fear of loneliness

the bedroom with the two brass bedsteads was empty
and i was all alone but not free:
there is a price to be paid
if you want to join in my captivity.
i am less neat than a folded plain white napkin
and have no trouble with solitary ways.
i come from humble origins but love food
and drink red wine on most days.
loyal to a fault i would follow you like a puppy
with my tongue touching the floor.
if you showed a serious interest in my poems
i'd sit you down, smile, and lock the door.
i'd sketch a watercolor on your skin.
i once preferred a woman with special looks
but physical qualities mean less to me
than a lady who admires her books.
it's certainly true that i'm a fool with time
and it escapes me how to watch my money
as one second it performs an act of contrition
and the next begins anew with something funny.
i want to touch and walk into the woods,
enjoy discussing events of our world's history
but there is a price to be paid
if you want to join in my captivity.

another hit of blow

i  watched her read a poem
she said it was a letter
it wasn't until she got some nerve
that i could hear her better
she said she felt a little down
realized she had nowhere to go
there would be no exceptions
she took another hit of blow
she regarded herself as an artist
her anger had no limit
she offered me a small sum for my love
but she would have to win it
and out of courtesy to a fellow traveler
no one was at fault
it proved to be impossible to
bring her advances to a halt
i didn't want to meddle
i watched her hold a sign
it appeared the words were all misspelled
she told me it was mine
we moved to the Upper East Side
no charges could be brought
i heard her scream for rescue
at least that's what i thought
a boxer pounded with his fists
and a dog peed on her shoe
if there was money to be made
she knew this wouldn't do
i watched her out of compassion
she suffered from the start
but she sang my favorite song again
once more and with heart
she said she had a sweet affair
the man was a recluse
the more he tried to chain her up
the more that she felt loose
she said she felt a little down
realized she had no where to go
there would be no exceptions
she took another hit of blow

but hey Donnie!

but hey Donnie!

not Casper the Ghost or Lonnie

not hey Jude

'cause you were always rude

a mean and miserable dude

hey Donnie!

you dug a pretty big hole
& it might have been a war hole
or a hot piece of heavy ass hole

who can know which way you tried to go?

when you thought you were a big time dime

i thought you were a waste of time

but the candy girls thought you were sweet
they sucked up close on easy street
they rolled juicy joints on your factory floor

asked for money and you gave them more

you told them it was nice 

but they said you were ice

but hey Donnie!

not Casper the Ghost or Lonnie

not hey Jude

'cause you were always rude

a mean and miserable dude

they wanted you in black leather pants
you wanted an hourly romance
they wanted you to act 

but you wanted them to dance

but hey Donnie!

not Casper the Ghost or Lonnie

not hey Jude

'cause you were always rude

a mean and miserable dude

you liked riding in your stretch limousine
longer than the biggest block of New Orleans

on an early Sunday morning
you could pop up without warning

posing for pictures without a point 
running hustles in every joint
parties rocking with hardly a pause
your friends all dressed like Santa Claus

or Mrs. Claus

whatever the age

it was all a stage

but hey Donnie!

not Casper the Ghost or Lonnie

not hey Jude

'cause you were always rude

a mean and miserable dude

so to justify fortune and fame

you've relied on a tin-horn name

to polish the unwashed masses

and make fun of their asses

you swindle and waddle and wade:

and your reputation is made.

but hey Donnie!

not Casper the Ghost or Lonnie

not hey Jude

'cause you were always rude

a mean and miserable dude

you were a master at this game

tinsel and tickle and fame

wearing a smile on your head
it wasn't so much what you said

hey Donnie!

not Casper the Ghost or Lonnie

not hey Jude

'cause you were always rude

a mean and miserable dude

you dug a pretty big hole
it might have been a war hole
or a hot piece of heavy ass hole

but hey Donnie!

Rosie

she took me out to the shack
i'm never coming back
and i'm never gonna stop
i'll stay until i drop
she's a little girl called Rosie
who put a rivet in my heart
i can feel her in the morning
and i can see her in the dark
she took me out to the shed
i'll stay there til i'm dead
but i'm never gonna die
i'm too love-struck that's why
she's a little girl called Rosie
who put a rivet in my heart
i can feel her in the morning
and i can see her in the dark
she took me down to the creek
we stayed there for a week
we went swimming all alone
i had her for my own

first names

first names
i paid dearly enough
but i must admit i liked your stuff
the smartest of the whole gang
and you wanted a ride in my Mustang
out of devotion it's a machine of perpetual motion
the first and second law
it started up quickly and broke your fall
you wanted to do what i asked you to
first names
everywhere in demand
together, with no one in command
the highway a distant road
you wanted to lighten a heavy load
the game of chance is so much less than mischievous romance
the first and second law
it started up quickly and broke your fall
you wanted to do what i asked you to
first names
and i paid dearly enough
but i must admit i liked your stuff

