Gabrielle Giffords, Congresswoman

Inside the hand-built well there is a darkness
and a hollow noise can be heard when I tap
the near wall with my open palm, hello hello hello
muted and rebounding in fading spirals until I stop.

I haven't spoken with my riding buddy for several weeks
and since the outside weather is darn cold, it will probably
be several months until we begin riding routinely together.

The last time we rode, she got mad. Her temper is strong,
as strong as her physical body, maybe even stronger. Unfortunately,
she was angry at me. Oh yes, I found the temerity to chastise
her decision to ride across the street just as she was about to
crest a steep hillside, and I saw the truck speeding over the hill
and swerve abruptly to avoid the most-likely fatal collision.
So, when I pulled alongside her after that scary moment, I spoke
my true feelings about how that wasn't the smartest thing to do and
offered suggestions, like simply stopping and walking her bike when
she felt too tired to pedal further up the hill.

Yes, she flashed her heat, telling me her move was a calculated risk.

Fine, I said, but don't do it on my watch, baby.

There is a madness afoot.

There was a cold-blooded murderer standing in a Tucson
supermarket line, holding his Glock pistol with
an extended clip full of heartless bullets.

There is chaos.

America is in jeopardy of becoming a Pakistan, where
to speak one's mind freely about all subjects is to invite
those who profess an opposing view to kill, to embark on a spree of
violence and scare the liberal populace.

A young girl was shot and died. She was 9 years old
and loved ballet. She played second base on her little
league baseball team. I saw a picture of her face and
saw her nice smile, like a contented Mona Lisa, but now gone,
only memories remain. This is wrong, her death.

A sitting member of Congress was targeted for assassination.
She is in grave condition in a hospital with a gunshot wound
to her head. Her friends call her Gabby. If she survives this attack,
her recovery will take months or years. Pray for her.

In America, I fear there will be retribution. But, we can't have a country
where people of a certain persuasion demand
"No Retreat, Reload." Is this a sensible political slogan?

Now, will the Arizona incident become a special moment
in the history of the United States of America? Will the
rabid crusaders of the Right begin to temper their
vitriol? Will we come together for the benefit of our
mutual futures in a sane and responsible manner?

There is a madness afoot. Surely we can cure it?

on the floor

i didn't see you walking down the street
but i was looking for someone new to meet
so it wasn't such a big surprise
when i tried to look you in the eyes
and there was traffic
and the conductor was yelling out his door
watching all the busy people
sitting on the floor

i only saw a little slice of you
but it was too much and turned me blue
when i held your heart above my head
and wondered why my face turned red
and there was traffic
i was lost and couldn't find an open door
watching all the busy people
sitting on the floor

i didn't have a story or a book
but you seemed so fine i had to look
when i felt the heat between your lines
and saw the beauty beneath the signs
and there was traffic
i was lost and couldn't find an open door
watching all the busy people
sitting on the floor

i didn't have a moment's time to lose
but you made it hard for me to choose
sitting in my seat without a sound
and suddenly no one was around
and there was traffic
and the conductor was yelling out his door
watching all the busy people
sitting on the floor

Horseshoe Bowl

After driving the Subaru Outback from the east coast
to Breckenridge, CO, I've been staying at a friend's home.

My last two days have been largely skiing days.
The peaks 7 through 10 have been providing plenty of'
challenge, in addition to the brisk winds and cold
temperatures. The snow has been great, though.

I've met interesting characters on the chair lift rides, and picked
up a few fallen skiers, along with their equipment.

The terrain is high, with the tallest peak topping out at
just under 13,000 feet and I've been to the top on a clear
day so am able to state with conviction that the view is
amazing and unforgettable.

The snow in Horseshoe Bowl has been the best I've skied,
so far.

driving in my car

driving in my car
nobody knows who we are
passing streets with no name
accelerating
then turning around again
watching all the people riding their bikes
mostly satisfied,
but with personal dislikes
in the shopping aisle where they've stopped for a little while
indecision
is keeping them from making a selection
this is the intersection
no one can pass through the red light without a pause
Lady Gaga is on one side
on the other Santa Claus
in a watchful mood
his bag is full with bags of food
looking at all the singers with their book
giving him all his jolly look
but nobody knows who we should be
the Sunday dancers praying to be free
all their barricades falling down
Mondays explosion the only sound
many day rats rushing in a blinding maze
in a ceremony guaranteed to amaze
in an old fashioned wedding gown
facing forward not looking down
this party is getting started and you're invited in
as soon as you're ready we're gonna begin
driving in my car
nobody knows who we are
passing streets with no name
accelerating
then turning around again

