maybe renaissance

maybe renaissance
maybe a dance
but on the first night
i woke up
i was in a moonstruck trance
sitting on the wall of an older house
i saw the shadow of a running mouse
he kept looking at me
i wondered what he hoped to see
i wasn't angry or uptight
but i wasn't filled with delight
it was still my first night
i had many long hairs
several romances and lasting cares
i slept in the room upstairs
where i took many rests
i phoned imaginary loves and greeted guests
i couldn't toss a pillow
but i found a modern fight
maybe renaissance
maybe a dance
but on the first night
very drunk
i grabbed my hand and packed my trunk
stood on my head
it's what the instruction book once said
what more could i have done?
went looking for a party to have some fun
to uncork a bottle and to come undone
i came up with some kind of costume
skipped a beat or two and sang an artistic tune
overheard
a discouraging word
but i kept it out of my mind
see, i'm not an anarchist
i went looking simply to be kissed
put on my best suit and seductive tie
saw a woman looking me in the eye
i thought i'd wait for awhile
i saw her smile
maybe this would become the start of something new
what more could i do?
i heard her whisper and say "It's you!"
maybe renaissance
maybe a dance
but on the first night
i woke up
i was in a moonstruck trace
she gave me money but i wanted to dance
she offered me respect
but i wanted love
i could hear the running mouse
he was in the great room above
and there were a great many more
underneath the bedroom floor
i went looking for the open door
when i felt the wind blowing on my face
felt no disgrace
put a foot in the street and another one in my mouth
headed south
maybe this would become the start of something new
what more could i do?
i heard her whisper and say "It's you!"

pay attention to grief

when my words seemed indifferent
hit my chin and the floor
i couldn't find a reason
to stay around anymore:
it wasn't impossible to see!
she tossed tears in the air
they splashed on the new carpet
made a mess of my hair.
i might have stayed focused
offered hugs and a drink
but acting so dumb
i forgot how to think.
in the warm shallow waters
of absorption with Self
i settled like dust
on a library shelf.
unwilling to reach out
or unable to feel
but regardless of cause
i became the true heel.
now everyone listen:
pay attention to grief
if feeling inadequate
turn a new leaf.
comfort the wounded
tend to their pain
your offer to listen
gives them much more to gain.

looking for a star

she would never call my name
when i was standing on the street corner
looking for a taste of sweet shame
and i finally found a tasty bite
it was the middle of a lonely night
i heard a dog howl
there was a chill to the air
i went looking for an envelope but found an affair
what would i do now?
the next time i looked at the ticking clock
i found myself on a different neighborhood block
and the woman stayed in the passenger lane
i thought they said sunny but all i felt was rain
there was a lot of traffic roaring and making noise
i looked in their windows filled with strangely funny toys
i used to play with making up and making out
a woman smiled and said she liked to shout
we'd soon be in the back seat holding hands
listening closely all we'd hear were the electric bands
don't get too excited i liked to say
we'll soon be traveling to another town
maybe i'll be able to put some longer roots down
and maybe we'll find another place to stay
i've been thinking about those days now long gone
they're so far out of reach and out of touch
i don't want to say too much
after a bad first part i'd like to repair my open heart
but i'm not a doctor i'm a happy priest
or a follower of things divine at least
i'd like to think so
standing on the road-side curb i have to ask again
is this the right way to go?
what more is there for me to know?
maybe i'll try the famous Texas Two-Step in Amarillo
but what if i'm too small?
because that cowboy dance expects everyone to be tall
i used to know how to do the twist and the jitterbug
now all those steps are being swept underneath the memory rug
only an old man can say he's gone fishing
when what he really means is he's gone to the well wishing
looking for a star
when a woman came walking up and said "I know who you are!"
last time I saw myself
i was driving away with her in my antique car
and we stayed in the passing lane
i thought they said sunny but all i felt was rain
and if i could
i'd do it all over again without the convertible top
giving no thought to slowing or coming to an early stop
bouncing over rough washboard roads
into a soft resort town
maybe we'll be able to put some longer roots down.

