we'll travel like gods

i saw a little sun
and i told my mistress
grab your overnight bags
give me a little kiss
we'll travel like gods
to another shore
to places we've dreamt of
but have never seen before
looking for a passage
to awe and inspire
a cavern of secrets
filled with romance and fire
our arms wrapped tightly,
buttocks and breasts,
no reputations to consider
like simple nomadic guests
in the spirit of the chase
laughing at the moon
we'd check in early
and check-out too soon
the highlight
as someone new might say
we'd be together
arm and arm each day
i saw a little sun
and i told my mistress
grab your overnight bags
give me a little kiss
we'll travel like gods
to another shore
to places we've dreamt of
but have never seen before.

she is myself as woman

she was running a temperature
i had a memory lapse
she held me in her master's grip
i felt my will collapse
she said we'd spend the summer
in each others' hungry arms
with a special sort of magic
and i'd fall into her charms
there were no clever whisperings
my head oddly erect
she said i wouldn't remember
but i could never forget:
i thought some things were funny
other moments seemed so sad
that doesn't mean pure darkness
there were other things i had
she said she was a sculptor
showed me a traditional bust
she said don't seem romantic
but i told her that i must
and i wrote her a love letter
in a fanciful design
she is myself as woman
and i wanted her for mine
she was running a temperature
i had a memory lapse
she held me in her master's grip
i felt my will collapse
she said i had a prideful nose
as she looked into my eyes
just a shade below androgynous
a serious disguise
she said she was a sculptor
showed me a traditional bust
she said don't seem romantic
but i told her that i must.

thankfully it feels healthy to be

i could be blind
but i continue to live and work
into my ripe old age
while in my mind
psychic forces
like the roots of a healthy vegetable, build!
the world outside my window
has moved on from draft horses
to cybersecurity and Russian hacking,
to the functioning of IBM's Watson and NASA toilets,
to the dysfunction of democratic elections,
and to what craziness is the NRA backing?
i decided to stay in bed
at least on one occasion
when the outbreak of total war seemed imminent
and an excited young Presidential press secretary said
she would send me lots of money
if i'd talk to the writers at Saturday Night Live
emphatically stating that the White House
didn't find their sarcastic jokes funny
i was thinking her suggestion cute
just as an elegant chauffeur stood
and waved his finger pointedly in my direction;
i told him i was newly destitute
and couldn't afford his first world ride.
but, of course, i lied
i was going to winter in the south
where i wouldn't have to listen to any loud mouth
offer me a competitive auto insurance loan
or a high spending limit on an airline credit card
no, i wanted a living fence growing in my yard
without the glitter and glamor
of an unsustainable corporate Thor's hammer:
thankfully it feels healthy to be
uninterested in the fate of Apple or Google
while going to bed early, cautious and frugal.

in a gentle breeze

at times intimidating
and at times fulfilling
was the lovemaking
in a gentle breeze
and what excited me the most
were the hints and the tease
the rubbing against each other
tearing ourselves to bits
in starts and fits
the intensity and the immediacy
and being uninterested in passing fashion
while totally consumed by passion
it's what i've put into my sketchbook
for a later wistful look
when i had a chance to take everything
this was the only image i took
the one to have an impact
a lasting fact
of remembrance
like opening a new door
and finding a silhouette
dancing lightly across the floor
in a ballet of sex
to mystify and perplex.

kissinger, the lover

Henry, the lover
Kiss of death
light-skinned and dare i say
foul of breath
unafraid to push people out of his way
stepping over tombstones
guilty of bleaching their bones
all in the course of a busy Washington afternoon
like a drunkard with his flask
or a junkie with his spoon
selling his mind like a whore sells her body
so filled with luminous pride
his mouth moved and he fashionably lied
infatuated with power
with an accent designed to beguile the press
who overlooked his foreign policy mess
understanding nothing beyond the fact
that he screwed them from the front and humped them from the back
their bodies entangled in barbed wire
he set them on fire
continued to make his deals
either foul or fair
he didn't give a damn or care
his favorite affair
infatuated with power
every second and each hour
and there's no room left for applause
his favorite cause
Henry, the lover
Kiss of death
light-skinned and dare i say
foul of breath.

at the Flamingo

jazz at the Flamingo
wearing dark glasses
from the deepest south
a harmonica slipping
all the way across my wide mouth
all the way down to the county line
looking for someone who's exclusively mine
winning her confidence
with my nightly dance
nude pictures dangle on the studio wall
in high heels i showed them all
in the Marquee Club
sitting on a simple chair
dressed in jewels and fine mohair
quite the dude but never rude
while live at the Pier Pavilion
the girls were very different
big eyelashes and a passing hopeful hint
a faint smile
in character and hearty morale
starched shirts and thin ties
curious make-up and stranger eyes
they watched me play my 6 string guitar
humming on the front seat of my beautiful car
and in the pub after a quick ride and tune
it was already very nearly noon
but the young ladies didn't give me a choice
they wanted to hear my sweet singing voice

The High Numbers at the Railway Hotel

The High Numbers at the Railway Hotel
playing 8 tracks
jumping jacks
hiding in a hand-dug well
can you finally tell
me WHO?
and i'll tell you why
the best damn drummer
Keith Moon
died too soon
an empty drink in his stick hand
and a rock and roll band
WHO ran out of breath
his death
a lonely mountain
pennies in the water fountain
a deaf dumb and blind boy winning
pinball swimming
not intended to be silly
Pictures Of Lily
how do you think he does it?
with smiles and smiles and smiles
I Can See For Miles
and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles.

"Get ready to get ready!"

and the sculptor said
"Get ready to get ready!"
it sounded so absurd
the interviewer had to laugh;
but he was not feeling well, either.
his face had an oily look
and his nose oozed wet,
but, sitting in a rocking chair,
he composed himself and carried on.
the sculptor had bright pink fingernails
and wore expensive Chinese extensions
which seemed to make her long neck
disappear under naturally kinky hair.
she wanted to become famous,
standing by a polished piece of rock
in her famously relaxed manner.
i sat and listened to them,
sipping pomegranate juice,
and waited to ask my questions,
but they ignored me.
"Shit," i said, "Look at this!"
and they immediately turned
and said in union
"That's not how to draw attention to pain."
i considered that significant
and quietly left the room.

Kiki de Montparnasse

kiki
who were you?
maybe the girl with the
golden shoe
at the railroad station
late one sultry night
darting in and out of sight
while dressed up like a child?
(as an artist model you were
daring and wild!)
i lowered my hand
and stuffed it in my pocket
as you went swiftly by;
i heard your anguished cry
fall upon disinterested ears!
all those living dreams and dying fears
are not faring well,
fleeing the room,
fetching a hat,
posing for a photograph,
looking this way and that
like a hungry poet
who doesn't understand
what it is to be one
and can't seem to know it.
kiki
on your return
would you burn
the words written on the platform wall?
of course,
burn them all!
to whom do they belong?
the lyrics of a 1920's song?
like bits of ribbon and cloth
and patches
and discarded matches
and candle grease.