Xmas eve

It's Christmas evening
and somewhere people are still singing
Silent Night and holding glowing candles.
Thoughts of love and peace and hope for
Man's salvation are strong.
Someone tomorrow will be gifted
Texas' best pecan cake from
Eilenberger's bakery, which is located
in Palestine. How cool is that?
God bless the entire world.

heart tattoo

red canvas sneakers
waiting on my bedroom stair
and a hungry wolf
escaping from the hidden lair
her hair hanging down like Goldilocks
white and tight
knee high bobbie socks
a gentle laugh like a friendly ghost
her baby smile
i love the most
and she wrapped her arms around my waist
asked me for a simple taste
so, i took a little bite
and i found it quite alright
but i didn't know what more to say
i found blood on my teeth today
and on my neck in black and blue
the outlines of a heart tattoo

red canvas sneakers
resting in my limousine
and a hungry wolf
escaping from a romance dream
her breath heated like a winter coal
light and bright
shooting up my soul
a gentle laugh like a friendly ghost
her baby smile
i love the most
and she wrapped her arms around my waist
asked me for a simple taste
so, i took a little bite
and i found it quite alright
i didn't know what else to say
but i found blood on my teeth today
and on my neck in black and blue
the outlines of a heart tattoo

Linda

Linda
you lost your man and now you're feeling sad
going through his clothes, throwing out the bad
looking at pictures all those fond memories kept near
hanging on your bedroom wall but he's no longer here
Linda
friends spend all their waking hours on the phone
and taking you to dinner so you don't have to be alone
you've reassured your sister you've made new plans
cried with your daughter so that she understands
Linda

you're a very strong woman walking on the widow's wall

you've kept your head high, not afraid to fall

saving the pieces of a life with your late best friend

but cooking new ideas so it doesn't have to end

Linda

you've looked around and grabbed that bull by his horns

there can be no meaning for the woman who sits around and mourns

you're not re-inventing while spinning on the floor

but dancing with good memories and demanding from them more

the climb down

i climbed down the rock wall and saw the fire
but i couldn't find the ground
in the darkness i looked
i couldn't hear a sound
i made my escape from the mountainside
tumbling to the nearest shore
a wave covered my eyes
so i couldn't be sure
the posse started chasing after me
in random circles we ran
i saw you throw a kiss
so i came back again
a certain ghost with a brave heart stopped me
asked me who i thought i was
the judge threw me his book
'cause that is what he does
and i couldn't escape the rabbit hole
my head was trapped in his space
i had to get a drink
but couldn't find your place
there was only an empty chair for me
and i had no time to stay
and if i saw you there
i don't know what i'd say
maybe i found a really good story
the book reads like a sad tale
searching for happiness
man finds himself in jail

a broken string

i don't seem to understand anything
and i know i can't fly with a broken string
now or later on a mid-week morning
a knock on the door came without warning
and an early light became a heavenly blue
but i saw no rising sun or you
no champagne bubble inside my cup
i couldn't find myself so had to give it up
there was no heated drive on the boulevard
'cause loving you was really hard
i played my best damn poker card
and every hand and song i tried
and every time i went inside
that light was gone by three in the morning
a knock on the door came without warning
and you had a very lovely face
wrapped all in black and tight with lace
i couldn't maintain your playful pace
i don't seem to understand anything
and i know i can't fly with a broken string
now or when you're shopping in a store
when your bag is full and you still want more
watching men and they're watching you
wondering what you're gonna do
and an early light became a heavenly blue
and an evening light was a prairie moon
and it feels so good but then leaves too soon
like your empty voice in a shopping cart
i'm pushing a piece of my broken heart
i don't seem to understand anything
and i know i can't fly with a broken string