on the new train

on the new train
i took the evening ride
there was a hot and hungry woman
and i sat by her side
she was playing with her face
sipping a chilled white wine
and out the nearest window
everything was looking fine
i asked for her name
i was feeling pretty cool
she gave me a curious glance
and she called me a fool
so i took my book and laid it down
i gave her a frown
but i was determined
not to make an unkind sound
all the passengers close by
fingered their evening meals
i asked her for the reason
but heard only the passing of steel wheels
the conductor studied my ticket
said my stop was coming soon
i kept looking out the window
and kept seeing the full moon
it's a place i wish to visit
i'd be the man in the night sky
there'd be no reason to worry
there'd be no reason to cry
the train kept moving forward
so i picked up my book
there was a hot and hungry woman
but i didn't dare look
i knew an end was fast approaching
my heart in pain
i thought i should say something but
there was nothing more to gain
another stop and whistle blow
straight lines are easy to follow
another station and soon another page
i got up and walked off the stage
carried my luggage and carried my book
there was a hot and hungry woman
but i didn't dare look
i wasn't looking for a romance
i didn't want to be a tramp
and when the darkness tried to swallow me
i pulled out my lamp
there was a cheap room at the motel
a rented key for the door
there was a hot and hungry woman
but i didn't need her no more.

the longest nipple

the girl with the longest nipple!
i asked her what it was all about
but she ran out of the house
i can remember her departing shout.
that nipple was longer than my neck
and skinny like an old farmer's mule
i tried each night to measure it
but never found the proper tool
you know, it was an anomaly
as different as night is from day
a friend once asked how it compared
and i couldn't find the exact word to say
a nipple like a spaghetti noodle
but cold and totally indifferent
it never showed the slightest shiver
regardless of how much time i spent
and before she ran tripping into the street
her nipple in her hand
i sucked it down my open throat
in an effort to more fully understand.

I have a dream

i'm sitting on the floor
a raven repeating "Nevermore!"
there's a mounted white knight
a black man is swinging high
all through the night
i can see them from my porch
the light is from a torch
i'm in my more formal wear
something somewhere
it's got to matter
but my head is growing fatter
i'm hearing commanding shouts
emptied of all doubts
i see a bloody stream
there is no sign of a dream!
what does it mean?
i'm sitting on your face
urging myself to pick up the pace
but this is not a race
i'm walking down the hall
someone's trying to recall
a cotton-picking thing
i hear a soulful parent sing
there are sweat-stains on their pants
i can see them when they dance
there's a damn hot summer sun
someone's got a gun
i'm sitting on the floor
a raven repeating "Nevermore!"
there's a mounted white knight
a black man swinging high
all through the night
i'm in my more formal wear
something somewhere
it's got to matter
but my head is growing fatter.

to Cubism & beyond

and he had a secret life:
it was both a cut above
and a cut below
the powerful knife
like a bull who carved women
who would jump in fascination
or walk
or swim
or pose for a portrait
because the bull would draw
more than a short hard gun
if he could get it!
with his bold eyes consumed with gaze
he went looking for The Four Cats
but only had a single drink
when after many days
blue became a brush stroke for cold
and death and they'd drip from the edge
of newly stretched canvas
trimmed in leaf of gold
and he enjoyed seductive summer nights
with two or three French layers
mostly fantasy behind a mask
of curious insight
into the darkness of Spanish art
wherein a black African dance form
emerged like abstract Barcelona.
and he had an insatiable heart
which kept beating past the death
of many loved ones
including a first wife
who blew her last breath
after the Second World War
and famously was heard from no more!
and he had a lovely smile and hunger
for an athletic girl
who became yet another muse
though much younger
and he eventually had a bell which bled
and he smoked like exploding bombs
do on a war-ravaged street
where a child might be found dead!
and he would remember the valiant peasant fight:
a mother screaming in agony;
he heard her anguished words
long before losing his own brilliant sight
in 1973
when he died in Mougins, France
saying "Drink to me!"

