something clever

well, i did something clever today
sipped my wine without the cork
used the glass like a trampoline
bouncing until i couldn't be seen

and the top looked like the bottom
and the road looked like a sky
and the lines of paint on the V8 floor
disappeared so i asked for more

and bullshit formed on my running shoe
i scrapped it off inside the store
cranked the amp on a 10 foot pole
but didn't fall into your social hole

and told the bartender happy day
and removed my shirt and tie
i asked the lion in the zoo
but he refused saying "who are you?"

and with my pants around my head
i guess you're wondering how
and searched for the dirty little thing
didn't succeed but heard you sing

"hey stupid i found your forehead
it's rolling through the neighborhood
there's fault lines on your shiny car
now no one cares who you really are!"

well, i did something clever today
sipped my wine without the cork
used the glass like a trampoline
bouncing until i couldn't be seen

limp toast

bacon and lettuce
hiding inside limp toast
like Casper the friendly ghost
slipping down my throat
Guinness on the deck
aw what the heck
i'm checking out your neck
and don't see you looking
back at me
well, what the hell do you see?
it's what i need to know
picking at my ripe tomato
and eating cold french fries
listening to all your usual lies
bouncing off my umbrella
am i your god damn fella?
or just another silly joe
bouncing on his piano
licking the sharpest keys
chasing you on bended knees
hearing myself say "Pretty please."
well, take this microphone
to the center of the stage
escaping your princess cage
with your best dress on
my Guinness is completely gone
do you want to go to bed with me
or is this all a fantasy?
cooked shrimp and steaming rice
it once all looked so nice
an empty glass still full of ice
but ultimately i'm empty handed
without fuel supplies i'm simply stranded
so i pay the sweaty table bill
and walk away i've had my fill

if you wonder when i'm looking back
i never will.

so sorry

no, it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring

it never meant a thing
you skinny little bitch
doing coke-a-cola in a junkie ditch

yeah, i wanna know who's smoke
is hanging between your lips
hungry to please your hips

but you're cold

looking for some heat
taking everyone new you meet
and leaving them for dead

well, i ain't going down
into that coal black town

i'm looking for a piece of air
and i won't find it there

so sorry there's a needle in your head
but it's not my stick

you're making me sick
lashing whip on a hard afternoon
coming again but way too soon

no it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring

it never meant a thing
you skinny little bitch
doing coke-a-cola in a junkie ditch

kicking a habit out the door

thinking nevermore

yeah, i wanna know whos' tattoo
is on your ass smeared in blue

their name outlined in red
and i wonder what he said
and i wonder how you felt
as you watched his rocket melt?

did you crawl away with the score
or turn around to ask for more?

so sorry you've lost track of time
you once were a friend of mine

but i couldn't help

watching you melt

no it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring

you can't remember anything

white devil in black pants

you're a white devil in black leather pants

not so young anymore
still looking for hard romance

dancing on thin ice
still taking a chance

and when the boys come calling
you're still for balling

and when the lights go out
i can hear you shout

hey where did everybody go?
but that's not for you to know

you're the fancy girl at the rear of the pack
singing the blues with the Queen and her Jack

all you're ever doing is walking the street
smiling at tall the hunger you meet

breaking their hearts and all the rules
pointing a finger at passing fools

hoping in wonder for one big break
but unable to tell if it's true or fake

you're a white devil in black leather pants

still taking a chance

not so young anymore
still looking for hard romance

i'm watching you dance
still taking a chance

the small woman

she might have fallen
down the stairs

a broken neck killed her
no one cares

her hair once red
turned to stone

she became sharply bitter
left alone

she might have faded
into age

her romantic passions
simply rage

but brilliance there
came undenied

it doesn't matter
how she died

what you're bringing

it's time to
capsize

i'm drowning in your hurricane lies

abandoned on a sandy shore beside a tidal pool
you think i'm like Wonder Woman but who's the bigger fool

i've stalked this apartment floor in the sweat of a summer afternoon
counting down the seconds wondering if you'd be coming home soon

and a lonely bell keeps ringing,while my courage keeps on singing
it's not what i'm leaving with, so much as what you're always bringing

yeah, i finally looked under the scarlet rug and found the jungle key
and out of the doorway escaped none other than simple me

and i found a pretty boy who is more than just a pretty toy
he carries my heart inside his little wooden cart

