at Harvard

and to reinvent myself
i became a dog
not just any dog
but a world-class product
of high quality egg
and slippery sperm
who would head off to Westminster
with my parents
who had
settled in Paris many years ago
when rents were cheap and croissants
plentiful.
i imagined the promised land
and didn't know if i would get there
but i was an instant success
with the ladies of the street;
i was handsome, cultivated, and able to
control my bladder-as long as
my mood was good.
i aspired to live a life
that would be the envy of artist and star dogs,
working like a dog.
i would sniff out a bitch who was beautiful, intelligent,
creative, and fertile;
she had to be a good mother to the pups,
and would recognize my fundamental
soundness and pedigree, entrusting
her fidelity.
i carried no trace of my former life as a homo sapiens,
since my apprenticeship as a dog was very productive and short,
and sweet, too.
i found i
actually liked peeing outside and i did it
in a hard-edged style, three legs in the air;
it would have been out of character to use a toilet.
years later, i became a circus clown, after
having studied architecture at Harvard.
i was the first dog to get accepted there.
ah, it's a dog's life.

from room to room

one heart
with four chambers
the blood moves from room to room
it comes in at midnight and leaves at noon
but you don't have to be wealthy
to be healthy
one knife
with four twists
the pain stabs at the quiet soul
it penetrates and leaves a deep hole
but you don't have to seek wisdom
to realize
there comes a time when the size
of your hat
isn't really where it's at
and all the sacrifice
wasn't all that nice
there comes a time when the hands
of your clock
take a walk around the block
and all the secret care
doesn't get you anywhere
which means,
it seems,
that i fell flat on my face
and you decided i was a basket case
then things got messy
it didn't help when i got dressy
and sang on the public stage
you locked me in an anxiety cage
and juggled the key
is it any wonder i no longer wanted to be me
and you
still with good health
sat me on the kitchen shelf
but my bread wouldn't rise
my swollen eyes,
with a glass of whisky near my lips,
whispered your name between sips.

making our own weather

it was in a mocking spirit
that she said to me
she wanted to be free
to climb any tree
in the forest and at dawn
i was already gone
packing a bunch of stuff
wondering if it was enough
to see me through
but i had a great view
of the fields ahead
and remembering what she said
i shifted my load
continued tramping down the road
wondering what else could go wrong?
i heard a harmonica play a comforting song
and saw a man climbing up his extension ladder
he couldn't reach the top but what did it matter?
he seemed to be satisfied
so it wasn't for me to ask him about pride
and if i did he might have lied
or he might have pretended not to have heard
i didn't want to have the last word
i was afraid of being confused
feeling wrapped up, tossed out or abused;
and then there was a dog who started to tag along
she shook her head as though i was doing something wrong
it just seemed to me she was acting like a judge
i didn't know her but already held a grudge
i quickly learned she wanted to be fed
and when nightfall came she stayed near me in my bed
she had no name that i could find
when it became dark i became totally blind
and yet in the morning i found she was quietly sleeping by my side;
it wasn't for me to ask her about pride!
so down the highway we went together,
blowing like tornadoes making our own weather.

Brazil

Brazil
baby

Rio de Janeiro
Campinas
Cocal
São Paulo
Itaguara
Rio Claro
Belo Horizonte
São José dos Campos
Feira de Santana
Itaquaquecetuba
Paraisopolis
Teresina
Feira de Santana
Londrina
Curitiba
Maua
Arrifana
Carapicuiba
Catanduva
Belém
Recife
Porto Alegre