Mistress Addiction

she will bury you all
put you underneath a permanent ten ton wall
and when you think morning will come to call
it's nightfall:
Mistress Addiction
come to hold your lonely hand
she gives such sweet and simple pleasures
it's impossible to understand

she carries her heavy gun
that no one has ever been able to outrun
and when you think there's a good chance you'll have fun
you're undone:
Mistress Addiction
come to hold your lonely hand
she gives such sweet and simple pleasures
it's impossible to understand

she won't provide a clear eyed view
she keeps her sights set directly on you
and when you think you know what she wants to do
foolish you:
Mistress Addiction
come to hold your lonely hand
she gives such sweet and simple pleasures
it's impossible to understand

there's a puzzle mark on your forehead
it's too late to remember what she once said
and when everyone else has gone to bed
you are dead:
Mistress Addiction
come to hold your lonely hand
she gives such sweet and simple pleasures
it's impossible to understand

2 drops of water

i'm 49
and WILL
soon be 72 years of age
i'm ready for the next page
of astonishing images
representing the human body
and the potty
where yellow isn't the coward
that Noel was
when he slept on a fat mattress
playing electric bass
and meeting experienced people
who kept their pulse
inside a well-seasoned wallet or a stylistic purse
either of which could be found hanging in an art gallery
in New Jersey, USA.
the images i saw in my childhood
include the red-backed sofa in a small living room
underneath which was found
tomato soup spilled like Rothko paints
on the cheap carpet threads
and simple hard beds
and baby peeps unable to fly
dropping fast without a sound to steel steps
descending sharply to the Mediterranean Sea
for their non-stop service to Barcelona
and instead of dead within the hour
they became a white center leading to the Rockefeller Center
and real ice
which for a young explorer was especially nice
shaded from blue to pink
like a jumping rabbit in my neighborhood
holding a rose in his mouth to better think
i led a horse by the neck
climbing from the smoking galley to the upper deck
to find the ladies in a brothel
who spoke Vietnamese with a fluent ease
as i kneeled to my knees
and saw the massive oversized ears of a girl
who lived in Paris with her girlfriend
although she was in constant hiding
like a distorted cube
in shades of muted grey and brown
stripped down and streamlined
an hour glass figure
there in the mix with an accordion
making music with scraps of metal and wood
odds and ends
folds and bends
when this becomes that
the three dancers become grotesque
and i could just about recognize myself
ripped apart by a brutal civil war
jagged grief and childless
on the narrow road to a bull fighting studio
where overhead beams and white-washed dreams
provided sanctuary near the French Riviera
on a tall bed
onto which i jumped
to find my hand holding the strongest one of hers!
at 85 i will feel
more fully alive
than i ever did at four:
we will lounge on the warm sandy shore
the dove of peace flying like a soft balloon
overhead
without wearing hat pins
we'll laugh at the sight and our grins
will spread like female legs often do
when welcoming a favorite lover.

everybody must get stoned, again

inside the nude museum
black glasses and thicker lens
mixed with paint and Bic pens
large abstract openings throughout the night
words illuminated by gallery light
clinging boys
plastic toys
the rough trade on a sharp blade
cut thick and thin in several ways
dramatic artists staging plays
popping women in pink shirts
tight pants blond brunette bouncing flirts
sixty lines of unexplained white dope
solitary chairs hanging from an urban rope
elaborate billboards of shock and awe
drawings of cocks and cunts and Andy Warhol
looking through the hotel picture window
New Yorker dust and crystal blow
trapped fish in a London bar
hip elegance dinosaur tar
a great winged Egyptian moaned
everybody must get stoned!!!