and there are flowers with their petals watching how we dance
the garden path is wandering in a circle called romance

and a lonely bell keeps ringing, while my courage keeps on singing
it's not what i'm leaving with, so much as what you're always bringing

yeah, everybody thought i was just a crazy girl with a rose tattoo on her hand
as if i had no backbone to confront you and take a stand

why didn't you notice i was lonely for far too long
when time passing talked to me and wrote this sad love song

and a lonely bell keeps ringing, while my courage keeps on singing
it's not what i'm leaving with, so much as what you're always bringing

green tea

front stage
near the center board
purple haze in my eyes
hearing your exhausted sighs
helpless on the floor:

i can't lift you anymore.

green tea
cooling in my hand
a puff of smoke rises
as though it finally realizes
linger and you sleep:

it's just memories that i keep.

CO highway 70

an awesome hike
and mountain bike
Vail Pass
Buffalo and Quandry and Holy Cross
Copper
the Gore Range
Continental Divide
Keystone
A-Basin
Silverthorne and lake Dillon
Loveland
there is a reason
for high peaks
the meadow flowers
clear creek canyons
rushing water
wildlife
the fresh air
verdant
greenery
abundance everywhere.

lotus flower

i'm standing here
in my Christ suit
face pulled tight
none too cute
hands hardly bricks
playing hot licks
while another lover
makes me pay
i don't have time for that shit today
my mescaline mind
ain't worth a dime
floating over Cloud City
breaking my silence
seeking titty
at the traffic light
searching in August air
i see there
tight leather blond hair
hungry eyes
i surmise
wine glass
i'm raising the bar
thinking ass
when Moon comes closer
with her big bass drum
and her guitar
begins to strum
for over an hour
lotus flower
inside a big brown bag
on the sidewalk crack
she's offering me
her tempting snack
& i thought of the many places
i've used rope and laces
searching for truth
in and out of frenzied youth
when explosions in the sky
frighten my appetite
& you know why
sleepless in the night
i still open the door
an endless blast of endless war
is kicking at my memory door
i sit down hard
face the wall
wondering if
you'll ever call.

how we kiss

my Prozac fool
skinny little disco queen of nowhere
in your favorite cup of tea
you won't find me

carrying flowers to your birth
with all my teeth inside a cup
your cold dark eyes
still see shadows in the skies

i'm losing everything on Earth

my blue steel breast
sad sun prosperity lady
all i could hope to be
is something which you'll never see

a foreign beggar in a French lasso
finding pleasure by a camp fire dance
your black bear teeth
constantly grinding me into grief

i'm losing everything i know

between the hurried and the dead
there is no random sweetie talk
and so this
is how we kiss

continue to coast

Patsy was reading my book on the train to Philadelphia
at five o'clock in the morning

and i gave her fair warning
there would be clever turns of phrase
mostly stories of my younger days

i've come a long ways

since pulling pony tails and playing ball in a driving rain

my neighborhood was big but everyone had a name

and a place

we watched the first man journey to outer space

and i used to watch when people on a television high
heard the news

wearing factory shoes
they listened to modern American blues

thinking they had nothing to lose

their cars made of steel and chrome sang on the road
the world outside their windows always showed
their lawns were always mowed

but they didn't want to know the fatal game
assuming everything would stay the same

from our train window we saw true love slide
as the sun broke in the morning at 5

i  heard a conductor walking down my aisle
inspecting the passengers he managed a smile

he put all the tickets inside his vest
he wanted to get them off his chest

i saw him trade with Eleanor
she wanted less, he gave her more
it was very busy on the floor
not like it was ten thousand years before

now all the people devote their thought
to what they want and what they bought

an engineer waved to the passing crowd
his steaming whistle ungodly loud

the station appeared as we finished tea
and toast

the engine stopped

we continued to coast

but that's what i feared the most

Fire Eyes

i drove a jeep where a man shouldn't go
far from the high mountains of central Colorado

i took a taxi into a city of South Viet Nam
after a little man on a motorcycle planted a bomb

and i saw a wall where four once stood
and a bleeding boy cried it wasn't good

the small girl running down a country road
was in pain and on her face it showed

her dark eyes were on fire
and screams from her frightened mouth
kept shouting higher and higher

and in the morning paper
i read about her in their report
but they kept it surprisingly short

all the Vietnamese people, it said
were glad i was there
or they'd be dead
without a home, without a bed

lost in the heat of an Asian civil war
and they needed me, but what exactly for?

