coming back
even though he once read the Farmer's Almanac
on a cold summer night
when the entire world felt warm
and he heard thunder
and soon a terrible storm
carried him to the highest point
millions of people saw him coming and passed a joint
i saw his smile fading to the bone
watched him in the far corner all alone
fooling with a six string guitar
gas in his waiting car
a road map on the seat
while he listened to the radio playing
the Folsom Prison Blues
he grabbed a pair of running shoes
and went looking for some heat
a setting sun and a crescent moon
i kept humming his latest tune
and The Price Was Right
was keeping me up all night
Captain Kangaroo wouldn't tell me what to do
before the show came to a shocking end
when Mayor Phineas T. Bluster called me his best friend
he brought a lot of love to my afternoon parlor room tea
and a hot cup of coffee
under the spreading Chestnut tree
he played the matador and i the crazy bull
we'd both keep eating until we were full
the evening news said we had no choice but to choose
between Lord Byron and Disney dog Pluto
and so
everything seemed designed to clarify or confuse
and we didn't know what else to use
to open our bottle of fine California wine
we bought in a store down in old San Antonio
which is where we were told to go
to hear the man in black
who was hiding in a Lone Star sack
no longer on his feet
he sang flat on his back
the Folsom Prison Blues
he grabbed a pair of running shoes
and went looking for some heat
i saw him disappearing down Alamo Street
but i heard him singing yesterday
and that's something that i'm proud to say.

Earth Man

Earth Man
walked across an Indian desert with his guitar in hand
took a swim in a fresh water pond where he stole their drink
tossed his empty glass into a stainless steel kitchen sink
sat in a easy chair where he hoped to think
when a girl from Des Moines
asked if he had any spare coins
but he had none
he stood up to go looking for some fun
but everything had already been done
so he walked onto bright Town Avenue where brilliant flowers once grew
and saw an electric car parked by the side of a busy road
with a lithium battery about to explode
the driver side door painted Pacific blue
he kicked it with his Amazon Prime jungle shoe
and a security camera watched him light up a smoke
he laughed at his own imagined joke
but tossed it away with a long note of fresh disdain
before the thunderstorm of lightning and imminent rain
lit up the sky and made his walking tough
he said all the edges felt rough
but with a cheap suitcase and a east coast bookstore map
he pulled on his favorite Minnesota Twins baseball cap
and walked aimlessly for several hours
to reach a corner of the famous twin towers
of New York City where he looked for a dog but found a lost kitty
and the passing woman gave him a big apple kiss
he was suspicious but nothing seemed terribly amiss
because he was the kind of man who liked to get from here to there
and she hadn't asked for money so he didn't really care
he got his dander up and she got her hair pins down
they decided to grab a brush and paint the town
but they found none
they went looking for some fun
into the countryside where they found a giant oak
he laughed at his own imagined joke
and with a picnic basket of cheap dreams
he told the lady he wasn't exactly as he seems
but it was okay to eat a fine meal and have an even bigger drink
i saw him sit in an easy chair where he hoped to think
and he put her on his lap
with a cheap suitcase and an east coast bookstore map
she said she wasn't exactly as she appeared
and he looked at her and their faces neared
there was a moment of quiet reflection but it came and went
a voice was heard which they believed was Heaven sent
and nervously crawled into their survivalist tent
the lights went low and everything grew quiet
and near the end there was no whispering and no laughing riot
so i packed my bags and put on my traveling shoes
with my guitar in hand i wanted to learn to play the blues
motivated by the headlines of yesterdays' news:
the World might have been a poet but couldn't find a muse.

mama it's hot inside the oven

mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
my sign is melting
it says BEWARE!
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
my pie is baking
steam EVERYWHERE!
gonna get me a cook book
wanna take a quick look
gonna stir the pot
give it everything i got
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
my sign is melting
it says BEWARE!
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
my pie is baking
steam EVERYWHERE!
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
i can't get no air
it doesn't seem fair
my pie is baking
steam EVERYWHERE!
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot
help me stir the pot.

i had no clue

there was a floor above the basement blues

which could be walked on with a pair of new shoes

and a communication gap in the evening news

which aired our dirty laundry on national tv

where there always remained the possibility

of someone being honest with the latest story;

the drums of August sounded fine

when i swallowed my last drop of red wine

sitting at the white house table to dine

wearing a pair of old sneakers and a fancy French hat;

i heard the quarrel between the cat and the rat

but i kept trying to ignore that;

i hit my head on a stone wall until it bled

waiting to be with you and be fed;

i guess it wasn't only what i said,

it was what i didn't do

when i was without you

and the waiter delivered his tray of Super Glue

which sealed my lips

so my hips 

shook like a down dog

and i sank like a heavy log

so low i fell to the cellar floor

my clean jeans tore

i couldn't see my hands in front of my face

i rested my case

there didn't seem to be a way out of there

i took off my underwear

and played with myself

maybe there was a Dostoevsky book on a nearby shelf

i had no clue.

painting in a corner

i've been painting in a corner
colors are falling like spring rain
first they fill up my bucket
then they head down my drain
and i've been idly watching
there are people rushing by
everyone is acting busy
and i can't figure out why
first there was a Sunday
when i heard voices from the choir
they started out softly and low
but kept getting higher
and the singers smiled so brightly
the rafters began to shake
i saw their lips moving
but couldn't decide if it was real or fake
they looked at me like an old friend
i was offered a front row seat
it felt like the good times were rolling
but there was no one special to meet
and then came a busy Friday
when the working class grew tired
a damsel in distress said she knew me
but i didn't want to be hired
i was asked to carry her luggage
and i've been asked to tie her shoe
sometimes i knew the easy answer
sometimes i didn't know what to do
i wore my hat on a cold day
saw the sidewalks covered with snow
the traffic lights flashed their warning
i couldn't decide which way to go
i felt healthy at midnight
i felt sick as hell at noon
i imagine a garden full of ripe fruit
and i'll have to go there soon
every time i stopped to read a new book
a yellow bus came to offer a ride
an old man yelled that he could save me
but i always suspected that he lied.

something i said

the radio played
a Johnny Cash song
and i wanted to sing along
but found myself in heavy traffic
on a Sunday afternoon
i wanted to be home soon
when i saw the suits and ties and dresses
walking to the neighborhood church where only guesses
would ever be made
their lovely flowers bundled and laid
at my feet
it was more than i could hope to eat
and the story flashed across my windshield
like a wiper in a storm
i turned on my heater to stay warm
when a next song from Fleetwood Mac
reminded me to never turn back
so dutifully straight ahead i sped
down to the nearest tidal shore
past the formal front door
and on my way
i saw the spires and heard the spinning tires
of one hundred years about to unfold
i saw hungry hours inside a box being readied to be sold
they tried to grab me by the nose
when Kurt Vonnegut whispered
"and so it goes"
out from the sea
into the woods and across the field
where i fell on my sword and was carried on my shield
a song kept repeating in my head
was it something i said?
the radio played
it seemed familiar but wasn't something that i made
i wanted to be home soon
overhead i saw the shimmering moon
and heard a Johnny Cash song
and i wanted to sing along.