but i love skiing

unclicking, i was free of my skis.
watching the blowing snow cover them,
i leaned to the hardpack
and grabbed'em,
brought them higher,
slipping them together
base to base as i did so.
the bindings met and held, sort of,
as i carefully placed them over my left shoulder
in preparation for the 45 minute hike
to the summit of Imperial Peak, sitting
at about 13,000 feet.
i looked down valley, seeing route 9 leaving
the mining town of Breckenridge, CO,
slipping towards Frisco, past Lake Dillon
and the turn-off to Keystone and A-Basin.
up valley, i knew Blue River was past Peak 10,
near Quandry, that beautiful 14er i climbed.
Baldy was directly across, impassive.
Steep. Cold. Exciting.
the trail higher was a vertical series of ice holes
previous skiiers had smashed into the
mountain, each step above the previous one.
hiking at altitude can cause problems because
of the thin air and it certainly felt thin, if by that is meant
that it's hard to find complete satisfaction with an
inhalation. as I struggled, my body working, i needed,
indeed demanded, fuel, oxygen. breathing came in short
snappy movements as I kept ascending. i would stop
more frequently than anticipated, every few steps.
but it was cold, so moving was essential. i was passed
by other people more accustomed to the climb. i also passed
people who were resting. we were all traveling according
to our own timer, not racing: we were participating.
my skis became heavy. i changed them from shoulder to
shoulder, trying to accomodate their apparent increasing
weight. occasionally, i'd glance at the top, where the
small figures could be seen. it always seemed so far,
as though i hadn't really made much progress.
damn! i wanted to get there. and it was cold
and my skis were so heavy and each shoulder
was sore and i couldn't breathe properly.
but i love skiing.

Dog Company

Dog Company
hidden winter snow
frigid breath and sharp
the frozen throat
the foreign screams
the bugle blasting mortar roar
a jeep exploding in the tense Korean air
a tank a tomb an unnamed narrow ravine
off the map the hard dirt an incendiary dream
charging knives mad thrusts of senseless steel
hot hungry bullets ripping cold flesh desperate
men like flies from the northward river Yalu
hordes of orchestral sound pounding south
into a crazy wall of heavy American jazz
hectic notes irregular strangled syncopation
where rivers of doom splashed and splintered
where crazy men shit pools of blood and membrane
unsure of where to sleep of how to live and breathe
every eye and soul in tune to watch a stranger die
a riot and a roll and a thunder and a cloud
exhausted men collapsing without sound
holding the line
holding hope
Dog Company

rainbow

my cat's name is rainbow.
rainbow is hungry most any hour,
day or night.
she has dreadlocks, uncombed,
and is a dreadful sight.
one significant clump of hair,
matted and piled,
sits high on her back and
makes her look wild.
but she's an old cat
looking for food,
so when i feed rainbow
it improves her mood,
and she arches and purrs.
she lives outside in a little house
where everything is hers.
one eye seems infected.
it's mostly white and sad,
but when i ask how she's doing,
she tells me she's glad.
i feed her the best food:
twice a day i fill the bowl.
i admit watching her eat
is good for my soul.

Kim the younger

Kim the younger
untested untried
they say he went to school in Switzerland
but then maybe they lied.
where's the mother?
where's the caring aunt?
they say he might be the next dictator
but then maybe he can't.
plated armor
artillery shells
they say he could be a mild-mannered man
but then maybe he yells.
nuclear land
irrational fact
they say the North is as hard as a nut
but then maybe they'll crack.

Irish eyes

It must be a good thing that Ireland
received multi-billion dollar support
for their banking system, since so many
important people cared so deeply
about it's survival. Now the pressing
question is what are the true costs to
the Irish people for this largeness?
The Germans who hold senior debt
of the major Irish banks are breathing a
huge sigh of relief because they should continue
to receive payments.
The British were worried about their entanglement
with their neighbor's economy and so kicked in
a big hunk of coin, too.
The Euro has been defended once again,
but the majority of people outside the Eurozone
seem unconcerned, unless they're invested
and watching the global markets unravel.
Are you sleepless in Seattle over the debt crisis?

willie

Willie Nelson
man busted for pot
but that's not all he got
man he's a really big time shot
hanging out the yellow bus window
putting on some really big show
listening to the country music radio
driving a Texas Ranger highway road
smoking a tire, smoking a load
playing with a sweet-sounding 6 string guitar
but the cops grabbed him before he went too far
sipping his memories in a rowdy Luckenbach bar

and sweet lucille she gave him a kiss
and he knew exactly what he was gonna miss
and mary jane she gave him a buzz
he knew exactly what it was
and soft sophie she gave him a drink
and he knew exactly what to think