they spoke French and English and never once
said i should beware

there are things being broken here
which you can never repair

there are crazy men with crazy trigger fingers
and thick mad smoke which chokes and lingers

and hungry soldiers sit shooting the dawn
when the movie's over and the popcorn all gone

and i saw a wall where four once stood
and a bleeding boy said it wasn't good

the small girl running down a country road
was in pain and on her face it showed

her dark eyes were on fire
and screams from her frightened mouth
kept shouting higher and higher

and in the morning paper
i read about her in their report
but they kept it surprisingly short

i feel better

shades of blue
are covering me
making it impossible to see
what it is i'm supposed to be

you're wondering what i do the most
while acting like a ghost

wearing my watch and chain
it's never easy to explain
but if you misunderstood my intentions
you won't hear me complain

just don't call on me today
i've decided to move away
and if you think that i'm feeling better
that's not what i meant to say

i'm standing on a lovers' avenue
hesitating, but if i only knew
i'd find an impulse of the heart
and for that moment think of you

but
shades of blue
are covering me
making it impossible to see
what it is i'm supposed to be

The Horn of Africa

tiny puddles of time
bagged orange fishes
cold chicken wings
hot fast food dishes

ginger snapping fingers
drifting sea of life
traffic circle bunnies
Plastic Ono knife

streamlined high tech
replacement knee
One Market Under God
minimally invasive surgery

International Herald Tribune
interstellar light ray speed
disposable friendships
trajectories of greed

meaningless diagrams
theories of complexity
a colorful idiot box and
an artificial tree

management efficiency
deregulation finesse
cell phone galaxy
fetal position caress

Banana Republic
Ann Taylor breath
Liz Claiborne & Enzo Angiolini
Horn of Africa death

tiny puddles of time

Heraclitus

what is more important than a palette knife
when the evening becomes the first day
for an abstract mask of
whatever colors
you wish to smear
on your
face?

the red change will come
to the green cloud and the
yellow will sing
to the blue sky
with a photographic
memory
of fire.

many hands old and young
finding a role in
gravity feeding
the center of
each soul in
tiny fractions
of an ounce:

but change is the only
permanence,
Heraclitus said.

Kerouac

Kerouac
Jack
lit another dandy cigarette

his smoke exhaled loudly
speeding like a Pontiac Safari sports car
curling around her breast
for a full lap

the erect nipple passed some beat poet test

but he couldn't get his life back

so he spat alcohol on the floor
threw a Bat Man comic at the door
told everyone else to shove it
but they wouldn't hear none of it

so he went out on the road
to find what was behind everything that glowed

and it became an innocent page in a library book

now, no matter what you think or where you look

you just can't find him

Barcelona

The New York times came inside my room,
Her silent slice of genius
And laughter full of mirth
asking me "Is it time to buy some art?"

I could taste the sticky smell of seduction on her breath.

"Is it time to buy some art?"

Strolling to the nearest gallery with her
temptress fingers stroking my hungry palm,
I thought of Barcelona.

When the door opened, we could see a jazz quartet
playing music on an open stage.

Red wine was poured.

She asked to drink my lips.

I asked to drink her hips.

Nearby, a boy discovered that a girl could be more
Than just best friends
When his radiator hissed.
Presumably his motor was overworked.

But no one was dancing.

Inspecting the hanging art, she read my mind and heard
A song she could not sing.

But I had no mind.

And the song was an Andalusian tune the flute player was having fun
improvising.

His smile reminded her of Utrillo, she whispered.

That evening, we cooked Spanish rice.

We sipped good wine.

No, we bought no art.

We had our own paints to play with.

"Drink to me!" he said

With a clever cock
of the black beret
tilted casually
atop his famous head,
the plaid jacket with a gypsy smile
walked into the paradox.

There, the 4 Cats in Barcelona
wore blue bare feet
and spent some time
on a desolate shore,
ambivalent to all who lived.

When the whisper finally appeared
behind the lady's back,
a small square fountain
cooled the day
with magic rumors.

Her one eye black,
and one eye clear,
knew the green nails held an opium pipe,
and full ripe lips grew blissfully alive.

White-gloved butlers saw the show,
helped to spool the film and pour
some drinks.

