Elegant in blue

strings his long bow

is concerned about

burghers eating burgers

while I, on the other hand,

am concerned about the dear.

Studying Barbara Guest

Those webs of value

programed

with heavy clock radios

of cobwebs

as we listen to the plants

and the flowers lie

detectoring each leaf so

that they sing to us by

command--only sometimes

they say "fuck you."

Manhattan

The police horses gallop
lonely as a loaded gun
inside my closet door
the neon's never ending glare
the surrounding rivers of
impossible dreams

Fit the bonnet, hot rod roadie,
peel away that rubber sun.

Me, I run- walk backwards,
lifting the hem of my hospital gown.

Where (and who) is the one
who never laid rubber, who
never smelled the stench of the sea?

I wonder
if the roof
will hold the sun up
long enough for me to
shine too

Dreams in winter,
impossibly green,
decorate the ornaments.

Threads of sand
curl slowly into
my footprints as
I walk this beach.

December,
my old wrinkles,
my not that old wrinkles,
a raisin sun peeks out.

The crash, the burn, the Phoenix,
rising from the ashes,
reborn from the ashes,
like love.

The arcs of
different shadows
will soon decorate
the falling snow.

"Weight Watchers"

I enter inches, I enter, I inch in, into
my cardboard box, the one with all the
interior mirrors, the one the color of
pumpkin pie. How many inches go around the
cardboard box? How many inches carry the
pumpkin pie? Notch in, notch out. I detour
to the old white headed mountain. (Love that
old white headed mountain.) Or I detour to
that old swan in the forest. (Love that old swan
in the forest.) Or I go back to that old pumpkin pie.
(Is it way to high in the sky?) Notched out, I call
the rain to order, set the table for two, make room
in my cardboard home.

Dreamer of dreams,
under the rifle tree
long lost the hunting gulls
and the iceberg to the sea
we will swim into that labyrinth,
share its baldheaded shine and
we will hatch that golden egg
when its rate is prime.

The dancing stars
will still ride white steeds
and perhaps find the rifles
after the lone rider sunsets

The moon,
filling my empty window
tawny yellow
glides like a shepards robe
plowed by clouds

They hang on a line
in a cold November wind
my red pajamas

1.Thanksgiving Day--
as we sit to eat
a corn flaky sun
tries to warm the
empty window boxes


2.Elusive leaf
now blowing in the wind
winters' snow will cover you

November throws long,
the short sun receives.
Who am I to change the game?

Walking in the rain,
my past a tugging fishhook
on a slender pole

warm flesh
in a darkened room
hark! the oldest trail

The Mums,
in tight formations
and gaudy uniforms,
quietly flank the library

Looking at Robert Creeley

Run
he sd
let the big ones in
they dream of us
got no rhythm
so run hard

"Art"

The wicker basket
surrounds scented, colored, soaps
I wouldn't dare use

Daylight streams thru
the bathroom window
as I carefully put the toilet
seat back down and watch
the sun help zip my pants

The misty fears
wet cardboard found in piles
yes November
to buy again the peacock
to dance again with seven veils
that whisper....love...

Prince Charming (a la Barbara Guest)

Mild these chilly tin roses of love
when put in front of underground
mirrors as the forest ping pongs
goodly is as goodly does differently
our witch or Snow White? Even the
Daffodil is yellow to the core but
they come up guillotined all in the
name of love. Ergo, the wicked
witch is dead.

"Sophmore"

Milkweed spores,
like white planets,
blow my way as
I search and research
listening to old
love songs while I
stare at an empty cross.

"parade"

Still pulled by the moon
around square city blocks
the tractor going uphill
in a downtown lane all
white shirts and butterflies
pushing I stutter stutter the
white lies as the moon turns
right on cue yes it's
John Deere green.

Oceans
frequent the bars
where sailors drown
underneath Orion
chasing mermaids
until the neon surf is up.

On Reading James Galvin

Somewhere
the night steals me
so high is the mesa
that my bride is the moonlight
dancing

Daily
courage to give
hope a shiny bucket
for its communion with the well
to sip

October comes mild.
Yet like licks on soft ice cream,
the leaves will soon melt.

That dog,
reality,
the one that barks at me
yet finds me neatly adequate
in fact

To row
only rowboats
into lingering fog
the oars that squeak your arms are there
alive.

Dawn frocks
in calico
conflicting with sky blue
yet let us dance away the morn
me, you.

A swan,
October glides
under a golden sun
and swims over, regally swims,
despair.