Bobby Sands

Bobby Sands
didn't use his hands
inside that prison wall
Kevin Lynch
in an I.R.A. pinch
took his final fall
Francis Hughes
wore Republican shoes
all the way to his end
these H Block men would never bend!!
their fork and spoon
beneath the Irish moon
would eat no food inside their cell
they gave a battle yell
but they would not cry
no one wondered why
they would rather die
and let all hell break loose
while the Golden Goose
served a mighty fine beer
the local boys held no fear
looking down the barrel of a British gun
the Belfast boys refused to run
and the girls played dead
because of what their mommies said
about black-laced boots on a Londonderry street
kicking everyone they'd meet
the television news
and faces of reds and blues
shouting men and rifles fired
bombed-out cars and killers hired
shooting red-hot lead
dark skies and the newly dead
ballads sung with heavy heart
beginning from when The Troubles start
with no let-up no pause
fighting for the rightful cause
tame to wild
every Belfast child
knew
Bobby Sands
didn't use his hands
inside that prison wall
Kevin Lynch
in an I.R.A. pinch
took a final fall
Francis Hughes
wore Republican shoes
all the way to the end
these H Block men would never bend!!
their fork and spoon
beneath the Irish moon
would eat no food inside their cell
they gave a battle yell
but they would not cry
no one wondered why
they would rather die
and let all hell break loose
while the Golden Goose
served a mighty fine beer
the local boys held no fear
looking down the barrel of a British gun
the Belfast boys refused to run
and the girls played dead
because of what their mommies said
about black-laced boots on a Londonderry street
kicking everyone they'd meet
the television news
and faces of reds and blues
shouting men and rifles fired
bombed-out cars and killers hired
shooting red-hot lead
dark skies and the newly dead
ballads sung with heavy heart
beginning from when The Troubles start
with no let-up no pause
fighting for the rightful cause
tame to wild
every Belfast child
knew
Bobby Sands
didn't use his hands

on a sea of blue ink

and on a sea of blue ink
i saw more than your simple words
i saw more about how you felt
and how you stopped to think
about the hands in life you've been dealt
there were brave stories about your youthful glories
and salty tears about your younger woman fears
to the right i saw you running out of sight
from early in the morning until late at night
while in front of me i saw where you might want to be
my companion standing independent and free
reaching out with a strong hand
i held on but everything felt like grains of sand
escaping to the ground
i remained silent and kept listening for a hopeful sound
and when you really wanted me
i knelt on one knee
without hesitation or momentary reservation
like a baby to a lover
a spy out of the cold and out from undercover
two trees bending to the wind together
summer and winter regardless of the weather
what a day and the sun is still rising
i promise to be more enterprising
you tell me you're no longer in a hurry
and even if times are hard we shouldn't worry
and on a sea of blue ink
i saw more than your simple words
i saw more about how you felt
and how you stopped to think
about the hands in life you've been dealt.

the damn wheel

driving on the street
will we ever someday meet?
the windshield of my car
needs a thorough cleaning
does it signify any special meaning?
the radio static of a local channel
playing a Friday night football game
but it's always the same
droning commentator
or daytime moderator
a talking head looking to be stroked and fed
whether in bright sun or torrential rain
grabbing at every advantage for minimal gain
behind the closet doors or coming out
leaving home wandering about
down the quiet streets of a small town
a silly grin or a puzzled frown
under bright lights in center city
dull-witted or clever and witty
driving on the street
will we ever someday meet?
well, i got me a new Porsche
hot as a Mexican chili pepper
smoking wind blowdrying my hair
shifting thru the gears without a damn care
one hundred and twenty two
gaining speed but always looking out for you
at every tight corner i'm Little Jack Horner
eating my one minute oatmeal
hearing those terrible tires squeal
keeping my hands on the damn wheel
driving on the street
will we ever someday meet?

to silence the Sun

and in the end
there was no morning
no rush hour
no alarm clock
keeping time with a purpose
no life on Mars
there was only a passing silhouette dressed in virginal white
walking around a lonely apartment block
smart phone in hand
high speed data downloading
a compass needle spinning wildly
melting ice
but there was nothing of intrinsic value
to be found
on the front or backyard porch.
the sound was silent
colors were cold
language a barrier
a limp man swung past a mounted rider's torch
fell into a gigantic black hole
began to dance on the celestial stage.
but he seemed trapped in a broadway cage
when the play was held
an anxious audience sat in chairs
either alone or in nervous pairs
and wondered how this might come to a fitting end.
a brother and a sister and a close friend
walked on hard steps
tried to make sense
of a windowless fence
they saw
erected along the vast southern border
broken glass and sharp barbed wire
cemented on the top
where the sky was pierced
red blood seeped down onto the desert dirt
dried in clumps but provided no moisture
where the sun was hottest.
a watching man put down his book
he looked again at the rider and the horse
standing around
saw the man swinging still
a fresh grave included no name
major papers of the day ran the story
but mostly they distorted the truth
in order to silence the Sun.

a regional poet

you are the new regional poet?
fine.
i'm underwhelmed, of course.
regional poets are as common as
Labor Day farts after eating sausage grillers.
besides,
i found no manifesto in your syllabus
so there's no reason to be polite and
there's nothing to be gained by fawning over
little things, like YOU little twit.
so how'd you get here?
a friend in high places got you this
position, perhaps?
i doubt it was psychic power!
do you get the obligatory tan in the winter?
hey!  you don't need to pretend by squinting
one eye while scribbling on a table napkin
that you're a hot shit.
you're no hot shit.
can you even spell potato?
and i'll bet you're a drunk.
i'll bet you have a constant supply of unsalable
manuscripts, too.
what would any student get from your class, assuming
you have one.
a good idea?  nope.
you don't even dress the part.
i heard you once swallowed enough phenobarbital
to put you in a coma for a week.
sometimes rumors are the truth, you know.
your shoes are old.
you'll never fit in with the better members of
this faculty, which is most of us,
nor should you.
hah!  a pretender and a thief, i see.
or more like a guest come to the campus much like a swimmer to
the beach, to swim and sunbathe before being served a
lunch by a sculpture of a plastic fish.
and you're the plastic fish.
out of water.  lost.  not even interesting as you flop
and fail to impress.
you must realize that you don't speak our language!
you'll always be the stranger,
a not-very-polished outsider.
in this respect (and many more i can think of),
you are merely (hmmm...what's the term?)
a regional poet, if that.
and not published?  Hah.
you'll always be bourgeoisie!
and, MON DIEU, you actually hunt and fish?

sex on the floor

with a hat wreathed in flowers
and sex on the floor
besides the water garden
under a sun shaped like a vagina
the woman felt relaxed
holding a large cigarette in her mouth.
reading Dionysos
while wet sand pushed between her toes
the lady felt the heat of July
little by little
draw salty beads of perspiration
in wavy lines
on her skin.
in a loose-fitting dress
and barefoot
in a quiet way
she looked at herself in the mirror
and saw a bird fly from a wire cage.

tie my shoe

cutting for stone
with one blind eye
and a sharp chisel
there's dust on the showroom floor
the radio host is talking about the next terrible world war
and my first chapter is still inching along
although some of the characters apparently don't belong
but when the whistle blower
and the cleaning lady appear
the picture window is finally thrown wide open
a fresh breeze comes near
and i listen closely to what i can now hear:
there are strangers in the hallway
friendly ghosts painting in the studio
they ask me where are you from
and i tell them i don't know
but it was jungle humid and very hot
summer heat hard like lead shot to the forehead
a nearby city crying in mourning
police officers in uniform dropping dead
the Sunday News folded on the front porch
bold black text in 20 point font screams it's the end
but i've heard it before and now it's coming back again
before this Friday nights' opening
before the chilled wine and finger snacks
up again the nearest wall we lean with our thin backs
ramrod straight until we're ordered to stand down
i pick up and put on the vandal's crown
as the first guest arrives to see my finished work
and i show her a native tree
she asks me who was the artist
and i tell her it was me
but that seems like such a long time ago
when i worked in a much larger studio
and the lake water was pure so i could drink
and everyone seemed to matter so i could relax and think
the wild asparagus was a plant to eat
with cheese and oysters and nearby a sharp knife
my old television set is turned to a show called 'This Is Your Life!'
and the washing machine is making a lovely noise
down the hallway near the locked door behind which all my childhood toys
remind me that i've been lazy
what am i to do when i can no longer tie my shoe?

a hard-fought rodeo

Did you know
which way it would go
was everything all a virtual reality TV show
wrapped from the top of your big head to the bottom of your small toe
but what did i really know
maybe i'd rather be watching a hard-fought rodeo
when you called me on the telephone
did you think you were tossing me another friendly bone
well,  i didn't want to chase it all alone
so don't come on by just to say "Hi"
anymore
it simply won't be like it was once before
anymore
i'm not looking and i'm not answering the door
i'm a man at peace not interested in fighting another war
and you're the girl with needles in her hair
the holes in a heart that no one can repair
so don't come on by just to say "Hi"
anymore
it simply won't be like it was once before
anymore
got my guitar and i'm playing inside my car
i used to wonder but now i really don't care anymore where you are
and you're the girl with needles in her hair
the holes in a heart that no one can repair
did you know
which way it would go
was everything a virtual reality TV show
wrapped from the top of your big head to the bottom of your small toe
but what did i really know
maybe i'd rather be watching a hard-fought rodeo
when you called me on the telephone
did you think you were tossing me another friendly bone
well, i didn't want to chase it all alone
so don't come on by just to say "Hi"
anymore
it simply won't be like it was once before
anymore.