The yellow spot became a sun.

The key to the door of a nearby cabin
was in his hand,
between the sea and the savage rocks.

Madonna and the whore
sat and played their instruments of war
while he made intense love
to the females on his bed.

His sword fight ended
in scandal when a silhouette was found.

Then, several little bugs crawled
on a fireplace wall
and the universe was illuminated.

Mountain View, CA

Mountain View
just for you
a book is resting on your table
left unread by lady Mable
she's the one you'll need to know
by loving softly head to toe
without an anxious awkward glance
you'll succeed inside her pants
but that's not important anymore
for when you close that bedroom door
what you'll get is what you've earned
that's what i've finally learned
just a simple human touch
it's not asking very much
and hearing what she said
will calm you in the bed
and you'll feel better
in your varsity sweater
So Mountain View
this is direct from me to you
and don't sweat the small stuff
know when enough is enough.

miss me

it's not like it used to be
as maybe you can see

not in the hours of daylight
or even late at night

when i hung the picture of your face
on the wall near my resting place

i reached to touch your hair
and when i looked
you were not there

and when i thought i couldn't miss
you walked away and took your kiss

so you don't miss me
confidentially

like the tango would miss a beat
or a hot rod might miss the street

it's not for certain in my heart
how this stop can make a start

when i saw your smile on Sunday
it was gone again on Monday

i reached to touch your hair
and when i looked
you were not there

The American Occupation of Iraq

Under cover of darkness,
the Assassins' Gate
displayed a terrible eye
and a commanding presence.

The watchtowers
and concrete blast walls
saw nervous travelers
coming in and going out to kill
or to be killed, black-smeared faces
or clean, some wearing helmets and others with hair.

In the first few hours
of my visit,
the atmosphere was physically cool;
it soon became intolerably hot, particularly
between the hours of ten and six.

During the day, an intense sunlight became a vivid,
shimmering yellow
which often washed the streets of happy life.

Soccer balls still bounced, but they made a heavy thud.

During the night, few slept peacefully.

Inside the Green Zone,
along the west bank of the Tigris River,
paper shredders sat ready while
truth and madness
grew fat wearing armored glasses,
playing cards and drinking American beer

Any dream of normal life became an intrusion,
as extraordinary happenings felt normal or
nothing would happen at all.

24 hours were never enough for a single day.

I once heard a bearded schoolteacher talk pointedly
about God while watching a man who was missing
his right arm looking at me as he slumped past, smiling.

The niceties of conventional life largely absent, no one
seemed to know where they were or how to get them.

Out of nowhere an AK-47 appeared, carried on the wind with dust and
dirt and the call to prayer, oiled and semi-automatic.

Nearby, a dead Iraqi was visible
in the shadows of the Baghdad zoo.

Other animals not yet dead
dreamed of suicide or living through yet another day.

Astonishing violence could sleep on many beds,
out in the streets, near the mosques, or on the beaches south of Basra
where modern tides experienced a steady flood of doubt.

beyond myself

i'll tell you how it is
about midnight
i turn out the light
and think of polka dots
and flowers
for hours and hours
i see the shadow on my wall
of another
invited under cover
the conclusion of this dream
is intense
so hence
there is body stretching
as i toss and turn
what can i learn?
i like polka dots and flowers
& night time dreams
and what it means
to see possibility
resting on a shelf
beyond myself.

mister nice guy

mister nice guy
isn't it such a nice sky:)
you've got that new tie

and tailored suit and shoes
i never heard you sing the blues
or argue with dissenting views.

clean sheets laundered well
you never meant to give them hell
did you ring the dinner bell

comfortably resting in your bed
on your ass but in you head
did you think your wife was dead?

mister good fellow
never an assertive angry bellow
why so fair and smoothly mellow?

could you show a woman truth:
leave your armored circus booth
and risk behavior deemed uncouth?

abstracts

abstracts
simple x's and o's
fancy red and tasseled yellows
those little black witches
cowboy riding baby blue stitches
the pink kitchen sink in the center of a great room
and a vibrant sunset in full cherry bloom
where an unknown gnome steals a golden flower
marking time inside his orange hour
and a lovely pear tree
by the heaving shore
my view is blocked by an open door
a foreign woman inside her silver cave
was painting landscapes with her favorite stave
as her good light quickly filtered down
it smeared her face with gentle brown.