Woman,
beneath the stars,
when you" another me,"
when you open my pirate skull,
I soar!

Dream ship,
you anchor me
against the churning tides
of rage and terror, fear and hate--
with love!

so sure
of glory seed-
these germinating days
whose very atoms speak of life--
She plants

To leap
into the dark
to leave your silent mask
to carve in darkness memories
of you

The pain
to contemplate
ironies, stabbing ones,
that hide the clouds in rays of sun
not real!

White, dark,
the moon should dance
around the thoughts I love,
around those hurly, burly clouds
with drift.

"Banks"

Thin coins
of morning light-
the spangles on the dew--
the clouds with their moments of shade--
in banks

The whine,
refrigerator,
is never me, it's you
or my so burned alarming clock
not me

Ideal
romantic dream
the place one first visits
that says flowers will grow in us
somehow

hold on
delicious one
across divided seas
we wait until the starlight streams
so hold!

It's early fall and the days
laugh, sing, dance like
Halloween kids approaching
a door, their mothers hovering
like good angels.

In a dusty closet
looking for a rainbow--
in a dusty rainbow
looking for a closet--
while outside the leaves fall.

The old blue,
the one without brass buttons,
still fits snugly
even when I'm naked

Times Square--it's as if
the jaunty bravado of its neon
hides a lonely pain.

Like uniformed soldiers
hungry with dreams,
the autumn days blend,
march towards winter

Autumn comes lovely
as a gentle mare--too
soon the stud months
will snort. But today,
October 5, 2007, the
Hibiscus still bloom,
gaudy in pink, white.

Uninvited, yet invited,
we dance, play music,
you on her flute, me
on banjo. Of course
they are discordant songs,
songs that hint of pain.
Make it night I ask, so
I may lie quietly with you.

Halting my tongue,
as if I was a quiet breeze,
or prowling cat, as if
I was a dream.

Diet

The air astounds
the boiling kettle
while nearby
the fresh baked scones shout:
"Marmalade is life,
have a bite to eat."

Soon November comes and
lifts her skirt. Dry leaves will blow
and the Begonias will curl, as if,
before bare- bottomed winter,
Dame November shows her garter.

I say, "you made me human so
go pick up the lightning yourself."
"Only you can make it flash ,"she
says,"do it just for me."

Manhattan Again

The neons never ending glare
helps square the darkest night
I voyage towards a dreamless place
while others cry for hope

Manhattan

The police horses gallop by
without a colored plume
but rivers run on every side
and gloriously boom

I sail beyond a crystal sea
and they still ask what gives?
farm tractors pull the Christmas floats
such is our history

In those moments
when, pirate like,
my soul captures me,
I know that I know love

Bipolar

The lull of ancient drums,
the place
where everywhere is one
dear old crooked lane
and candles are just stoplights
that burn into the past
it's such a marmalade
with reality a dream
and dream the road away

And roots do grow again
remembering
the clay with bones
still under plow as if
redemption
is just a field of corn
harvested in October

Alive, around, on
a road over the mountain
So there! I've traveled!

The latch key is--
humans being humans--
so starch the shirt, iron
the tie, tonight we travel out.
But don't step into the abyss.
That's too far out.

With grace, beauty,
my panther leaps
around his mountain
as the radio plays Beethoven.

Let her travel,
let the cool sun
follow her. She will
sprinkle gold coins
until winter blows.

It'd still the sun
though yesterday
it began oranging
up the mountains
on a cloudy day.

My belly fat as the one
on my Buddha statute
or it's as fat as the full moon
either way I howl...with laughter

Stuck in September.
knowing that I'll never know,
we plant Mums.

Copper days
shiny as new pennies
this September purse
filled too with silver moons

Septembers' leaves fall gently
not so Octobers'
with its' tricks and treats....

Love,
like the hummingbird,
sometimes flies backward.
As for me, I move forward.

Accidently broke my Mom's
orange cup--it was her favorite
and part of my inheritance.
Carefully and without comment,
I pick up the pieces- as she
would have done.

Pay your coin,
sit quickly down
the ferryman gives
a handshake as we
go round and round

Six Years and a Day

Spots of camouflage float
like funny bones and fire
hoses still float like cobras
today, yesterday, and tomorrow

9/11

There is no light
there is nothing
so awaken darkness
even a dirge is music
to those in pain

The so silent phone
is writing a poem
guided only by my hand

Leaving pansies out in front,
I shop for clouds, little white ones
that dance,play the fiddle,
cure the sick, clouds that
never,never die. Then there are
the gray and black clouds that
reek of cheap perfume, clouds
that somehow I use to cure
myself of the white ones.