but what did i really know

something came over me
i started walking out to the sea
but a mighty mountain rose in the distance
it started to sing and did a native Indian dance
i wanted to hike to it but took a quick nap
put on my New York Yankees baseball cap
and began to play the game
it was eventually cancelled because of an afternoon rain
so i went to the parking lot
pulled out an American Army cot
and put it near the local water fountain
i kept looking at the mighty mountain
it seemed so sure of itself
i pulled a classical book from the library shelf
and read about the Golden Rule
and an old man on the open prairie known as Sitting Bull
but what did i really know
i wasn't dressed for it when it began to snow
and then suddenly thunder
so i began to wonder:
when i'm sitting in the shadow of a cloud
should i always feel proud
of the way the history classes go?
but what did i really know
about the way yesterday was presented to me?
i started walking out to the sea
with a piece of confusion inside my head
i wanted to hike but went straight to my bed
a passing critic said i was all white but i felt red
and eventually i fell dead
like all the song birds and honey bees
and fresh fruit and sweet gum trees
so i pulled out a paper to read the daily news
whichever article i choose
i took my time because that was what i had
i didn't have to be happy or sad
i saw a large crowd
i asked everyone if it was okay to be proud
of the way the history classes go?
but what did i really know
about the way yesterday was presented to me?
something came over me
i started walking out to the sea.

Shakespeare, the famous bard

all the way
to the far shore
two bearded men playing in the fine sand
i gave them both a hand
they both gave me the finger
but i couldn't linger
it was already past noon
and the sun shining gave me a heated bite
i'd have to come swimming later at night
out to sea
so i laid my blanket underneath an oasis tree
inside a picnic basket the yellow pears
each promised to take away all my cares
and the party lasted until dawn
when all the sweet fruit was gone
and the men gave me the slip
as i gave them both the lip
when they questioned me about George Orwell
i knew they were believers in Heaven and Hell
they shouted from an amplified stone stage
the lions and tigers were pacing inside their steel-walled cage
all the way
to the far shore
the food was consumed before the high tide
before all the white rabbits died
and the Queen played her last card:
a Shakespeare, the famous bard,
pictured sitting on a platform holding a notebook
with two bearded men giving him a curious look
he gave them both a hand
they both gave him the finger
but he couldn't linger.

riding around in my summer car

i'm holding my guitar
riding around in my summer car
wondering once in awhile
where in hell you are
and the stop signs don't mean a thing
i'll be passing go when i sing
wiping dust and road dirt
off my suit and pretty shirt
shifting gears up the hill
stepping on the gas for another cheap thrill
wondering once in a while
where's my happy pill
and the stop signs don't mean a thing
i'll be passing go when i sing
wiping dust and road dirt
off my suit and pretty shirt
i'm walking into town
turning my smile into a frown
wondering once in awhile
where's the underground?
i'm belly to the bar
riding around in my summer car
wondering once in awhile
where in hell you are
and the stop signs don't mean a thing
i'll be passing go when i sing
wiping dust and road dirt
off my suit and pretty shirt
i'm crazy for a bed
looking for a place where i'll get fed
wondering once in awhile
what more can be said
i'm holding my guitar
riding around in my summer car
wondering once in awhile
where in hell you are
and the stop signs don't mean a thing
i'll be passing go when i sing
wiping dust and road dirt
off my suit and pretty shirt.

Juan Gris

Juan Gris
tip toed into two bright shadows
when he made a
left turn on third street
looking for a healthy lung.
with a deep breath
by night
he began to dance the Charleston
after his paints had dried
and the French lessons ended,
but a good lung was never found.
his asthma became worse
and in piles of cubes he
arranged his brushes
for a final time.
his wife, son Georges and daughter Antonieta
thanked the Parisian avant-garde
for attending the funeral.

wounded knee

no, i don't like the new way you're
man-handling me
getting pretty sick of bending down
on my wounded knee
so i tried to pull the curtains down
before crawling into that crazy town
oh yeah
blood marked my solitary path on the roughest street
oh yeah
blood marked the soles of my sore feet
and no one that i wanted to meet
oh yeah
oh yeah
i found an empty bottle and it wasn't at all like you
it never tried to tell me what to do
so gonna take a long pull before i go to my next school
and someday i'll get a passing grade
all my dues will have been paid
i'll remember all the memories i've already made
oh yeah
i'll go my own way
looking for an open door
not interested in what you might say
i don't want to understand what it was all for
there might be parts of me still visible on the floor
no, i don't like the new way you're
man-handling me
getting pretty sick of bending down
on my wounded knee
so i tried to pull the curtains down
before crawling into that crazy town
oh yeah
blood marked my solitary path on the roughest street
oh yeah
blood marked the soles of my sore feet
and no one that i wanted to meet
oh yeah
oh yeah
i found an empty bottle and it wasn't at all like you
it never tried to tell me what to do
so gonna take a long pull before i go to my next school
and someday i'll get a passing grade
all my dues will have been paid
i'll remember all the memories i've already made.

Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine

in an open G
the sun beat down on my face
i walked through fertile rice paddies
without any hints of disgrace
the hard drumming
of my heart
a quick beating
a new start
a sharp cry
the sky
in a minor chord
with notes of perfect plum
and some
German hops
found in abundance on bar tops
the ceaseless roar
of a constant world war
put some hurt on me
and no musical balm
could provide complete calm
with the radio turned on
i heard Charley Patton
playing his spoon
inside a burning tent
Clark Kent sitting by his side
getting high in the phone booth
neatly dressed and never uncouth
i tapped my feet while wearing old shoes
beaten down with dirt road blues
on an American night
black and white
rich and poor
wanting everything but settling for just a little more
getting by on the fly
watching the kitchen sink
drain the last of my three a.m. drink
Chicago,
some said, was the only place to go
to feel the ease
but one didn't have to say please
in New Orleans
wearing sharecropper jeans
behind the last alley door
the dance floor
full of soles in 1929
when Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine
seemed a simpler time
to strum a tune
make the rounds
lean back
let the sounds
lick my face like a happy puppy might
yes, it wasn't pure delight
but close enough
to smooth the brittle rough
and one memorable chorus
or spoken line
when Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine
might bring visions of glorious Camelot:
sometimes it's all i've got!

it won't fit me

get me
try chasing a disappearing shadow
swim in the sea
cut someone off at the knee
take a flying holiday
visit Florida, say
fish in a back bay
stay longer than a day
wear a sock hat
grow happy, lazy and fat
it seems everyone is into doing that
write a blog in a mental fog
walk the local park in the dark
hold your own hand
snap an old rubber band
watch it break
a head and shoulder fake
but what is the most
buttered toast
is yesterday when you went away
from the west to the east coast
try telling me life is grand
but withstand
the cartoons coming on at noon
and the weather balloon
like a man and woman together on the moon
hear them swoon
get down
accept being a proper clown
but don't be telling me what to do
go wear your blue suede shoe:
it won't fit me
i'm barefoot in a solitary tree
entertaining company.

her own life

it wasn't a memory i wished to save
the crying lady folded in anguish
praying over an old man's grave
her sullen face and even sadder hat
i took a closer look
and then i sat
by her side there was a pretty basket of just-picked flowers
i watched her countenance for hours
she reminded me of someone i thought i once knew
and while her face looked familiar i didn't quite know who
she was until i heard her speak to the memory in the hole
she had such a gentle soul
soft light brown hair
i wondered how much longer she'd stay there
looking at me before she felt sufficiently free
enough to carry forward with her own life.