Brazil
baby
on the Atlantic coast or the interior
wild and delightful
enticing
the carnival parade
the beach
a son of
Portuguese or daughter
of the full moon
dancing with
easy hips
sweetly to the samba
from the regional batuque
and Sabrino Sato
laughing echoes
in the far distance
the Amazon
the mystery in plain sight
a multiple vastness 
the aroma of
home cooking
which tantalizes 
hot music and heat
body sweat on the frontier
wildness in the street
the naked beach
energy in a footstep
the perfume of love

they all come to look for America

My generation
on the road again
let us be lovers
counting the cars on the New Jersey turnpike
soul sacrifice
summer of love
the hippie movement
white rabbit
FREEDOM
one two three four
what are we fighting for?
Arlo
walking down the line
The Who
we're not going to take it
strawberry fields forever
Timothy Leary
turn on
tune in
drop out
Civil Rights
Voting Rights
Housing Rights
ten years after
with a little help of my friends
i'm going home
country joe & the fish
moon walk
Neil Alden Armstrong
Janis
Grateful Dead
on the road again
back to the garden
let's go get stoned
Jimi
a change is gonna come
mother earth will swallow you
Blackbird
don't let the man get ya
wooden ships
a long time coming
one day at a time
born on the bayou
i put a spell on you
southbound train
idiot wind
America

waiting for the next picture show

so we're gonna go slow
waiting for the next picture show
hey, Joe
she taught me what i needed to know
on the nearest high hill
(where) she showed me her special skill
and it was a wonderful surprise
made me open up my sleepy eyes
hey, guys
she's a woman who takes but gives it hard
she'll deal in her own backyard
but that's not her only playing card
she'll comb your hair
(and) you'll want to climb the nearest stair
up to Heaven for a better view
there's so much more you'll want to do
(when) she wraps her arms completely around you
and from somewhere there's a quiet voice
says "Did you really think you had a choice?"
hey, boys
her street name is Mabel
there's plenty of food left on her table
and maybe you'll think it's alright
sitting down with a hearty appetite
don't worry, you won't have to check the books
she'll give you her bedroom looks
but there will be plenty of sharp hooks
and you'll need to stay alert
her love gives comfort but can really hurt
(and) you think you'll win but you can lose your shirt
so we're gonna go slow
waiting for the next picture show
hey, Joe
she taught me what i needed to know
waiting for the next picture show.

and that guy

i saw you on the street
walking down memory lane
there was no threat of thunder
no chance of rain
and there were people smiling
laughing voices filled the air
when i saw you slowing
i shouted "Stay right there!"
and remembering us together
i whispered movies and the old dance hall?
Sally and Wendy,
Peter and Paul
popcorn up the nose,
much more of this and some of those
and scary stories and pillow fights
post-prom parties
and chocolate delights:
your eyes gave you away
i saw you wanted to stay
you still had the sweet smile
we lingered for awhile
as the traffic lights turned
well, what have we learned?
you went inside a store
and i wanted to know more
but the evening was coming on
soon there'd be another dawn
you'd see in your mind's eye
a brief moment in time and that guy;
i'd have the aroma of your freshly-washed hair
looking around but you wouldn't be there.

she talked and talked

you've heard of the lady who walked
into the pool
and fell face down
no, she wasn't a silly clown
she wasn't fat but neither was she cool
her cell phone was stuck in her ear
like a cutting spear
she talked and talked
she should have been watching where she walked
someone said her legs were flashy
someone thought her hair looked trashy
when she hit the water she seemed surprised
someone said she needed to be analyzed
but she didn't miss a beat
she was dripping water but got to her feet
that girl was totally soaking wet
she either lost a bet
or lost her connection to reality
i heard she walked into the spreading chestnut tree
her nose was black with shades of purple and blue
her dress was torn but her cell phone seemed new
she said she was tired and lost her way
eating cake and talking all day
her ear was swollen like a sperm whale's lip
someone said she talked in her sleep but that wasn't hip
in her car her phone stayed taped to her head
she drove so slowly it was easy to hear everything she said
her cheeks blushed and her teeth grew large
she talked her way onto an ocean-going barge
someone said she lost her pants
so what?  she talked all the way to France
she bumped into the famous Eiffel tower
she said it was the late hour
and too many men following her around
she turned up the volume of her sound
i saw her talk to a buttered snail
she ate the head but left the tail
she talked about her sensitive mouth
she said she'd feel better if she went south
in Africa she fell into a watering hole
and talked and talked to the far North pole.

