the sea is a wall

self-referential
i'm a sunny Presidential
and the sea is a wall of busted blue
at the dawn of creation a single flying fish flew
and this should come as no surprise
i now have two naked eyes
and inflated body parts
a seesawing figure with two unconventional hearts
two balls and a Paul Bunyan hat
looking for a woman with a chest that's looking flat
a blind man found my steaming bath and sat
he waved from his pile of bubbles as he sank
up to his head he swallowed while we drank
to a woman whose pet name was Myrtle
her hips and breasts to my mind were fertile
and our harvests promised to be bountiful
we sang and ate our bellies' full
establishing a personal rapport
painting still lives on the living room floor
to satisfy our hunger for a sensual war
and in a tangle of tendrils
yet-to-be executed thrills:
all the bad girls wearing bleached blond curls
piling their bowls with fresh fruit
wearing sweaters tight and oh-so-cute
a pitcher of beer and a happy face
in a New Year's letter a piece of lively lace
and a curving candle stick
i took another look and took a lick
self-referential
i'm a sunny Presidential
and the sea is a wall of busted blue
at the dawn of creation a single flying fish flew.

if someone came for you today

i've fought with the army,
and fought with the devil in hell,
had people ask for an answer
but i've promised never to tell
when the clock strikes midnight
and shadows appear on my bedroom wall
the nightmares call for me to remember
but i don't want to recall!
i've seen hearts that are broken and blood run in the street,
tears on every single face i meet,
the sounds of war playing exclusively for the young;
battle cries written and perfectly sung
and when i raise my head above the shouts and screams
it always seems
that all i see are old mens' dreams:
sad faces stitched with military laces,
frightened souls hiding in desperate holes
and the war which never wants an end
will it come for you, my friend?
will it come for you?
well, some books ask you to turn all their pages
before you can escape from all the cages
what will you ultimately say?
what will you say
if someone came for you today?
i've fought with the army,
and fought with the devil in hell,
had people ask for an answer
but i've promised never to tell
when the clock strikes midnight
and shadows appear on my bedroom wall
the nightmares call for me to remember
but i don't want to recall!
i've seen hearts that are broken and blood run in the street,
tears on every single face i meet,
the sounds of war playing exclusively for the young;
battle cries written and perfectly sung
and when i raise my head above the shouts and screams
it always seems
that all i see are old mens' dreams:
sad faces stitched with military laces,
frightened souls hiding in desperate holes
and the war which never wants an end
will it come for you, my friend?
will it come for you?
well, some books ask you to turn all their pages
before you can escape from all the cages
what will you ultimately say?
what will you say
if someone came for you today?

swirling clouds of blue and grey

i pretended to take a walk
down an alley where i heard you talk
and you called out my name
but you need to know, this isn't our only game
chatting to friends on the back street
hanging them with a rope by their black feet
exactly like we did before the Civil War
a monument to a lonely time that once before
painted us in swirling clouds of blue and grey
and we got down on our knees to pray:
someone had a dream and knew just what to say
the police are already here
arresting suspects suffocating in fear
for the benefit of Mr. Kite
it should be okay but it still doesn't feel right
i heard them say move along
so i began to sing my favorite country song
about a wild neighbor's dog
who ran into a fight and got lost inside a fog
covered with a secret tattoo
no one believed it was true
but stranger things have come to pass
i picked up a piece of broken glass
and got down on my knees to pray:
someone had a dream and knew just what to say
he may not get there after all
but you don't have to fall
i pretended to take a walk
down an alley where i heard you talk
and you called out my name
but you need to know, this isn't our only game
chatting to friends on the back street
hanging them with a rope by their black feet
exactly like we did before the Civil War
a monument to a lonely time that once before
painted us in swirling clouds of blue and grey
and we got down on our knees to pray:
someone had a dream and knew just what to say.