once Saigon

it was once Saigon
but now it's all gone
the muddy river slept and burned
and what have we learned
painting it black won't get it back
the body bags filled with Asian dirt
who said it wouldn't hurt
watching the helicopters at the embassy
the woman with her startled baby
grabbing the barbed wire wall
dodging shots before the fall
and all the President's men
in their white face
the conference table with expensive pens and fancy lace
and a perfect powder room
where the drunks sang delirious songs of doom
in the stone temple
the gods sat hard and cold
trading fates which could be bought and sold
in the parlors of the press
the readers were forced to guess
what in the streets of an American city
was real and what was witty
and on the television screen
cigarette smoke filled the air
in Vietnam the midnight sparkle
was a phosphorescent flare
and young men lived and died there
while in the Pentagon
it was once Saigon
but now it's all gone
when the flesh gave way to marrow
the cry was 'Broken Arrow'

the rising moon

there must have been a mistake
i didn't think you would climb the trees
but you covered all the higher ground
on bended knees
so, i put you in a temporary deep freeze
because you were too hot
you gave me everything you got
and there was no more room
you played my tide like the rising moon
pulled my plug like a slippery rug
there must have been a surprise
i thought you were grounded but your plane still flies
you did a loop while i ate your soup
you played my spoon like the rising moon
pulled my pork like a bobbing cork
there must have been a mistake
i didn't think you would climb the trees
but you covered all the higher ground
on bended knees
so, i put you in a temporary deep freeze
because you were too hot
you gave me everything you got
and there was no more room
you played my tide like the rising moon.

i didn't know what to say

with a sharp eye
and a soft frown
i walked with my friend
into the nearest town
and she gave me a little smile
so i decided to stay awhile
put my hand on her arm
meant to protect her from
any harm
but she told me
to toe the line
that she felt timid
and liked me just fine
and we had a nice cup of hot tea
at a small cafe
just her and me
and i didn't know what to say
the day became slow
the weatherman said it might snow
but i saw a blue sky and bright sun
she asked for another drink but i was done
we read a paper story and discovered a clue
i read her a poem and she didn't know what to do
so we went to the park bench and took a seat
i offered her a piece of candy to eat
she looked at me and said thank you, please
there was a gentle breeze
and it made her smile
so i decided to stay awhile
put my hand on her arm
meant to protect her from
any harm
and it felt comfortable and sweet
to watch people passing on the street
we waited for nothing at all
and soon we watched darkness fall
with a sharp eye
and a soft frown
i walked with my friend
into the nearest town
where we decided to stay
and i didn't know what to say.

everyman was a friend of mine

once upon a time
everyman was a friend of mine
in black leather pants
and white bow tie
man, he was dressed to fly
singing his lonely lullaby
with an electric guitar in hand
his strap pulled tight across his chest
the ladies didn't have to guess
what he had come here for
they waited by the back stage door
and they didn't want an autograph or a wink
cooked up in an old kitchen sink:
his music was turned down low
it was several hours after the show
and The Man had already come and gone
the party lasted well past dawn
before the police came looking for a score
the floor looked like the second world war
with blood and guts, cocaine and an old billboard
no one could shift from reverse into forward
but everyman was playing slow pin ball
with a red haired lady in his narrow front hall
he had a quick tilt and he had an even slower wilt
and she had to leave before five
she grabbed her purse and barely made it out alive
but everyman was scrubbing his wood floor
with a tattooed blondie who painted his back door
he had a wet sponge and an even drier plunge
and she had to leave before six
she grabbed her purse and left with all her tricks
man, everyman was almost alone
he had a dog who kept chewing his bone
and a cat who tried to talk but could only moan
the sun came up and the lights went out
no one remained to twist and shout
and soon the clock really hit six
everyman grabbed his red joy stick
he took it for a fast ride
man, that man has no pride
he had no one by his side
once upon a time
everyman was a friend of mine
in black leather pants
and white bow tie
man, he was dressed to fly
singing his lonely lullaby
with an electric guitar in hand
his strap pulled tight across his chest
the ladies didn't have to guess
what he had come here for
they waited by the back stage door
and they didn't want an autograph or a wink
cooked up in an old kitchen sink.

behind the curtain

and you went into my closet
behind the curtain
looking for something real
a piece of something certain
and what exactly did you find?
there was another piece of broken mind,
dust on the far wall,
an autographed baseball,
images of what i once saw,
and a cold cup of stale coffee
but nothing about me
nothing anyone could really see
and a strange wind blew through your hair
i said you shouldn't be there
and yet you used a bright flashlight
blinding in the night
a spot in the total universe
heading in reverse
analyzing the misery and the exhilaration
not curious about the destination
or the pathway to the nearest star
i sat wondering who you are
when you went into my closet
behind the curtain
looking for something real
a piece of something certain
and you gave as good as you got
just a little and just a lot
you wanted everything that you took
started out calm and then you shook
underneath the undertaker's sheet
growing cold before the heat
i probably shouldn't have spied
you probably shouldn't have lied
but what didn't we know that we should know
a little misfortune during the show
there was never another place to go
and you went into my closet
behind the curtain
looking for something real
a piece of something certain
and what exactly did you find?
another piece of broken mind.

i'm not looking for America

i'm not looking for America
Between The Buttons where it can't be found
i'm tearing off the handcuffs
because i'm refusing to be bound
you won't find me on the motorway or in the center of Main street
there's blood on the water and i'm wearing two red feet
i've decided to pack up everything and simply run away
on the evening of the morning at the break of dawn next day
and head to friendly Nashville where boys make a frightening sound
and the girls get awfully nervous but they keep coming around
and country is their music but it always seems alright
i'll try my hand at poker and no longer feel uptight
when the dealer starts to shuffle with the smile of Brian Jones
sadly framed above his table and a pile of rolling stones
i'll grab my surfing long board and swim to an eastern coast
where people say they're modest but often like to boast
they hear the laughing of young Alice and her disappearing ghost
now i'm singing for my supper and a fast-lane dollar bill
party-goers stay eating until they've had their fill
my sticky fingers hanging from tired acoustic hands
you might believe i'm a wise old guy but i don't really understand
what the famous magician has stuffed inside his sleeve
i'm thinking about now that it's time for me to leave
then i see a sweet young thing and she has her eyes set dead on me
maybe i should act expensive but i can be had for free
when a stampede of wild horses comes charging on the stage
i'm wondering if i can rope them back into their cage
but i'm the one who's lost and found and hearing random noise
lot of people getting ready to show me their favorite toys
a couple of formal puppets dressed up like a fine cartoon
of a newly married bride in white and her love sick man the groom
they're dancing on a fancy floor close by the exit door
where i awake as people ask for just a little more
and i feel now i'm past my prime to act my level best
i want to wear a three piece suit with a fancy cowboy vest
to leave this place a shadow and be an anonymous guest
i'm not looking for America
Between the Buttons where it can't be found
i'm tearing off the handcuffs
because i'm refusing to be bound
you won't find me on the motorway or in the center of Main street
there's blood on the waterway and i'm wearing two red feet
i've decided to pack up everything and simply run away
on the evening of the morning at the break of dawn next day.

Marianne Faithfull

Marianne
be faithful to me
toss your extra money
deeply
into the sea
come with me
in a fur-skin rug
along with the rabbit
and his marching drug
near St. Anne's Court
the thick lines white and short
where the homesick blues
wear like rich kid's shoes
so fare thee well my little dove
a much harder love
is hiding underneath our talk
shall we continue our walk?
it's on a slippery slope
much longer than the longest rope
if you think our relationship has been mended
the time of day has probably ended
oh, what you've been through
not many at all
in fact only a precious few
have survived
when the gardens and all the pretty flowers died
when
nights and darker days
parted ways
i can still hear you speak in broken English
running from your hospital bed
one more breath
is all that's
keeping you from being declared dead
shall we continue our walk?
it's on a slippery slope
much longer than the longest rope
if you think our relationship has been mended
the time of day has probably ended.

the short version

there's a hole in the sky
and i put my finger up there
and it went inside the hole
and at that moment i lost my finger
but found myself
swinging over a fresh water creek
holding onto a braided rope with
everything i had
minus the finger, of course,
and it didn't seem to matter that
the day might be long or short
as long as the water was deep where i fell into it
and that's the short version
of a story about a favorite dog and a man
who walked the woods with an imperfect eye.