bright green door

saw you on a talk show
guess you didn't know where else to go
hiding behind a bright green door
don't come knocking around here no more
i found your walking shoe
and didn't know what exactly i should do
there were scuff marks on my bedroom floor
don't come knocking around here no more
whenever your name is mentioned
i hear the sounds of a fight
whenever the sun is shining
i dream of a long lonely night
 while i remember a famous song
it kept tagging along
everyday i would sing the word
the one i often heard
when you were nearby
now all i do is cry
as i remember a famous scene
you and i danced in a most wonderful dream
and there we stayed
we probably should have sat down and prayed
there was nothing more to do
i found your walking shoe
there were scuff marks on my bedroom floor
don't come knocking around here no more.

no gold was in the rainbow pot

leave it to the blind dog
still walking in a cat-like fog
city sidewalk and big brown spot
surrounding lies and an empty parking lot
but no gold was in the rainbow pot
damn blown trash and a Memorial to Mr. Lincoln
when the Raven said "Not today"
what more could he honestly say?
nearby a cell phone rang
yellow tweety bird swallowed and sang
the cartoon cat with his fine top hat
wearing no excess body fat
angry at cage walls and metal bars
rush hour traffic cars
the mice kept eating crumbs and cheese
President Jefferson begging "Please"
when asked by close friend Sally
if he wanted extra Virgin toast and tea
but she kept yearning to be free
a sudden knocking on their door
the dogs all barked
outside an ominous black car parked
inside the Rumford fireplace burning hot
city sidewalk and big brown spot
surrounding lies and an empty parking lot
but no gold was in the rainbow pot.

catching my eye

hey, drummer, give me a clue:
a pretty symbol or a wooden stick?
and if you can't go that far
would you nurse me if i got dreadfully sick?
if i saw spiders crawling on the floor?
big black beauties crawling on a city street
asking for something Korean to eat
for both rich and the pitifully poor?
say, drummer, there's a sun bleeding in the sky;
it's underneath an old moon molesting the tide.
a glamorous woman is hitchhiking a ride!
she held my hand while catching my eye.
hey, drummer, keep keeping the beat,
tapping your feet.
watch this story unfold:
it's been a long time a'coming;
it's time the truth be told.

a very small bed

and a woman said i was
her honey
at first i thought she said
my money
she was a dancer in the big city ballet
until an injury
i worked backstage and could
get into performances for
free
but was paid too little after all
was said and done
she shortened it to Hon
but it didn't matter
she kept getting fatter
as i kept getting older
i said i read my last book last night
before lights out
she asked me what that was all about
and i felt my age
when i tried to turn a page
but turned my back, instead.
we were in a very small bed
she had a very large ego
on the soft pillow
and i should know
it kept pushing me to the floor
where a cat and a dog slept
they both wept
when i joined them there,
yes, sometimes it doesn't seem fair.

Jimi sang

took my woman by the hand
listened to an English band
the Hendrix Experience
i asked and she said
stay in bed
sip herbal tea
she played with me
i smoked a little
played with my fiddle
heard Voodoo Child
got unruly and wild
felt a wet kiss on my belly
ate dry peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches all night long.
i know the drummer ended the song
with a long harangue
i know Jimi sang
i think he moaned
but i was simply too stoned
to tap my foot
i took a tiny puff and put
a piece of candy on my tongue
heard the colors being sung
saw a yellow banana fly
i didn't wonder why
it's what bananas sometimes do
my hand became a shoe
and i walked on water.
wouldn't you, too?

when your eyes grow dark

when your eyes grow dark
after a stroll in Central Park
flip your mental switch to rock
what more can i say?
it's time for a personal holiday!
so whip the backseat stranger
hiding behind your
avant garde mask,
being brutal with each spoken word
make every step become a stooge
jumping over engraved tombstones
going from beautiful person
to beautiful person
carrying a superior air
escaping boredom
like a twice-married virgin groom
dressed in classic furs
pissing behind closed doors marked clearly His and Hers
spitting needles and spitting blood
spinning your winter tires in summer mud
going nowhere fast...
watch the cars speeding past
their blinking neon lights double parked
on 39th street where fancy girls are plainly marked
one femme fatale wore straight blue jeans,
a pretty tissue pushed up her nose,
she punched her ticket to watch the famous sex shows
filled her pockets with petty change
found on the sidewalk between her cracks
where bulldogs once chased a hairy kitty.
a public toilet sink
gave her a wink;
she flushed her face;
the man with a baggie on his head
gave her a kiss;
at midnight
she dropped to her knees;
a small wallet,
several keys,
and a puff of smoke
awoke the neighbors before
a yellow cab drove her out of town.