Trick or Treaters

Turnips resting in winter,
the mind will cry
about my lathered balls
I keep proving
I keep on proving that
the razor's edge is the
fruit of my balls...so
stick around, soon some goblin
will come or some scarecrow
will flower...stick around
pick the contest winner,
stick around to hear their song
which is really our song...

Green the Hibiscus
Labia hides their pinkness
Whoops! Mixed Metaphors...

Cool September sun
you will still rise in the east
with or without me...

Paradox

Sweet winter of dream
the darkness kisses
then erases our shadows
Sweet summer of light
we kiss in the light
before we wander to dark...
together...always together...

Love that Romance

Let it fall in waterfalls
and let it speak with bodies
tender in the night. Yes, let
it flow, oh God, let love flow.

Back to the first draft (Lovers Lane)

Shiny bottle caps,
stuck in the hard clay--
she was high school universe...

Lovers Lane

Shiny bottle caps
darkly overturn
as she shows her universe

After Listening To Charles Simic
1)
Cannibals have yellow teeth
says Joyce or Simic
when white faces smile
2)
While we talk and eat
near the dining room table
a white crane fishes

On dreamy dust roads,
surrounding a covered bridge,
still moments clatter.

Kicking up old dust,
life's little pick-up,honking,
travels steel bridges.

To go this alone,
with old drums and
ancient songbirds--
while the corners
gather people
waiting for the light.

Twilight,
your yellow-orange bruises
softly darken...

Rebirth

So everybody say good morning
we all heard his name
across the garden
so everybody say good night
and fiddle the dance
as if he had called

Moonie

Uptight white collar,
argue with speeding rivers
your reflections' age

Seduce the wind, chime.
Your dream is so fragile
in the alcoves of your heart.

Hibiscus,
with flesh wounds,
yet so achingly lovely--
hearts--they too expand, contract.

Old man,
rage at the mountain.
Its shadow will too soon
cover you.

Come as a sparrow,
one carried across seas,
or come on a donkey, like
that carpenter-prince, or
come as the rain or come
as the mist; even come with
the ocean as your cup of tea.
But, Lord, please come to me.

The definite,
its curl,
its roar--
indefinite
upon the beach.

Washed sun
clean white shirt
courtesy of a cloud

A thousand comets,
a thousand fires--
Cool is the rain winking at me.

Indian mounds,
those burial grounds--
slippery the road to freedom--
slippery the road to love

Notes to myself

Little doll,
pinned thru and thru
but not thru your heart.

Just beyond my reach the
iron bars do battle again.
Yet I feel safe--locked in--
but safe.

One. I write "lonely as an
engagement ring in a pawn shop."
Two. Right then the radio plays
"She will be Loved" by Maroon 5.

Manhattan

Square shouldered buildings,
in the soup and sauce of night,
wink tomorrows wink.

Memories swim like raindrops
on my umbrella. At first they
drum, and then, with a whisper,
they softly trickle down.

Cloudy yellow horse
cantering across the sky
so laden with dark
so headed for tomorrow

Strange exotic bird
in a strange exotic sky
how you strangely fly

James Joyce Talk

Butty mot,
dressed in slops,
Pfuitenfel!
accused of
disorderly walking,
you corantoed off

Turning thru men worn
as old shoes, men who
sit on the stoop telling tales,
me thinking of how I burnt
my alarm out this morning
But the radio still plays and
the clock still glows and, tho
white, I am with my brothers.

Lingo To My Muse

Flashing towards another
the roses plucked, red, like
falling dawns, like I know
now it's a sin that you (don't)
didn't roar cause sometimes
I whisper and you come to me
and I know it's a sin of silence
plowed around trees with glass
wall say nothing I (you?) join
the parade and go merrily along
with hats of Easter now in summer's
rebirth, no summer's bloom...

Dawn comes,
a cold frog
turning to butterfly...

The carousel,
the one with the
silver horse, is still.
Cool this morning's breeze.

Aging

Red rooster
you
run down
my soul and
you
crow and crow
about
the break of day

Kisses tell each other jokes
about how, when, where and
who slobbers. Then there's
the joke about Herman the
hicky maker and Dora who
sucks doorknobs. Me? I
practice up on Mr. Softee
ice cream cones...

Hibiscus,
while we ask
you flower
the answer
pale as pink
can be.

The quiet, like fisherman twine
in a torn net, heals.

Missed all of Thursday--
it had a derring do of clouds--
clouds about her, clouds about me.
Today the sun sets us free.