my first rodeo

i went to my first rodeo
where i saw tough cowgirls riding the big red bulls
near the meandering river down in old San Antonio
where often there are no official rules
and it was a hot and dusty day
i kept drinking cold Mexican beer
i heard a celebration of curious holiday noise
filled with apparently good cheer
loud parades of merry makers some riding wild horses
some riding each other
they knew i was an outsider from a cold northern shore
but i didn't have to travel undercover
they kept showing me ever more
and there appeared an old man wearing gold trimmed black pants
who carried a big busty 12 string guitar
i watched him work his way around the crowded tables
of a fancy hotel bar
he wore a giant's hat which covered his eyes and his head
when he sang his songs it was hard to hear exactly what it was he said
i felt like he was writing sad words on his black satin shirt
but no one listening rose to ask him why it seemed he was so full of hurt
he moved away with a slow shuffle and an audible sigh
he could have asked for some money but he didn't even try
i saw him kick the dirt from his boots as he hit the front door
the lazy lovers and the tourists didn't see him cry
and an elderly couple kept dancing on the ballroom floor
the music might have stopped but their hearts kept beating in tune
i just about decided to stick around for the sight of a big time Texas moon
when the old man starting singing in a nearby street
i saw people stop and gather around with their ten dollar drinks in hand
they lost interest when they heard him hum about the strong and the weak
and soon they wandered off to listen to a popular local band
i watched him pack his sorrows and stroll to the famous plaza of the Alamo
and i would soon follow but wasn't sure how best to go.

what i wanted to say

i'm anxious
and she's waiting
we once were so far apart
but now we're dating
on a warm summer day
if i knew how to pull it all together
i 'd say exactly what i had to say
i can remember her from a better yesterday
she came in on the four thirty five
more than twenty one and completely alive
and after many hours of our give and take
well, for Heaven's sake
she told me she had to go
and what i really want to know
is
where's the road to the distant shore
because i can't take this anymore
i'm anxious
and she's waiting
we once we so far apart
but now we're dating
on a warm summer day
if i knew how to pull it all together
i'd say exactly what i had to say.

come on dark

sitting down
i have nothing to do
my dreams won't come now
i'm sad and i'm blue

no one's here
you've left and gone away
you once were so near
why couldn't you stay?

come on dark
wrap black arms around me
pull out my sad heart
become destiny

slow down time
my days are growing old
if you can't be mine
my fingers turn cold

sitting down
i have nothing to do
my dreams won't come now
i'm sad and i'm blue

music ends
a quiet descended
i've lost many friends
and now we've ended

sitting down
i have nothing to do
my dreams won't come now
i'm sad and i'm blue

so play me the sax

so play me the sax,
jacks
and all the little jills
handing out their thrills
their horny sounds
keep coming around
from deeper underground
and that echo rang in my head
all i could ever hope for i said
when i was carried to my bed
and the next day came to soon
i thought i could see the harvest moon
but it was only a fleeting glance
i got up to square dance
and a fat girl got up to sing
i gave her a wink she gave me everything
she had but it was too much
i reached and she was out of touch
like a radio station out of tune
and the next day came to soon
it seemed my fever was one hundred two
on election day i didn't know what to do
so i spent the night in a safari tent
had myself registered as an independent
and read the news until i felt the saddest blues
pull me into an alcoholic funk
and woke up in the gutter but i swear i'm not a drunk
the bad guys are getting all the good press
and they'll win every game they play unless
somebody stops the fast ball on the way down
town
or the foul line gets redefined as fair
i once thought i could help but i'm no longer there
now the crowd isn't one i'd be too happy to meet
they're running their mouths on the steep banks of Wall Street
and the bell is ringing like a strange fool
without thinking about being really cool
i tried my hand at being a beat writer
i covered sports and loved a certain Philadelphia fighter
who wore black shorts and had crooked teeth
with a mean streak and no steady religious belief
his gym was a dark hole and he gave me a dark soul
so play me the sax,
jacks
and all the little jills
handing out their thrills
their horny sounds
keep coming around
from deeper underground
and that echo rang in my head
all i could ever hope for i said
when i was carried to my bed
and the next day came to soon
i thought i could see the harvest moon
but it was only a fleeting glance
i got up to square dance
and a fat girl got up to sing
i gave her a wink she gave me everything.

a souvenir of 1969

Tu Do Street
hot and dry and teeming with bikes
and anxious smiles
far from the unwashed feet of black sandals
carrying just-baked white loaves of
warm bread along
with a small bottle of fish sauce
tucked into a secret universe,
a baby bag of white rice,
and a can of coke-a-cola expertly flattened into red,
white, and aluminum thinness
to become a wall or a roof
or a souvenir
from a time when Catholics
and Buddhists,
and Atheists and Christians and
young boys and girls,
old women with black teeth,
and old men with thin arms,
sank together into the mud of a dried river bed
looking for bones and shells,
but finding a naked sword
to hold up high.

what i always said

so thanks for the time alone
when the seeds were perfectly sown
and i left my birthday bed
which is what i always said
would come to pass
and there is no use wondering why
all my friends urged me to continue to try
looking for the springs and streams
wondering what living and loving really means
and i'm running out of spending money
so thanks for the time alone, honey
and all those episodes of Lost In Space
disappearing into the five and dime without a trace
and the uneaten plates of white Princess bread
which is what i always said
would come to pass
and there is no use wondering why
i read your Dear John letter and began to cry
turned to the second page you signed "With Regard"
tried to recover but it became real hard
like an iron heart that sank to the bottom of the sea
i looked in a mirror and saw no one there but me
so thanks for the time alone
when the seeds were perfectly sown
and i left my birthday bed
which is what i always said
would come to pass
and there is no use wondering why
all my extra time is spent dreaming of a star-filled sky
looking for the springs and streams
wondering what living and loving really means
and i'm running out of spending money
so thanks for the time alone, honey
yes, it's sweet but not the treat
that can be shared
and when i knew you no longer cared
i got up and left my birthday bed
which is what i always said
would come to pass.

a special red

she was wearing pink
and her mouth was running full
over the nearest hill
came a damn fool
he asked for a quick bite to eat
his wine a special red
the lady said she was hungry
she asked to be fed
and with a fork and a silver spoon
questions on his tongue
the fool said he'd like to sing
but the songs remained unsung
throughout the first night
and into their memory book
the fool gave her what he could
she gave him more than she took
and it made him think
she was wearing pink
then she wore nothing at all
it led to his downfall
he asked for another mountain to climb
she gave him the kitchen floor
his wine a special red
they sat playing by her back door
questions on his tongue
the fool said he'd like to sing
but the songs remained unsung.

The Sacred Heart by Dali (1929)

Salvador Dali
came into perfect view
flirting with you
and painting me
walked toward a Spanish horizon
approached the southern sea
where he found a vast stash of cash
and his model sailboat
stopped suddenly
and asked politely for his winter coat
but it turned out to be too small
or maybe he had recently grown too tall
so he went around the Barcelona block
where he found a melting alarm clock
and a bleeding red eye
it didn't particularly appeal to him but i
rescued him from the intense cold
he started to grow sensitive and acted old
shouted to a nearby friend
played with perspective
and ticking time which he would twist and bend
into a happy birthday cake
well, for Heaven's sake
some things are not what they appear to be
and he kept painting me
because i was not averse to reciting verse
or running after a disappearing leaf
his social scene was like a moving film
of pleasurable mischief
and 1931 records of New Orleans jazz
but that's not all that he has
there seemed no time to spare
i asked him for a secret but he wouldn't share
and when he did i simply had too much wine
to remember if it was dark or light
i subsequently made him my mistress
but somehow that didn't feel right
he was a famous artist and i an unemployed tailor
dressed in my best uniform like a crucified sailor
escaping an abusive dad
it wasn't my only destiny but it was all i had
so i worked very hard and grew a faint smile
Dali was intrigued and asked me to stay awhile
and during the course of our future cruises
i noticed he had blasphemous wins but occasionally loses
he was prepared to be known
as someone who had grown
with talent like The Sacred Heart
i once caused a scandal when i deserted him
before his printmaking had a decent chance to start
life kept intruding
it finally pulled us apart
when he used India ink to spit on his mother
whom he had really adored
i tried to curry favor with my brother
as we sat together on a comfortable perch
Dali got up from his bench and attacked the church
he never called me again even when i heard times seemed good
so our story ended with a rough outline as it ultimately should.