At The Other End: Bob Dylan, 1975

i saw your face by the brickyard wall
you stood tall but still looked small
with one eye wide on the old piano
it was the night of a new moon
the piano was black and perfectly out of tune
they gave you the last call
the house bouncer, who was a struggling poet,
stood to read your latest stuff
but he didn't really know it
he had tattoos across his etched forehead;
his girlfriend's face was incredibly tough
one glance from her and i almost dropped dead
soft guitar notes filled the smoky air
i felt like a drunk beneath a midnight New York bridge
but i knew you wouldn't care
your pen was busy with a German beer in hand
Allen Ginsberg laughing by your side
a Buddhist symbol on his neck he once tried to hide
his boyfriend a member of your current band
in his grasp a silver flute 

his face alluringly cute
i asked you for a hurried autograph
you abandoned me on the winding path
you muttered something about having too much pride
your buddy Jesus when He awoke asked you for a Heavenly ride;
you said it was time for him to go
Patti Smith, yes, she wanted to give him some really good blow
and his giant rock trembled and the dirt floor shook
he figured i stole your seventeenth century Italian poetry book
but a hand-rolled cigarette was the only thing i ever took
i heard you howl and curse and saw you pound the stage
and jumping outside from inside his lonely cage
wild William Burroughs got so damn crazy mad
he burned his book but you kept the final page
and the ladies-in-waiting pretended to be sad
no amount of money could ever make them glad
Mr. Tamborine Man seemed to be my only loyal friend
he came to my emotional rescue
i asked him what should i do?
he came to watch the late show At The Other End
i came out from the bottom to the now-where-am-i top,
heard your old songs of liberty and mild abuse
that tore Old Dixie Down and finally cooked the golden goose
well, they never seemed to stop
now i know why you ate the yellow cocktail fruit
wearing nothing except your Minnesota birthday suit
when you took a lady across your big brass bed
used ten words to keep a hundred thousand people fed
and all that next winter your handwriting paved the way
sweet Joan Baez knew better than to stay!!
her river flowed with loose debris and hard ice
you didn't even try to be that nice
your skies remained cloudy and grey
for once you didn't have anything clever to say
but no matter what you did or how you eventually fixed your hair
the times they are a'changin everywhere
the times they are a'changin everywhere.

i'll wander mostly out of sight

the dwarf danced in the courtyard
as part of a mock bullfight
late one summer night
while his partner with her fancy leather strap
sat in his tiny lap
and held on tight
they were quite a sight
for the assembled crowd
who became fans of this new ballet;
at intermission, everyone grabbed a bite to eat
and were heard to say
"hell, there's no one here to pray;
we might as well settle in for a longer stay"
and even though the house was packed
the landlord wanted to toss them out
but he was quickly sacked
and went away.
a fevered applause grew into such a maddening clamor
so no one heard when a stage hand struck his golden hammer
on the shaking floor boards
and soon more and more hordes
of delighted people acknowledged the popularity
of dancing at night under a fragrant tree
with wild bands of roving gypsy
and priests wearing starched white vests
and ladies of the evening pushing up their breasts
so much that they shook violently!
a special trance descended completely
and it soon became clear
that an invitation to attend would always be considered dear;
no one would ever have to guess
there would be no code for how to dress
the bullfight would be so ornate
nobody would ever come in late
it was soon accepted and unanimously agreed
no one would perish before they were freed
all the people said they were fairly certain
the show must go on even without a fancy curtain
and that was more than forty years ago and now what little i know
is in my old age all the mindless rage is blinding me
and like a lonely maitre de
i'm hoping to be set free
in the dancing courtyard late at night
where i'll wander mostly out of sight
it won't matter if I'm wrong or right
when the gypsy hands me a drink and asks me what i think
i'll simply say sometimes it's nice to pay the dues
and sometimes it's nice to put on the dancing shoes.