Willie Nelson
always on my mind
and that's not being unkind
man he's a really big time find
singing Spanish Angels for his dinner
like he's a reformed Christian sinner
not quite a loser and not quite a winner
driving a Texas Ranger highway road
smoking a tire, smoking a load
playing with a sweet-sounding 6 string guitar
but the cops grabbed him before he went too far
sipping his memories in a rowdy Luckenbach bar

a simple envelope

i really liked the ring
you put in a simple envelope
but i never wore the string
i'm not that kind of dope

kitchen sink

gone i say
zombie bread in the toaster
petrified and
dried
eviscerated
tiny pieces of leg and wholewheat flour
burnt to a crisp
a black smell hangs as
my fingertips save nothing
in the smoking air of my kitchen sink
gone i say
moaning inside the trash can
the crumpled wrappers of dark chocolate Snickers bars,
and the strangled remains of eye ball potato chips,
the bony arms and hollow face of an energy drink
curiously as i wash the tangled breakfast dishes
they comfort me
prisoners of war
complete in their demise
while nearby
still sharp garbage disposal blades
on a cemetary hill
spinning a frightening noise
try to suck me down
but i'm heading out the door
a bright forehead and fresh black coffee
inside my favorite mug
gone i say

the book club guy

his stuff is pretty shallow but
he reads it with mad intensity and seems to
enjoy the stinging pain he inflicts on us, twisting
scenarios and contorting comprehension into
little particles of vanishing image.
mainly, his characters are dull.
our gathering this afternoon was small and grew
smaller as he read the material, using his arms to
illustrate his hands but never finding a
point while grasping at literary straws.
Linda excused herself for a potty break
and stayed away.
Georgie left to get a cappuccino
at the library coffee bar and seemed in no
hurry to return. Sally slept with eyes open.
Laurie was clearly languishing.
From across the table, Elizabeth gave me a sly wink.
and he kept talking about a serious misunderstanding
which developed between a young man and an older
woman inside an experimental laboratory where
they both worked as temps. his implications were small.
no dancing. no great oration. no jokes. no issues.
i didn't have to pee and wanted no coffee, so
kept my seat, but damn, i thought, why couldn't there be
any excitement? a touch of tension? a grab of hair?
a little league ball field was nearby and i thought about
batting practice and sliding into second under the
fielder's tag to put myself into scoring position.
i imagined my drag bunt down the first base line,
the pitcher unable to get over, the catcher unable to
remove his mask, the first baseman frozen with
indecision and i'm safe, now on first and third, and the dust
is still rising and my team's parents holler and scream.
meanwhile, they kept arguing in the lab, he said. why, again?
something about a forgotten anniversary or a missed appointment.
a librarian appeared with her hair neatly combed to
remind us of closing time. no one looked at their
wrist watch, yet papers were shuffled together and bags
were opened and shut. finally, to our unmasked relief,
the reader knew it was time to end the session, adjusted his
spectacles and folded his blue book.
he needs to find a better voice.

Front street

ice man
coal man
working by the dirty road, man
standing near the locomotive
on the river-side rails
flipping my lonely coin into the free air
i'm not going anywhere
it could be heads
it could be tails
and if all else fails
there's an old outhouse in my small backyard
and a Friday night poker game with unmarked cards
and cold beer, not much
but lots of laughter and such and such
and i'm driving a richer woman's nice car
she's telling me not to go too fast too far
but i'm the best looking guy in this whole damn town
and no matter what she says, i'll get around
ice man
coal man
living on the Front street, man
pulling those big blocks of ice
for their summer time party chill
she tells me i could just melt away
but i know i never will
living on the Front street, man
hauling tons of black coal dust
not for fun
but because i must
she tells me i could just burn away
but i'll be here for at least another day
ice man
coal man
working by the dirty road, man
flipping my lonely coin into the free air
i'm not going anywhere