a dance of two

i took her inside
the room opened into a storm
and the storm became a trumpet in my hand
in my heart, through me
i blew the horn and heard a sound
trees in the squall; heart into another world
and do all the rules still apply?
never, no rules now or ever
bouncing across the floor, into the light are
fields of yellow, flashing, yelling, no more
emphatically on the bedroom floor
never to arise, to say again once more
the heart of darkness came into view
blackness, glow through me, never to stop
like lyrics which when younger i always knew
shout forth, no thought, words flew.

stray cat blues #2

she was sweet as sugar
as she danced across the stage
she had twelve curtain calls
then climbed back in her cage
i was all-natural honey number three
who stung her all night long for free
i was a pistol-shooting son of a gun
but she told me i wasn't the only one
who told her that
then she gave me a slap!
i kept falling into her trap
kissing her and acting sincere
she gave me the sweetest reason to be near
well, that's no way to win my heart
i kept hoping for another start
when she finally called my name
well, it might be too late to catch the early train
but it's not too late to ring the bell
to play the game of show and tell
she was sweet as sugar
as she danced across the stage
she had twelve curtain calls
then climbed back in her cage
she knelt down to eat her meal
man, that's how i wanted to feel
i told her i was a pistol-shooting son of a gun
but she told me i wasn't the only one
who told her that
she gave me a slap!
i kept falling into her trap.

Babe Ruth

in the end
i did four
pencil sketches of a friend
and a fifth
we drank empty the very next day
before we went sailing
into San Francisco bay
where we met a company
who had just left on a tour of the coast
but that wasn't the least or the most
that we smoked or drank
on the wooden boat before it sank
in a sudden blast
which torn down our single mast
it felt like we ran aground
and wouldn't too easily be found
on the crossing ferry
nearing the busy Sausalito shore
so i tried my free hand
at house-boat-keeping but the decor
kept looking like a combination of dimly lit sun and windy sea
and didn't resemble the tranquility
that i sought
so i did two major paintings
and after two days they remained un-bought
i traveled down to Oakland
where the hungry dealer
agreed to introduce me to people who partied in the air
but when i met them there
they asked me what i admire
and i told them i like nature,
want her proportions to be free,
that they shouldn't resemble me
but their laughter died when i bent to tie my shoe
they left for the zoo
and that's the honest history
of a recent sailing trip
with one notable difference from the truth:
my name has never been Babe Ruth
and i don't know why
but i once saw the blue sky
and the sexy beach
shimmering within reach
when i looked out from the heaving deck
and
a piece of wood floating on the desert sand
with a fateful message fixed by my own hand
and a lady giving me a clue
not of when exactly but who
in the way she expressed herself i felt there was a chance
before the foghorns sounded we'd have the next dance
and would sleep
wrapped together in each other's arms
reciting poetry in our dreams
at least that's what it seems
like
when i ride my bike.

Miss Couldn't Miss

man, we popped him upside the head
left him in the center of the street
stone-cold on the verge of being extremely dead
and the last thing that he said
when we tossed him into his bed
was
he wanted another round of big boy meal
so how did that feel?
we sent out a quick appeal
went looking for a last kiss
we found our famous Miss Couldn't Miss
and she took aim where it wouldn't hurt
grabbed her hem and showed him the inside of her uptown skirt
she was never one to pass up a chance to flirt
man, she gave him a headlong fake
stuffed her oven and got ready to bake
readied her garden with a long leaf rake
slapped down her ten dollar stare
pulled a pin and let loose all her hair
pulled weeds from the fertility bed
man, we popped him upside the head
left him in the center of the street
stone-cold on the verge of being extremely dead
and the last thing that he said
when we tossed him into his bed
was
he wanted a chance to sing his own song
he was sure he could keep it from going wrong
not too short and not too long
well, we took him at his word
and the next thing that we heard
was the sound of a duet and so how'd that feel?
we sent out a quick appeal
went looking for a last kiss
we found our famous Miss Couldn't Miss
and she took aim where it wouldn't hurt
she was never one to pass up a chance to flirt
she gave it her all
and pretty soon we all began to fall
and we stayed down
hitting all the back roads in town
slipping away and never again were found.

we left everything else up to fate

i spent the night in bed
underneath her sheet
she was the finest woman that any man
could ever hope to meet
she grabbed my heart and tried to massage
my back and tickle my feet
so i took her for a slow dance and a fast-food bite
to eat
she looked fine to me and that's what i cared about
it didn't matter to me that other men saw her
and i'd sometimes hear them shout
i'd grab her on my way to the kitchen for a morning piece of pie
she'd give me a bite
and i'd give her the eye
sometimes i'd turn on the daylight
and other times it was enough to imagine her smile
we'd sit by the dinner table for a little while
i'd sing her a love song and she'd sing me a lullaby
we'd laugh like kids and then we'd cry
thinking of all our days already gone by
and it seemed sad but we were glad
counting all the blessings that our lives had
i no longer wanted to think about the mean or the bad
she no longer wanted to go home alone to an un-watered flower
so we decided to turn a lonely minute into a beautiful country hour
and all we had to do
was promise to stay true
determined to travel the same road with our heads held high
it was her and i
and we left everything else up to fate
we didn't want to be late
we ate everything on our plate!

1925

in Juan-les-Pins,
the spearhead of the avant-garde
got very little attention
when the new painter arrived at seven
with images for sale.
their words were clear
and their poetic surfaces nicely polished,
but they did not follow the painter inside
for a studio visit
where he made a feast
and drank deeply, almost alone.
and so, shortly,
more paintings came in a constant supply
and eclipsed their best writing
by a large distance
even though they spent the summer
working on an obligatory tan.

deeper into things

there is no one here and the lights are turned low
possibly i wanted to go
deeper into things that i didn't know
and the trip was anything but sweet
i didn't see anyone whispering on the street
in this new game of quid pro quo
trying to get a hot ticket to the one-way show
but the room is dark and the buzz is crowd noise
tickling all the little circus boys
all prim and proper in their schoolyard poise
and the trip was anything but sweet
i didn't see anyone whispering on the street
in this new game of quid pro quo
well, there was a price to pay and i had cash
with a constant supply of day-old trash
the object was for love to be brash
and the trip was anything but sweet
i didn't see anyone whispering on the street
in this new game of quid pro quo
trying to get a hot ticket to the one-way show.

i could never stay away

i used to know a lonely girl
who lived on the floor below
she often liked to tease me
about what i didn't know
and because she had an appetite
she asked to take the biggest bite
well, it was an exciting night
and the very next day
i could never stay away
yes, the rains might come
and i would always try to get me some
and then the morning sun
well, it was always excellent fun
under white sheets and near the bar
she never let me get very far
she was on the phone demanding
she had me bending at the knees
before i would get erect
i asked her pretty please
and she told me i had a handsome face
red lipstick and the finest lace
all wrapped loose around her waist
and because she had an appetite
she asked to take the biggest bite
well, it was an exciting night
and the very next day
i could never stay away
yes, the rains might come
and i always would try to get me some
and then the morning sun
well, it was always excellent fun
under white sheets and near the bar
she never let me get very far

i could kill the Atlantic

guerrillas in the trees
presumably on their knees
wondering what more to do
painting the town red, white, and blue
and hide-and-seek,
gambling for the weak.
was it really for a year?
i see no one coming near
the staccato of a shout
kept me looking round about
and i intended to see
someone else looking out for me
but she might have been shy
i never understood why
in Monte Carlo
i wanted to play bingo
and ended up broke
so that's what i wrote
at the end of the final game
there was no one to blame
a scenario
said the impresario
before he fled the casino
leaving me high and dry
i never understood why
i could have killed the choreography
but that's not really me
i know i could kill the Atlantic
but that's not really romantic
so i hummed
and strummed
and drew
because what i knew
when afflicted with a bout of angina
was how to reassemble a vagina
and the girl is down the hall
it's past time for me to call
when she hears me this early in the season
i won't need a reason
she won't ask for any whys
when i come visiting between her thighs.