Blue Eyelids

i've never touched a woman
who wasn't a princess or a queen
and i suppose i started out very Spanish
but ended completely unseen
i once was thought to be European
another time considered perfectly Korean
with blue eyelids and drinking like a hole
i held a cigarette in each hand
and had a tattooed dove on every finger
it made me difficult to understand
these birds flew uneasily over a woman in red
her face of legendary beauty looked perfectly dead
shortly before her death, she gave me a bag of jewels
to buy a new dress
but i have to confess
i pinched her little mouth and kept the money
i bought a souvenir bayonet and jar of honey
so she sang a sad song
about all the men who done her wrong
the settling of accounts and broken jaw
she took her time and touched them all:
her lords and masters when the moon was full;
she took it in stride but i thought it cruel.
i kept a respectful distance watching from a castle tower
while her story unfolded
late into an early morning hour.
and i still remember that night:
i zig-zagging down the road aiming my light
trying to make it to the next scene
dreaming of a princess or a queen
without a royal kingdom or a spoiled child:
a woman who drove men wild.

where i came in

this is just where i came in
nose to nose and chin to chin
my feet inside these shoes and close to you
and if you want to hear more talking
let's get together and go walking
it's a special place
where we can maintain our pace
and it's still the same
if we're in full sun or steady rain
we'll have no reason to worry
and no reason to hurry
just a little hop, skip, and we're in each other's arms
sharing the tenderness of each other's charms
making out while we're making time
everything is lookling fine
this is just where i came in
my feet inside these shoes and close to you
i can tell you that this is everything i want to do
almost to the square in Heaven but not quite
but there can be no better view when you're in sight
this is just where i want to be
my feet inside these shoes and in your company
this is just where i came in
nose to nose and chin to chin
my feet inside these shoes and close to you

a 1968 Camaro

i had just bought a new car
a 1968 Camaro
when Martin Luther was shot
and Bobby Kennedy became the next to go
i heard the news reports
each evening they talked about a foreign war
they counted all the men who died
as though they were keeping score
they wrapped each soldier in a body bag
sometimes only pieces and parts
a letter was delivered to the family
guaranteed to devastate hearts
o damn, Sam, I'm in a big funk
getting higher getting sick of this shit getting drunk
kicking the can farther down the road
no, man, I can't carry this load
but my car stayed plenty mean
it roared and all four tires smoked
girls climbed in and drank cheap wine
got loose and joked
a folk singer rolling a stone
and a Beatle singing "Give Peace a Chance!"
one man said he respected women
another had his hand in her pants
and the moon shot became a long shot
while more bombs fell
i had just bought a new car
and i drove her all the way to Hell.
o damn, Sam, I'm in a big funk
getting higher getting sick of this shit getting drunk
kicking the can farther down the road
no, man, I can't carry this load

Table 4

come for me tomorrow in the bar at table 4
I'll be sipping from my whiskey glass
and waiting by the door
I'll be looking for your friendly face
the smile that lights your eyes
but I'm not waiting for a woman
who hides herself in lies
i've never liked the cheap disguise
you've worn with whos and whats and whys.

I'm reaching for the candle stick
a matchbox in my hand
the smoke making circle eights
i can never understand
rhythms from a local band
falling on my face
bright musical notes and voices
sliding by without a trace
and dancers swaying hit a beat
houselights sweep the floor
they're looking for a friendly face
to come walking in the door
but I'm waiting for tomorrow
sometime to pay my bill
the waitress whispers in my ear,
"It's clear you've had your fill."

come for me tomorrow in the bar at table 4
I'll be sipping from my whiskey glass
and waiting by the door
I'll be looking for your friendly face
the smile that lights your eyes
but I'm not waiting for a woman
who hides herself in lies
i've never liked the cheap disguise
you've worn with whos and whats and whys