Lonely
as the
sea.
How sweet
the
rain
washing me.

Riding a gold galleon,
with dark clouds as convoy,
dawn comes firing rage.

Better Than They

Pine needle cushioned,
I hunt for the perfect sprig
while the crows cackle

There once was a maid, Cinderella,
who married a prince sort of fella
she said I know he's a boor
and I hope he doesn't snore
perhaps in bed he's quite bella bella

Gave my song love's dance
the moon a little penis
nestled by my clothes

Praise/curse (read:fear) the speed of
the passing boat, its wrinkled wake
an old woman (read:me) frowning:
destination too soon to come

Quick July shower-
like teen-age ballerinas,
the Hibiscus dance

The other room sings
its mermaid song which
juices the dancing bear,
the one who wishes to sing
thru the whole house

As the squawk-box plays Mozart
a smooth but tarred road
winds around mountains

Americana

Herald the white steed
riding forward to the sun
while the bad guys run

Difficult the sun
on its sunny route
saw the news today
and it made me pout
the forests are all gone
the oil is but a piddle
I think I'll take the day off
and sleep right thru its middle
it's yet another day
crystal in gown
the sun is coming up
the sun is going down
and when the moon rises
and whn the clouds go gray
I think I'll think just of you
while lying in the hay

Silly Again

The nights of the Nightengales
also sing off key
They too are bored and lonely
of doing imitations of poor me
so feather up the sack bed
so unlimb the backyard tree
so listen to soul music
and answer yes to the big SHE
for if I had my druthers
I'd swim out to sea
and make all the dophins
report home at three
yes laughter still reigns
with hardly any fee
so practice up your gold swing
and we'll meet on the first tee

The clouds are taking their cloudy bath
the sun behind them like a God of wrath
but the man who handles all the soap
goes by the name of venerable Pope
and he scrubs for all the golden path

Union Square

Today, clouds like racing tractors
plow the sky and bury the sun.
Skateboards dip, trip and turn--
and even squawk like gulls, their
riders poised like cranes.
Tomorrow farmers will reclaim the
space. But today there is no market,
no buck of common sense, only the
youths trying to soar.

The woven parts of dreams
that camp in tents by a lake
with their pockets of voices
in the early morning silence

Night drifts in like a fishing boat,
one trapping minnows against the beach.
A book of the poems of Robinson Jeffers
lies on my floor. Like him, I reach for the stars.
Unlike him, I catch minnows. But they are
silvery minnows.

Gaudy peacock,
icy in your tree.
Are you afraid of love?
Are you afraid of me?

So glorious moon
despite all your barren rocks
usually you shine

To Nicole

Our petals fall like our sunsets
yet we, like fall Mums, still
dawn, still glow, still toughen,
still love.

Days brassy as rifle bullets,
days sweet as chocolate--
days like tomorrow, my birthday.

Whose jokes tell lovers,
in the middle of the night,
to reach for doorknobs?
Only the man in the moon's
that God with all the face scars

Bumper Sticker

Grok after groin
is better than
crotchet after crotch

Saturday night in the building washroom,
need 8 quarters have 7.Tough night but it's early.
Kids is the burbs will soon be buying 6 packs,
their elders will soon be buying the Sunday Times.
I'm not much for either of those. The moon, tho, is
full and ,my bed, for tonight, single. But there are
other Saturdays...and other moons...and other nights

Birthday
The collector of bones
(whose wife snores)
has his eyes on me.
The moon, that big graveyard,
has eyes on me too.
The stars just twinkle.
They can't change their birthday either.

Square Manhattan shadows
isolate our dreams
fears like blinking yellow lights

With each passing ship
the ocean wrinkles again
laugh lines on an old,old, face

My blue
laughing like
the sea laughs
so blue,
so hungry,
so lonely,
fingers in her pie..

White caps like tight fists
bow and spread upon the beach
leaving weedy gifts

Lady Luck

Please, take my feathers and my crown--
take too my love of regrets--
prepare the white striped lanes as I
never flew for profit. Now I fly for
my good looks and luck. And she is mine,
lady luck is mine--as long as I do not
touch the dice.

Church of the Holy Apostles

Red, yellow green--
the corner stoplight--
red, yellow, green--
our church garden--
plus tulips of all stripes--
yes, a Joseph's coat of tulips--

Like tulips in our window boxes,
the four poets sit in front, then read.
Mother, father, father mother, death,
destruction. Take your pick. Yes, I think
we take our own dear selves too seriously.
Just yesterday I had to cull the tulips.