to proud to beg

i was
pushing a dead weight
and lifting The Bell Jar high over my head
my sheets felt counterbalanced and
unmade on top of my bed
i painted my lips red
a pillow fluffed inside my studio
i listened to the radio talking about a Texas rodeo
a breeze arrived from the deep south
i took a friendly woman
and i kissed her on the mouth
she had traveled from the country
a hundred million miles or more away
and she asked me if i loved her
and i knew exactly what to say
and every time that i indulged her
she asked for a lengthy rest
she kept losing her interest
but i continued to give it my best
then my arm chair suffered a breakdown
it could no longer sit still
i watched her carry it away
over the crest of the nearest hill
and that was the last time that i saw her
i kept searching for some advice
i wondered "Should I have followed?"
but i couldn't go there more than twice.
i soon found myself at a gravesite
saw my arm chair discarded without a leg
but the caretaker wanted a small fortune
and i was too proud to beg!

sugar plum fairy

sugar plum fairy
inking over a tattooed chest
street-wise and hairy
wearing a Halloween vest
baby carries the ultimate hurt
underneath a big bright banana-colored shirt
going down on his own self-made path
one Saturday night i watched him take his first and only bath
along with Sue
who seemed to know exactly what she wanted to do
waiting for the Man
inside a wide-mouthed trashed out garbage can
they felt the rush of new blood
a feeling like a wind-swept Noah's flood
and speeding taxis kept speeding past
they thought the insane kisses would always last
next thing i saw was the very next night
i woke inside a flash of brilliant white light
my eyes were in a nearby emotional state
i must have known it was getting late
and the road would be hard and tall
along with Paul
who seemed to know exactly when this house of cards would fall:
the police cars drove up at four
a rock and roll animal was found dead on the floor
at five the party was still hot
everyone who came was looking for exactly what they got
in velvet undershirt the poet watched TV
the dancer tip toed from sea to shining sea
the guitar player made a mad dash
the banker swallowed his whole load of petty cash
and sugar plum fairy
inking over a tattooed chest
read the last page of the book he liked the best.

inside a box

i could be a shut in
adrift inside a box
you could reach for me
we'd become a paradox
crossing the nearest crowded street
we'd finally be allowed to meet
the storm clouds would disappear
i'd dry your final tear
would we have anything more to fear?
well, i don't think so
looking out my future window
i'd see busy needles and a single bed
images of worker bees; everyone wearing red
intersection signals, sisters, brothers
designer heroin pause and shudder
like maple syrup dripping in the air
sweet body odor and sweet despair
crowd sourcing on a Manhattan bus
watching in amusement all the fuss
and early Friday we drove into overtime
cheap champagne, cigarettes, more red blood wine
a white light to blind my soul
naked bathers urging me to come and go
i found you sitting on the corner of Fifth and Third
the strangest sight i ever heard
a French girl she couldn't have been five foot two
a playwright sipping from his artistic shoe
no religious signs; no eulogy
he stood up and started chasing me
i could be a shut in
adrift inside a box
you could reach for me
we'd become a paradox
crossing the nearest crowded street
we'd finally be allowed to meet
the storm clouds would disappear
i'd dry your final tear
would we have anything more to fear?