Two soft eyes

she played a woman with a tambourine
to all the men yet seldom seen
two eager eyes and musical mouth
she started north and headed south
took her time and drove alone
in a rented dress she called her own
sitting closely by her side
the night time lover she hoped to ride
she thumbed his book and read a page
learned that love was all the rage
memories played her face at four
caught her looking out the door
she played a woman with an appetite
for all the men to grab a bite
her give-and-take and full-page smile
started fast and stayed awhile
she played a woman with a tambourine
to all the men yet seldom seen
two eager eyes and musical mouth
she started north and headed south
took her time and drove alone
in a rented dress she called her own

Heaven, it's a white wall

Heaven, it's a white wall,
a black satin sofa and a new football.
tossed into the mix a juggler doing primitive tricks
and a bed where I can get my kicks
far from the public square.
I find it best watching you from there.
into a coma
with a cook and maid and an Ivy League diploma,
a chauffeur and a nanny
with a sweet young fanny
on her towel near the beach,
never too far out of reach.
across the floors wild paintings of whores
pointing south to the famous exit doors
personally bought for a cheap nickle and a cent:
I've no money left for next months' rent.
It's not strange, it's the way:
there's so much confusion without a clue of what to do or say.
I've turned my pockets inside out
and found they've been filled with shades of doubt.
a broken string on a new violin,
a red guitar and shot of gin
heard 'round the world one happy night
to make a point about appetite.
Heaven, it's a white wall,
a black satin sofa and a new football.

Chasing Ghosts: Camp Lemonnier

Anne didn't know of the camps' existence
and probably never even heard of Djibouti,
but there it was, not too far from Yemen and
close enough to Somalia for easy pickings.
As soon as Rummy completed it, he knew it
was a masterpiece, a fighting outpost fit for his daily brag. 
Cheney, as savage as always,
also wanted to be where the action was.
Having outmaneuvered the CIA, he set his sights on stateless actors,
people who were about to disappear into his black hole and travel 
deeper into secret black sites hidden carefully inside his black ops world.
Rummy and Dick smoked their cigars, but W wasn't old enough to join them.
They wanted to kill:  to find THEM, fix THEM, and finish THEM.
In a sort of targeted killing, the killing began.
America had the best instructors in Seal Team 6 and 
Delta Force and the US Army Rangers and, shh, quiet, please. 
Initially, there had been some talk about interrogation, and water boarding
but that passed along with a digested supper and before nightly prayers.
The Joint Special Operations Command wanted to go further and they would.
Their clever lawyers worked up a plan to claim extreme action was within legal bounds.
Lethal drone attacks smartly flew from bases far from any American campus,
so student term papers could still be written in a sleepy atmosphere.
Anne didn't know who was piloting the planes,
but it couldn't be Captain John Yossarian, since he was a B-25 bombardier
flying from memories collected during World War II.
The cat fight between the Pentagon and the CIA continued as a small skirmish,
not liable to detract from the larger mission of giving prisoners
rectal examinations in the hope of finding weapons of mass destruction.
And body cavity checks were carried out and diapers worn
by members of the White House staff,
so they wouldn't need to urinate or defecate on themselves.
Congressional involvement?  The boys figured a workaround for that:
If there's any interference, kill'em.
This inability to understand the enormous historical resonance and relevance of
our dance with death is a failure of the current generation.
Someday, there will be no one left to say "I'm sorry."
Anne didn't know it would end this way.

Oh, say, can you see?

yogurt and chicken soup
on the floor with an old ash tray
amid traces of faintly red saffron-at least it looked that way-
it was all too taxing for me to stay.
black on a blue background
was a word in capital letters: SURPRISE!
with great energy it appeared before my eyes
naked of everything, including momentary lies.
and a funeral taking place
nearby but i didn't say a word
i couldn't hear what it was i thought i heard.
i saw a friend but he proved to be a bird.
he gestured swimmingly
held a fancy feather with a wink
of multicolored passion mostly clothed in hues of pink.
i had been an admirer, now didn't know what to think.
the audience whistled
and rushed into another fighting song.
i thought it was a religious hymn but once again was wrong.
in the short run i couldn't stay too long.
i am a pessimist
with dozens of umbrellas by my side
in my wretched apartment is everything i try to hide:
my library book about Copernicus and an unused TV guide

Picasso's Penis

Picasso imagined his penis
like an opium pipe
ready for stroking and sucking,
constantly ready to continue the quest
for his new goddess if she would promise
to swallow him like an aspirin.
for solace, he once painted a scene
as background for a famous ballet of a
massive horse head slightly smaller than his ego,
full of color with two sturdy testicles for ears.
in his studio he was the absolute master of any
situation involving female breasts, enlarging,
distorting, and playing with realism like a suckling infant
new to the sea and the sun.
once, when an idle princess asked for his autograph, he was
seized with disgust and drew her face as a black vagina.
she asked him about his idea of fashion and he said
it consisted of a bathing belle playing with beach balls inside his private cabana,
the curtain shut, her spacious mouth wonderfully open.