62

talk about Silvio
mostly Italian
drifts on the garlic air
crossing the Mediterranean
to the little island of Cyprus
but in Seoul the Han River
was crossed more than once
by armies crazy in mad pursuit
of Victoria's Secret
and the latest quarterly report
of positive earnings, i'm told
the outlook was good
the gypsies of Romania
still roaming
having babies at 10
play cards
cheating at seven
hawking illusion on the Pont Neuf
one leg wooden
one crystal eye
a showman and a thief
picking the pocket of any hitchhiker
braving the crowds on St. Marks Square
looking for Napoleon
crying in his royal palace
as the rains came to flood the stone
life was never the same again
for Lewis and Clark on the Missouri
searching for the Pacific sky
reading TIME magazine by the Columbia River
and retiring at 62
before Marilyn Monroe lost her skirt
over the windy grate she smiled
and the Hollywood musical had a rebirth
working the high clouds
above Grindelwald
under the Eiger where lovers marry
with their bright eyes
drinking steamed coffee
planning their next hike
without the United States Supreme Court
dark robes inside an empty office
unable to find a map
Isaac Stern tuned the sweet song
the students played in Tiananmen Square
as Chinese tanks fired their diesel motors
while the moon rose over a simple flower.

separate ways

buy me a car
i'll drive you to Philadelphia

where we'll float
along the Schuylkill
into the hills
high above Manayunk

we'll pitch my tent at Valley Forge
the camp fire will warm us

George Washington slept here
with our nation's flag
sipping coffee near the turnpike
the chocolate donut uneaten in his hand

i'll smoke a pipe in my red robe
you'll answer your cell phone
while the tourist stands on a cannonball
saluting the Revolutionary Army
invading the King of Prussia Mall
pushing their shopping carts
in front of the angry eyes of security

and the car could be any model you choose

a mini or a maxi or a big blue suede Cadillac
with bull horns angled on the front bumper
reminding us of the wide open spaces
long gone

but maybe in our memory

we'll go our own separate ways

i'll pull up my stakes
you'll put on your Indian dress and wear
the feather you found on a nature walk

the Delaware River might be a better place
for me to go, i said

you said i should hurry
the tide was about to change

sitting in the front row

Sun is dumb
rolling in a barnyard
chicken feces and cow dung
scattered in straw
the mud
the broken rows of corn
with footprints searching for a foot
the foot searching for an inch
the inch searching for a worm
the worm tight in his little tunnel
surfing the net with a terabyte
instead of an overbite
i saw the rooster on his fence
sipping a mug of whiskey
mostly empty
reading the Atlantic magazine
a smudge of ruby lipstick on his cheek
watching the gray squirrel
scratching closer to the oiled black sunflower seeds
in an eastern Pennsylvania breeze
overhead in the cold air
the scrawny hawk
with his GPS map
wearing aviator glasses
looking for a hero just for one day
found a dead rabbit on the rural road
but he was hoping for a lover
a large group of cattle
puzzled-looking large brown eyes
shuffled across the wide open field
of fast food fat green grass
and watched the cars
looking for America
the cat
his jacket oh-so-casually
tossed across his right shoulder
gazing curiously
adjusted his iPod to the Bee Gees
the chipmunk
leaving a note before walking off the stage
waved to the singer
sitting in the front row
and sleeping.

anymore

if you don't think you're killing me
why are you crying on my pillow
near the darkened hallway
with your jacket on the floor
and i can't take it anymore
the dog is walking by my feet
another one is dead along the street
near the stop sign where you handed me
a cigarette
already lit
and placed it in my mouth and smiled
but i refuse to be beguiled
there was a large canvas on the wall
full of color
where serious philosophy
dripped like wet paint onto your fancy dress
hiding your caress
and peeled away the shine
you can't call me just anytime
the bar was happy the beer was cold
people laughing young and bold
i ate my salad watched you walk
with a little skip
across the grassy field to the studio door
and i can't take it anymore
i smelled the perfume on your wrist
and told you it was beautiful
i tried to kiss your smile
but you told me it wasn't real
how was i supposed to feel
i heard you went to visit your mother
you're not crazy about doing it
but it's not such an unexpected chore
i just can't take it anymore

commander of the faithful

Mullah Omar
how many young girls
did you satisfy
worshipping inside Kandahar

with your long beard
covertly pressed
and unsheared

against the sad window glass
missing every class

cracking under the afternoon weight
of narrow-minded hate

and how many sensitive folds
did you manage to count

was it a forward-leaning
or a backward mount

holding your penis
like a mathematical genius

looking at the sad night sky
watching the brilliant planet Venus
flying by

rising high over Afghanistan
like a troubled man

waiting for tomorrow
while sipping a perfect glass of sorrow

on your way to the frontier
a burning memory and a tear

a half look back with your single eye
and not a mother fell down to cry

Mullah Omar
if you're really dead
buried in a simple shed
you won't be back to Kandahar