it swings open

from the upper deck
the view was lovely
there were tangerines everywhere
and apple pie with cinnamon and other spices
even
orchids scented the air
with their cascades of colorful flair
when
a guitar player walked nearby
i could almost hear her cry
she shuffled past with curious sharps and impending flats
amid some applause and a scattering of tipped hats
her fine black hair and scared eyes
with a song about men and their eventual lies:
hmmm, what would they do for ultimate pleasure?
eye the flight of a bird or dig for buried treasure?
well, if that was all she had
it was all very sad
like the shadow of a pink elephant
and you want it to fly but it can't
her hand manipulated the many strings
my hand grabbed the doorknob and it swings
open.

opening a new door

in the studio
your chic outfit hung on my wall
a week or two later
it remained suspended
unwrapped and naked,
upended
like a secret love
in chains
and it remains
underneath a black light
pinned
inside the dead of night
and in the daytime, too,
a foot without a shoe
walking across my back
inside a tight caress
a braided rope like a vagina-like harness
unleashing a sexuality
for hours and years
of sweat-stained sheets and fears
and the masterpiece
walking around the bedroom
where no window held a view
it wasn't only i
it was you, too
agape with your wide mouth up in smoke
and your fingers up my ass
from where i can see your silhouette
trying to get everything you can get
and a larger one of me
holding the great key
opening a new door
lovemaking on a frozen floor
with an eye at the end of my penis.

what they had once remembered

into the Welcome Hotel
the guests emptied one by one
in a stately procession of inebriation
and exhaustion,
an occupation which did not interfere
with their daily jobs
of acting like bitches
about everything modern.
of course they colored themselves in a
favorable light:
often very witty and gay,
they laughed round-the-clock
and smeared candle grease on the floor
with bits of ribbon and torn cloth.
exhaling the cigarette smoke of
Western civilization,
the party-goers noisily turned out the remaining lights
and began to fight among themselves,
punching at reasonable suggestions for rest
while struggling with their balance.
suddenly, a young girl with beautiful blue eyes above her Greek nose
held her big breasts up to the high ceiling
and physically pushed them out of sight
into the waiting mouth of a hungry lover,
and her ass disappeared into the floor
before the astonished crowd
could understand what they had once remembered.
the sight was intimidating and terrible
and it lasted but mere seconds,
and in that brief time an entire world disappeared
along with everyone who kept acting
excited and yet were completely unfulfilled.

a shiny Lincoln head penny

the lady with the flying hair
brushed past me on her way to the mountain top
she flew while i took a cab
it was slower for me and took many months
traffic was heavy at times
the noise of city cars and loud conversations
were easily heard and became unnerving
even from inside the cab which was painted yellow
probably long years ago
and the dark leather had faded into a wrinkled
mess much as my face soon would, so
one day the rain was soft on the windshield
and i made great progress hurrying forward
but the next day the winds blew my cab backwards
and i asked the driver to stop at a safe place
so i could get out
and begin walking
for a long time i walked on broken pavement, so
fiddling, i found a coin in a small pocket i rarely reach into
it was a shiny Lincoln head penny
i looked at him several times before i realized
he had a full head of hair
but it was not flying hair
even though he has a great reputation for fairness.
i should have flown to the mountain top
with the lady
but i'll get there
it will take me a while longer
and i still have the coin, rubbing between fingers,
and maybe if i let it grow,
my hair will fly.

the man who nailed his hands

the man who nailed his hands

wore a seat belt while hanging from the cross;

it was a Friday afternoon.

all his pretty ladies wore red

when the dancing began

and wine corks were popped.

in Paris, angry gunmen went to

a concert where the Pretenders

were singing popular love songs.

nearby in Brussels, only the small roads

were made of cobbled stone.

during the ensuing night festivities, lipstick

was smeared on many writhing bodies,

powdered faces blew kisses to unseen footsteps.

silently, a pair of bloody hands threw a black book,

which hit an innocent couple who were wandering

inside a verdant garden looking for a lost pet.

the following Saturday morning, a crowd gathered to watch the game.

no one was seen keeping score until it was finally over,
by which time all the streets were turned to stone
and the arguments began.