The sea was a blue wall

The sea was a blue wall
and I made off with it.
Watching me under the hot sun stood a brilliant boy
who sold me two pennies
for a dime.
He left me knee deep in poverty.
The full moon told me he was a visitor
that I could never lay my hands on,
but I wanted my change so
I approached him before the next war.
His mind didn't focus.
He muttered something about the rising sea
and I said I'd sell it to him.
He was a famously hard bargainer
and beat me down.
I sold him the sea for a small sum and
someone said that was a bad move.
Perhaps I should have donated it to the Louvre,
where it would always be protected.

What to do?

i only desired to live,
to enliven and to give
which is not a selfish thought.
into the final rounds i fought
as bullets and explosions of pique
stacked like flak high and neat,
went ripping past my face.
how can i maintain my personal pace,
sometimes at 25,000 feet,
without sounding a general retreat?
should i remove my Air Force oxygen mask,
i ask?
in the course of a fast life, i sometimes get carried away.
there's not much more to say.
while i never learned to ride a horse,
which is, of course,
a requirement for a rural cowboy,
i had a hard plastic one as a calvary toy
when i was foolish and young,
before any final song could be sung.
but i never think very far ahead,
satisfying myself entirely without thoughts of the zombie dead,
looking for, say, a fine pipe to smoke
often after i awoke,
imagining my bowl filled with tobacco and current news
i strike a match and pause one second before i choose:
should i use a porcelain toilet if the need arose,
or watch the sunrise while standing on my tippy toes
to get a better view?
What to do?

call me a fool

baby needed to be within reach of Paris
and i needed a new pool
i went swimming with all her gamblers
and they called me a fool
they took my money and gave me a raise
i stayed with them until my dying days
casting stones but they wanted praise

she had a fondness for poetry and morphine
and i needed a new fix
i went looking for a magician
and he taught me his tricks
he took my money and gave me a raise
i stayed with him until my dying days
casting stones but he wanted praise

babe opened her back door to the highest and low
and i needed a new dance
i went looking for a sweet young love
and she found me in France
she took my money and gave me a raise
i stayed with her until my dying days
casting stones but she wanted praise

she chose to spend her summer in an all-girl band
and i stayed in my hotel
i went looking for the doctor's room
and knew i wasn't well
he took my money and gave me a raise
i stayed with him until my dying days
casting stones but he wanted praise

Dachau: September 2013

A blue umbrella
with pink pants and a black shirt,
standing under an overcast sky
near rusted strands of barbed wire
and an empty watch tower,
listened as a heavy metal bell in a slow tempo
rang a deeply soulful sound
which could be felt as it
marched slowly across the roll call yard.
Other tourists made the visit and spoke in low voices.
The ghosts made noises, also; in urgent whispers
they held up bony fingers to draw attention
to the squat crematorium where a brick furnace
sat in stony silence under a domed roof where shadows could
be seen hiding like sad children far from home.
It was quiet now, the oven doors open and cold to the touch.
There was dried blood high on the wire outside and a work bench made of
wood inside a large room where bunk beds, stacked with military precision,
squeezed tightly together, equidistant from one another, row on row,
building on building, man after man after man and woman, too.
Outside this camp, the many adjacent homes were sheltered by healthy green-leafed trees
as continual explosions of purple petunias and red geraniums rioted underneath their windows like happy kittens purring and playing during another day in denial paradise.
A time ago, beginning in 1933 and lasting into early 1945, while skeletons and stench were hidden
from their view by flowers and trees, young neighboring kids went to school and
dreamed of becoming doctors and dancers, clergy and brew masters;
the parents dreamed of being left alone.
A memorial to the former prisoners stood with steel arms outstretched, bent, twisted, open mouths forged by imagined screams demanding to be heard, previously welded in dark sparks by an artist whose bright eyes  managed to see through millions of innocent tears.
"Never Again!", they said, expecting an answer from the living.