drinking on the Vine

drinking on the Vine
waiting for a friend of mine
i'm not in a particular hurry
the lights are low
she'll be here when she's ready
i'll ask her later where she wants to go.
sitting on a stool
i'm not acting like a fool
watching ladies dancing on bar
i see them smile
she'll be here when she's ready
i'll just keep waiting for a little while.
wondering all night
is everything all right?
the crowd spinning bottles on the floor
the girls acting nice
she'll be here when she's ready
but pretty soon i'll be as cold as ice.
drinking on the Vine
waiting for a friend of mine
i'm not in a particular hurry
the lights are low
she'll be here when she's ready
i'll ask her later where she wants to go.

maybe renaissance

maybe renaissance
maybe a dance
but on the first night
i woke up
i was in a moonstruck trance
sitting on the wall of an older house
i saw the shadow of a running mouse
he kept looking at me
i wondered what he hoped to see
i wasn't angry or uptight
but i wasn't filled with delight
it was still my first night
i had many long hairs
several romances and lasting cares
i slept in the room upstairs
where i took many rests
i phoned imaginary loves and greeted guests
i couldn't toss a pillow
but i found a modern fight
maybe renaissance
maybe a dance
but on the first night
very drunk
i grabbed my hand and packed my trunk
stood on my head
it's what the instruction book once said
what more could i have done?
went looking for a party to have some fun
to uncork a bottle and to come undone
i came up with some kind of costume
skipped a beat or two and sang an artistic tune
overheard
a discouraging word
but i kept it out of my mind
see, i'm not an anarchist
i went looking simply to be kissed
put on my best suit and seductive tie
saw a woman looking me in the eye
i thought i'd wait for awhile
i saw her smile
maybe this would become the start of something new
what more could i do?
i heard her whisper and say "It's you!"
maybe renaissance
maybe a dance
but on the first night
i woke up
i was in a moonstruck trace
she gave me money but i wanted to dance
she offered me respect
but i wanted love
i could hear the running mouse
he was in the great room above
and there were a great many more
underneath the bedroom floor
i went looking for the open door
when i felt the wind blowing on my face
felt no disgrace
put a foot in the street and another one in my mouth
headed south
maybe this would become the start of something new
what more could i do?
i heard her whisper and say "It's you!"

pay attention to grief

when my words seemed indifferent
hit my chin and the floor
i couldn't find a reason
to stay around anymore:
it wasn't impossible to see!
she tossed tears in the air
they splashed on the new carpet
made a mess of my hair.
i might have stayed focused
offered hugs and a drink
but acting so dumb
i forgot how to think.
in the warm shallow waters
of absorption with Self
i settled like dust
on a library shelf.
unwilling to reach out
or unable to feel
but regardless of cause
i became the true heel.
now everyone listen:
pay attention to grief
if feeling inadequate
turn a new leaf.
comfort the wounded
tend to their pain
your offer to listen
gives them much more to gain.

looking for a star

she would never call my name
when i was standing on the street corner
looking for a taste of sweet shame
and i finally found a tasty bite
it was the middle of a lonely night
i heard a dog howl
there was a chill to the air
i went looking for an envelope but found an affair
what would i do now?
the next time i looked at the ticking clock
i found myself on a different neighborhood block
and the woman stayed in the passenger lane
i thought they said sunny but all i felt was rain
there was a lot of traffic roaring and making noise
i looked in their windows filled with strangely funny toys
i used to play with making up and making out
a woman smiled and said she liked to shout
we'd soon be in the back seat holding hands
listening closely all we'd hear were the electric bands
don't get too excited i liked to say
we'll soon be traveling to another town
maybe i'll be able to put some longer roots down
and maybe we'll find another place to stay
i've been thinking about those days now long gone
they're so far out of reach and out of touch
i don't want to say too much
after a bad first part i'd like to repair my open heart
but i'm not a doctor i'm a happy priest
or a follower of things divine at least
i'd like to think so
standing on the road-side curb i have to ask again
is this the right way to go?
what more is there for me to know?
maybe i'll try the famous Texas Two-Step in Amarillo
but what if i'm too small?
because that cowboy dance expects everyone to be tall
i used to know how to do the twist and the jitterbug
now all those steps are being swept underneath the memory rug
only an old man can say he's gone fishing
when what he really means is he's gone to the well wishing
looking for a star
when a woman came walking up and said "I know who you are!"
last time I saw myself
i was driving away with her in my antique car
and we stayed in the passing lane
i thought they said sunny but all i felt was rain
and if i could
i'd do it all over again without the convertible top
giving no thought to slowing or coming to an early stop
bouncing over rough washboard roads
into a soft resort town
maybe we'll be able to put some longer roots down.

on the new train

on the new train
i took the evening ride
there was a hot and hungry woman
and i sat by her side
she was playing with her face
sipping a chilled white wine
and out the nearest window
everything was looking fine
i asked for her name
i was feeling pretty cool
she gave me a curious glance
and she called me a fool
so i took my book and laid it down
i gave her a frown
but i was determined
not to make an unkind sound
all the passengers close by
fingered their evening meals
i asked her for the reason
but heard only the passing of steel wheels
the conductor studied my ticket
said my stop was coming soon
i kept looking out the window
and kept seeing the full moon
it's a place i wish to visit
i'd be the man in the night sky
there'd be no reason to worry
there'd be no reason to cry
the train kept moving forward
so i picked up my book
there was a hot and hungry woman
but i didn't dare look
i knew an end was fast approaching
my heart in pain
i thought i should say something but
there was nothing more to gain
another stop and whistle blow
straight lines are easy to follow
another station and soon another page
i got up and walked off the stage
carried my luggage and carried my book
there was a hot and hungry woman
but i didn't dare look
i wasn't looking for a romance
i didn't want to be a tramp
and when the darkness tried to swallow me
i pulled out my lamp
there was a cheap room at the motel
a rented key for the door
there was a hot and hungry woman
but i didn't need her no more.

the longest nipple

the girl with the longest nipple!
i asked her what it was all about
but she ran out of the house
i can remember her departing shout.
that nipple was longer than my neck
and skinny like an old farmer's mule
i tried each night to measure it
but never found the proper tool
you know, it was an anomaly
as different as night is from day
a friend once asked how it compared
and i couldn't find the exact word to say
a nipple like a spaghetti noodle
but cold and totally indifferent
it never showed the slightest shiver
regardless of how much time i spent
and before she ran tripping into the street
her nipple in her hand
i sucked it down my open throat
in an effort to more fully understand.

I have a dream

i'm sitting on the floor
a raven repeating "Nevermore!"
there's a mounted white knight
a black man is swinging high
all through the night
i can see them from my porch
the light is from a torch
i'm in my more formal wear
something somewhere
it's got to matter
but my head is growing fatter
i'm hearing commanding shouts
emptied of all doubts
i see a bloody stream
there is no sign of a dream!
what does it mean?
i'm sitting on your face
urging myself to pick up the pace
but this is not a race
i'm walking down the hall
someone's trying to recall
a cotton-picking thing
i hear a soulful parent sing
there are sweat-stains on their pants
i can see them when they dance
there's a damn hot summer sun
someone's got a gun
i'm sitting on the floor
a raven repeating "Nevermore!"
there's a mounted white knight
a black man swinging high
all through the night
i'm in my more formal wear
something somewhere
it's got to matter
but my head is growing fatter.

to Cubism & beyond

and he had a secret life:
it was both a cut above
and a cut below
the powerful knife
like a bull who carved women
who would jump in fascination
or walk
or swim
or pose for a portrait
because the bull would draw
more than a short hard gun
if he could get it!
with his bold eyes consumed with gaze
he went looking for The Four Cats
but only had a single drink
when after many days
blue became a brush stroke for cold
and death and they'd drip from the edge
of newly stretched canvas
trimmed in leaf of gold
and he enjoyed seductive summer nights
with two or three French layers
mostly fantasy behind a mask
of curious insight
into the darkness of Spanish art
wherein a black African dance form
emerged like abstract Barcelona.
and he had an insatiable heart
which kept beating past the death
of many loved ones
including a first wife
who blew her last breath
after the Second World War
and famously was heard from no more!
and he had a lovely smile and hunger
for an athletic girl
who became yet another muse
though much younger
and he eventually had a bell which bled
and he smoked like exploding bombs
do on a war-ravaged street
where a child might be found dead!
and he would remember the valiant peasant fight:
a mother screaming in agony;
he heard her anguished words
long before losing his own brilliant sight
in 1973
when he died in Mougins, France
saying "Drink to me!"