hell to pay

once there was a time
i went for a long walk with a beautiful friend of mine
and it was dark
there was a serious small time dealer in the local town park
they said his bite was worse than his bark
and he was furious
well, a month later we all became curious
and it was after our first big bite
yeah, we started to feel alright
didn't want to get out of bed
i had a moment when i forgot everything i just said
and there was a terrible noise
all the girls and boys tossing their church house toys
and it was party on
as the man said, from dusk to dawn
and to settle the point we stayed inside the joint
singing songs watching the news
feeling painful while playing indiscriminate blues
falling on faces and falling on knees
thanks largely to trying too hard to please
lamented poets' ashes being very discreet
i had a moment when i forgot how to cross my neighborhood street
and would you admit you didn't crave a beautiful hit?
hell to pay trying to get over it
i had to buy the heaviest hammer to get over my handsome stammer
where people seldom go
it's not what i believe its what i know
and would you admit you didn't crave a beautiful hit?
hell to pay trying to get over it
so once there was a time
i went for a long walk with a beautiful friend of mine
and it was dark
there was a serious small time dealer in the local town park
they said his bite was worse than his bark
and he was furious
well, a month later we all became curious
and it was after our first big bite
yeah, we started to feel alright.

in how many languages?

in a small yellow room
with a small glass dish and a water bowl
sweet flowers of autumn red and summer blue
and a lovely soul
listening to the classical piano
and in no time at all
summer had given way to fall
i saw you board the bus and ride away
in how many languages do i have to say
please, stay?

and through the open window
the harvest wheat has been cut and piled high
sweet flowers of autumn red and summer blue
and a southern sky
dancing across the floor to you and i
and we finally kiss
all our moments led up to this
in how many languages do i have to say
please, stay?

during a starry night
i saw a spinning light and a strange moon
sweet flowers of autumn red and summer blue
passing too damn soon
eating at a table with just one spoon
and in no time at all
summer had given way to fall
i saw you board the bus and ride away
in how many languages do i have to say
please, stay?

finally to thaw

her voiceless breath
and i reached for the ready door
a lonely sidewalk with no footprints
so i followed
to frost crystals in a forest fortress
and an abundance of shelf fungi parade ground straight
overhead cracked branches and brazen crows
opening an open window wider and full of snow
making quiet noise
in no time unable to speak
a poetic hiding place without poets
a postcard perfect drifting
pure and simple and possibly perilous
smoothed out of a raw country
smuggled out of the prior spring like rare jewels
and slipping underneath an overhang of glacial rock
hardly ancient yet darkly old
once again the subject comes up
with a far more telling image of solitude
hidden away inside the cold cold cave
far from a burning hell:
our shivering skin,
shaking like an early alarm,
struggling to grasp heat from a faint sun,
but wrapped together in a warming embrace
mingling air
nose to nose
one into two without mathematical calculations,
having drifted from a pillowed room
into unmapped territory
blown by circumstance up a gentle hill
on a winding path that the deer have trimmed
finally melting
finally to thaw.

there is always the moon: a memoir

there is always the moon
dropping light
like bright pebbles
or like an extravagant  ball
racing above the clouds in regular lunar phases
blurring the gap like opium blurs the brain
perhaps of a famous schoolboy poet
who wrote a memoir about a voluptuous woman
with a skill giving French lessons
to the poor
instead of using her beautiful voice to teach diction
and how
without a penny
and only a single friend
became a successful actress on stage
and early screen,
who spoke with her golden voice on the radio
from where it was heard
by Gertrude Stein
who immediately wanted to visit for a book idea,
but the hour was late,
the suggestion less than honest,
and the moon had already fallen from the sky

on a star-filled night.

the local bull

the local bull
his balls heavy with top spin
his pasture field too abstract for grass
the hard dirt like an engraving on stone,
scratched by hooves and horn and
bursts of penetrating rain
a gun metal grey sky
smoking puffs of clay clouds
swirling around his wet ringed nose
roots and rocks as well as sand
the twisted tree
a white shed for shelter while the
cold winds blow:
so sure of himself
he went to work on his rest day
using the unlocked back door
of his favorite arena
not too far from the herd
stuffing himself with momentary pleasure
between her legs.

the color of blood

for a more perfect solution
don't jump into the water!
but it's up to you, to
run don't walk on freshly mowed grass
it's so much lower than high class
chasing the hardest walnut seed
or watching the grey squirrel treed
and edged with zigzag sunshine rays
close to low rising river hills
swimming momentarily for cheap thrills
chasing flotsam from the beach
slowly drifting out of reach
darkening like a shadowed flower face
the current pulling as though in a race
sporting decomposition with hard arms
devoid of any imaginary charms
down to the last finishing smile
and fishing for a little while
with enthusiasm and a safety net
of slick driftwood heavy and wet
stuffed with raisins and in a rising tide
of toy boats and seaweed
the color of blood that wild dogs bleed.