The Dolomites

For the several hundred people who regularly
read and follow this blog, I would like to remind one
and all that tomorrow, Monday, September 2, 2013,
I will be traveling to Cortina, Italy; my plans are to
trek the high mountain trails from valley village to valley
village for 7 days.  I will not have access to the internet,
although I will be writing.  Stay well, brothers & sisters.

that woman from Zanzibar

who's that woman in the car?
she looks like she might be from Zanzibar
she's the one gave me an island kiss
when i bellied up to her bar
i have to admit i thought she was pretty young
i paid for the right to show my tongue
but she grabbed her key and tried to leave
all i could hold was her empty sleeve
the band played before they went broke
i took another pull of a hell of a good coke
and the lady with her skills dressed up in drag
hit me another shot with her Gucci bag
if i could find my way without making grand detours
i'd get down on all fours
and if that hurts too much i'll get a new tattoo
of red hearts and a big blue suede shoe
in a tight circle singing Elvis slow
are each of the women who want to know
am i a thief or a circum-navigator?
a cocktail in a glass or a bloody traitor?
oh, one lady gave me pain and i bled
out of control for what i said
staking everything on just one card
she has me figured out so that makes it hard
with another shot of stiff morning rum
an afternoon whiskey and even some
ticket to ride or a naked smile
i won't be leaving here for awhile
who's that woman in the car?
she looks like she might be from Zanzibar
she's the one gave me an island kiss
when i bellied up to her bar

nothing

nothing
nothing nothing nothing
long live the lovely end of time
perhaps a naughty child could find a simple rhyme
nothing else will do
i smoked my last cigarette looking for you
and everything's up in smoke
i'm not a genius but i never got the joke
that's life nowadays
lost in a blur disguised inside a haze
nothing
nothing nothing nothing
long live the lovely end of time
i never found my fortune but i'll always have my dime
nothing else will do
i spent my last day on Earth thinking of you
and everything's up in smoke
i'm not a genius but i never got the joke
that's life nowadays
lost in a blur disguised inside a haze
nothing
nothing nothing nothing
long live the lovely end of time
your dress of diamonds i can not claim as mine
nothing else will do
i spent my last day on Earth thinking of you

3 in the morning in Paris

he wore a tie with a starched collar,

and told me a thousand times

not to holler.

it seems i have no heart

since into the arms of the city of Paris

i went for a new start,

in through a half-French door

i went mostly to settle an old score.

stuffing myself with drink and smoke,

i got down to business;

headed south, went broke.

got to the corner of a crowded square

didn't know what to do when i got there!

but before i died,

i mounted a high horse and replied,

"My dear friends, I'm watching the death heads go by."

they kept swaying past exhaling a heavy sigh

at three in the morning.

i felt as strong as a bull!

without a fair warning

my face was made up like a laughing-stock fool.

it began to rain a thin winter mist.

a grieving woman nearby said she had never been kissed,

and i saw red and she saw blue.

what more can a color-blind boy do?

i straddled her stairs and flew

sniffing and tapping my heels in the street,

completely out of the chill and into the heat:

a vulgar nuisance and a potential cheat.

i jumped into a passing taxi and the hard back seat

leaving the warmth for some solitary cold,

i saw statues of soldiers charging cannons;

they fell young and bold.

my great black Mercedes flashing chrome

i finally escaped Paris and headed for Rome.

oh, my love!

there's nothing to forgive, my love
i was simply entranced
i'm expecting to meet you tonight
in the southern part of France
but don't ever think
i had too much to drink
i was tempted to reply
to that look in your eye
you mustn't feel sorry for me
i saw what i wanted to see

the hurts you don't know how to take
i regret like a thief
they kicked me out of your dressing room
and they swallowed me in grief
but don't ever think
i had too much to drink
i was tempted to reply
to that look in your eye
you mustn't feel sorry for me
i saw what i wanted to see

oh, my love! what a dream you are
carrying flowers and jewels
advertising your kisses and pointing
to all the eager young fools
but don't ever think
i had too much to drink
i was tempted to reply
to that look in your eye
you mustn't feel sorry for me
i saw what i wanted to see

the Doctor will see you now

he was a strange madman
and i was shot up just fine
i'll tell you about it later
after another full glass of wine
yeah,
look at him dead asleep
a scandal in the afternoon
cats are dancing in the street
and dogs howling at the moon
yeah,
look at him in the hall
a burning eye for all the men
who thought he was irresistible
i never saw him laughing again
and that's in the past
behind the neighborhood door
the big Doctor with a golden chain
performs operations on the surgical floor
yeah,
and every time he came
i wondered if it was fair
snapping his handsome fingers
and shaking a foot in the air
yeah,
it could last forever
at his age he pays them well
keeping out the rain and bad weather
he'd rather be a buyer than sell
yeah