Mistress Addiction

she will bury you all
put you underneath a permanent ten ton wall
and when you think morning will come to call
it's nightfall:
Mistress Addiction
come to hold your lonely hand
she gives such sweet and simple pleasures
it's impossible to understand

she carries her heavy gun
that no one has ever been able to outrun
and when you think there's a good chance you'll have fun
you're undone:
Mistress Addiction
come to hold your lonely hand
she gives such sweet and simple pleasures
it's impossible to understand

she won't provide a clear eyed view
she keeps her sights set directly on you
and when you think you know what she wants to do
foolish you:
Mistress Addiction
come to hold your lonely hand
she gives such sweet and simple pleasures
it's impossible to understand

there's a puzzle mark on your forehead
it's too late to remember what she once said
and when everyone else has gone to bed
you are dead:
Mistress Addiction
come to hold your lonely hand
she gives such sweet and simple pleasures
it's impossible to understand

2 drops of water

i'm 49
and WILL
soon be 72 years of age
i'm ready for the next page
of astonishing images
representing the human body
and the potty
where yellow isn't the coward
that Noel was
when he slept on a fat mattress
playing electric bass
and meeting experienced people
who kept their pulse
inside a well-seasoned wallet or a stylistic purse
either of which could be found hanging in an art gallery
in New Jersey, USA.
the images i saw in my childhood
include the red-backed sofa in a small living room
underneath which was found
tomato soup spilled like Rothko paints
on the cheap carpet threads
and simple hard beds
and baby peeps unable to fly
dropping fast without a sound to steel steps
descending sharply to the Mediterranean Sea
for their non-stop service to Barcelona
and instead of dead within the hour
they became a white center leading to the Rockefeller Center
and real ice
which for a young explorer was especially nice
shaded from blue to pink
like a jumping rabbit in my neighborhood
holding a rose in his mouth to better think
i led a horse by the neck
climbing from the smoking galley to the upper deck
to find the ladies in a brothel
who spoke Vietnamese with a fluent ease
as i kneeled to my knees
and saw the massive oversized ears of a girl
who lived in Paris with her girlfriend
although she was in constant hiding
like a distorted cube
in shades of muted grey and brown
stripped down and streamlined
an hour glass figure
there in the mix with an accordion
making music with scraps of metal and wood
odds and ends
folds and bends
when this becomes that
the three dancers become grotesque
and i could just about recognize myself
ripped apart by a brutal civil war
jagged grief and childless
on the narrow road to a bull fighting studio
where overhead beams and white-washed dreams
provided sanctuary near the French Riviera
on a tall bed
onto which i jumped
to find my hand holding the strongest one of hers!
at 85 i will feel
more fully alive
than i ever did at four:
we will lounge on the warm sandy shore
the dove of peace flying like a soft balloon
overhead
without wearing hat pins
we'll laugh at the sight and our grins
will spread like female legs often do
when welcoming a favorite lover.

everybody must get stoned, again

inside the nude museum
black glasses and thicker lens
mixed with paint and Bic pens
large abstract openings throughout the night
words illuminated by gallery light
clinging boys
plastic toys
the rough trade on a sharp blade
cut thick and thin in several ways
dramatic artists staging plays
popping women in pink shirts
tight pants blond brunette bouncing flirts
sixty lines of unexplained white dope
solitary chairs hanging from an urban rope
elaborate billboards of shock and awe
drawings of cocks and cunts and Andy Warhol
looking through the hotel picture window
New Yorker dust and crystal blow
trapped fish in a London bar
hip elegance dinosaur tar
a great winged Egyptian moaned
everybody must get stoned!!!

bright green door

saw you on a talk show
guess you didn't know where else to go
hiding behind a bright green door
don't come knocking around here no more
i found your walking shoe
and didn't know what exactly i should do
there were scuff marks on my bedroom floor
don't come knocking around here no more
whenever your name is mentioned
i hear the sounds of a fight
whenever the sun is shining
i dream of a long night
and i remember a famous song
it kept tagging along
everyday i would sing the word
the one i often heard
when you were nearby
now all i do is cry
and i remember a famous scene
you and i danced in a most wonderful dream
and there we stayed
we probably should have sat down and prayed
there was nothing more to do
i found your walking shoe
there were scuff marks on my bedroom floor
don't come knocking around here no more.

no gold was in the rainbow pot

leave it to the blind dog
still walking in a cat-like fog
city sidewalk and big brown spot
surrounding lies and an empty parking lot
but no gold was in the rainbow pot
damn blown trash and a Memorial to Mr. Lincoln
when the Raven said "Not today"
what more could he honestly say?
nearby a cell phone rang
yellow tweety bird swallowed and sang
the cartoon cat with his fine top hat
wearing no excess body fat
angry at cage walls and metal bars
rush hour traffic cars
the mice kept eating crumbs and cheese
President Jefferson begging "Please"
when asked by close friend Sally
if he wanted extra Virgin toast and tea
but she kept yearning to be free
a sudden knocking on their door
the dogs all barked
outside an ominous black car parked
inside the Rumford fireplace burning hot
city sidewalk and big brown spot
surrounding lies and an empty parking lot
but no gold was in the rainbow pot.

catching my eye

hey, drummer, give me a clue:
a pretty symbol or a wooden stick?
and if you can't go that far
would you nurse me if i got dreadfully sick?
if i saw spiders crawling on the floor?
big black beauties crawling on a city street
asking for something Korean to eat
for both rich and the pitifully poor?
say, drummer, there's a sun bleeding in the sky;
it's underneath an old moon molesting the tide.
a glamorous woman is hitchhiking a ride!
she held my hand while catching my eye.
hey, drummer, keep keeping the beat,
tapping your feet.
watch this story unfold:
it's been a long time a'coming;
it's time the truth be told.

a very small bed

and a woman said i was
her honey
at first i thought she said
my money
she was a dancer in the big city ballet
until an injury
i worked backstage and could
get into performances for
free
but was paid too little after all
was said and done
she shortened it to Hon
but it didn't matter
she kept getting fatter
as i kept getting older
i said i read my last book last night
before lights out
she asked me what that was all about
and i felt my age
when i tried to turn a page
but turned my back, instead.
we were in a very small bed
she had a very large ego
on the soft pillow
and i should know
it kept pushing me to the floor
where a cat and a dog slept
they both wept
when i joined them there,
yes, sometimes it doesn't seem fair.

Jimi sang

took my woman by the hand
listened to an English band
the Hendrix Experience
i asked and she said
stay in bed
sip herbal tea
she played with me
i smoked a little
played with my fiddle
heard Voodoo Child
got unruly and wild
felt a wet kiss on my belly
ate dry peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches all night long.
i know the drummer ended the song
with a long harangue
i know Jimi sang
i think he moaned
but i was simply too stoned
to tap my foot
i took a tiny puff and put
a piece of candy on my tongue
heard the colors being sung
saw a yellow banana fly
i didn't wonder why
it's what bananas sometimes do
my hand became a shoe
and i walked on water.
wouldn't you, too?

when your eyes grow dark

when your eyes grow dark
after a stroll in Central Park
flip your mental switch to rock
what more can i say?
it's time for a personal holiday!
so whip the backseat stranger
hiding behind your
avant garde mask,
being brutal with each spoken word
make every step become a stooge
jumping over engraved tombstones
going from beautiful person
to beautiful person
carrying a superior air
escaping boredom
like a twice-married virgin groom
dressed in classic furs
pissing behind closed doors marked clearly His and Hers
spitting needles and spitting blood
spinning your winter tires in summer mud
going nowhere fast...
watch the cars speeding past
their blinking neon lights double parked
on 39th street where fancy girls are plainly marked
one femme fatale wore straight blue jeans,
a pretty tissue pushed up her nose,
she punched her ticket to watch the famous sex shows
filled her pockets with petty change
found on the sidewalk between her cracks
where bulldogs once chased a hairy kitty.
a public toilet sink
gave her a wink;
she flushed her face;
the man with a baggie on his head
gave her a kiss;
at midnight
she dropped to her knees;
a small wallet,
several keys,
and a puff of smoke
awoke the neighbors before
a yellow cab drove her out of town.