Juan Gris

About him they said
a fake and a fraud,
peacock feathers on his head,
showing off a stray thought or two
before heading to bed!
but it wasn't Juan Gris, no!
so he wrote inquiringly to his friend
about the 'two Spaniards in the room'
and what they had to transcend!
as he continued to paint,
he soon heard in heated reply
'a war was breaking out';
there would be no time to cry:
it was always Picasso up first
and Braque the next in line
but cubism's third man
was him, Gris
and he did just fine.

please tell me everything

so why don't you go
looking for a modern dog and pony show
please tell me everything you think you know
about making love either in a hurry or going slow;
about getting ripe and growing old:
was it worth looking for that precious pot of gold?
was it just waiting to be found
in a far northern Yukon underground?
or at the disappearing end of an afternoon rainbow?
tell me everything you think you know
about trying to choose
between the early morning and the evening news
riding on a subway train to the sleepy end of the track
i jumped up and saw you struggling on your back
i saw new lines spreading across your worried face
the race was being run while you hurried to keep pace
and there was a crowd and they were being loud
but you didn't seem to care when they pulled your hair
a woman and a man shouted and you stood
i heard them tell you what was bad and what was good
but what could you hear when your back was turned
i remember asking what the hell you learn ed
with cigarette smoke in your mouth and a song written on the floor
i heard what you promised but i needed more
so why don't you go
looking for a modern dog and pony show
and tell me everything you think you know
about making love either in a hurry or going slow;
about getting ripe and growing old:
was it worth looking for that precious pot of gold?
was it just waiting to be found
in a far northern Yukon underground?
or at the disappearing end of an afternoon rainbow?
tell me everything you think you know.

we just didn't have time to pray

i saw the guy who skied like hell
he almost fell
spinning backwards
while wearing a batman suit
he looked cold and cute
dressed in red from head to toe
i watched him approach at light speed
and go
down hill
spraying snow;
but that's not all i remember
of the day it dumped.
i had a really big time
standing briefly in a short lift line
talking to a sweet lady from Montreal
who told me all
i could ever hope to know
about living in Florida in the winter
playing bingo,
just an easy throw
from the fantasy city of Orlando
where the courts for pickle ball
never need to thaw.
while i waxed my ears and bases
i heard excited hoots and hollers,
saw many high and tight Patagonia collars
underneath excited furry winter faces
wearing tinted goggles;
i convinced myself not to pee
underneath a frozen jack pine tree
where the powder seemed especially light;
it didn't feel right
because i wanted to make tracks until last chair
even with my increasingly wet underwear
and a nervous belly;
i imagined eating peanut butter and jelly
with a friend who carried a fanny pack
filled with carrots and cheese
and i know many times i softly said please
but he never seemed to hear a word
from Peak 6 to Peak 10
we went back and forth over and over again,
even hiking up to the heights of Imperial Peak
for the long traverse across Whale's Tail
looking for our own final mariners' sail
to the promised land of happily steep and deep;
we might have been tired but this was no time for sleep;
we found a head-spinning drop-in within ski pole reach,
the antithesis of a lazy, sun-tanned Miami Beach
and ten times better, we would later venture to say;
heck, we just didn't have time to stop and pray.

you are a brave man

you are a brave man
walking on thin ice;
walking your crazy bitch dog near a cat farm
when she was hungry;
talking to the skinny black bear
who came into your yard
looking for food scraps
but you had none.
you are a brave man
to follow your daughter
down a steep mountainside
without carrying enough water
to last the day,
the view sufficient to distract you
from the sunning rattlesnake
and the loose rocks which slid freely underneath
your lazy steps to go
crashing down into the deep canyon below.
you are a brave man to sit on your piano bench
without sheet music
or a decent voice to carry a tune
but with strength enough to write a poem
as your mind kept wandering.
you are a brave man
to drink a bottle of French red
knowing the drive home would
be in a snow storm without winter tires.