Dawn swoops like a hawk
devouring the shooting stars--
animal this April

Over Sixty

Like villains,
the shadows creep closer
with each new birthday...

You are so turbulent river,
so devious is your course,
so deep your song,
so far to your distant stars.

Angel

She laughs and
Christ bounds off
my bare cross
theatrically
flexing his muscles.
Her doing. I smile.
She has him enter me.
I laugh,joke that
It's good to be home.

April comes raw,
yet with a song.
Down-soft her robin.

Fly sparrow fly,
dart in and dart out,
and sip,sip of her

Forgotten basements,
despite all their dark corners,
still harbor ping-pong

Me and the rain
we lie down on earth
beneath the sky
and we pray
for knowledge of her will,
for knowledge of her song.

Communion

Sip her wine,
kiss her mound,
tongue her wafer.

Such hard bark that tree--
I'm climbing still for apples--
such hard bark that tree

An old man's fancy--
always in love with tulips
and their big bottoms

Unfinished Country Song

We never began
No there was no beginning
so when are you leaving my heart?
yes, I'm kicking up old dust
from a pool of clear water
so when are you leaving my heart?
And when is my heart leaving you?

Lonely as an
empty train in the
switchyard. And the
switching engine reeks.

Light is the tiger
that falls so misty
on city sidewalks

red, pink, yellow, blue
like a plumed and tasseled horse
here comes the day

The derring-do of clouds
just to float away
They just do not measure up
What do they have to say?

The carousel in March
tents painted horses
that the children will soon ride

Grace

To join the parade
to go merrily along
with glass wall say nothing
protecting flaws
that really need no protection
save grace.

Times Square

Buildings--each square and
shiny as a false tooth--with
say nothing I spin thru their
glass doors--but outside, at
night, floor to floor, window
to window, they wink at me.
Am I that pretty? Or are they
just pushing Viagra?

Faith

Close yourself window--
big rocks are in my pocket
dying to be thrown.

The late snow
covers the blooming Daffodils
foolish these gladiators

My rear view mirror repeats:
the ice is melting.
So therefore there must be heat.
And somewhere there must be
earth, air, fire and water. And
tin, somewhere there must be tin,
global warming tin.

After the storm,
the dirty snow is washing clean.
Eleven steps to go.

Cold and snowy day--
want to send her a letter saying
I am right, you wronged. As if,
in God's grand scheme of things,
it mattered. It doesn't, but you do.

Frozen rain bounces off the street.
Carrying hot soup,
I bounce my way home.

Sitting in the park--
bought and mailed
that birthday present-
still have laundry to do.
The day, like a sparrow,
flits away. As do (as have)
the years.

Dysfunctional,
I left myself
hanging
in the garage.
I knew, just knew,
I should not
have done it.
What to say?
My dreams
were in Ohio,
my heart in
Milwaukee.

"Troopers" (for Martha Ronk)

Irish cross--small
white ceramic-- with
the circle--as if John
Wayne were too a Druid
going round by round
chamber click chamber--
It-I mean the Celtic cross--
glows in the afternoon sunlight.
So think life and death,
think death in life.
Think round beer bottle
stains on the bar--but think.
The cross will glow until
the sun goes down.

My dull whacks
against dead roots
frees the soil
for this year's plants

Soon my watch
will "save time"--
not that I get
any younger

As if I should honor rage,
yesterday's snowflakes
chastized my bare face.

Cold walk to breakfast
after, I leave friends--
the sun is melting the ice...

My sand castles
destroyed,
I swallow salty brine
and live,
really truly live.

Sunday, Monday mornings

Cold the morning walk
finally unzipped,
I enjoy old and new friends.

A blue cloud like a blanket
and small orange-pink ones,
dawn arrives boy girl.

"19"

Walking the Hudson again
--a man kayaks upstream--
I'm still on my diet

What is the danger?
I know that I am known!

Library

Look, everything is here--
except the tubas--which sound
sort of melancholy--like in a
parade or funeral.
And the books, here on the
reading room tables, the books
piled and scattered
and closed,
like ambushed soldiers.

Guardian
our love
reaches out
like dark
between stars.

Smudged at the edges
and blue before black,
my twilight swims before me.

Its sneakers still frayed,
Manhattan pulls up its socks
and strolls into March.

"Fat" ( a couple of six syllable lines)

Unconditional sun,
you don't care who you shine on
except on cloudy days

Buddha's soft cushion
lets me celebrate with peace
outside's barking dog

I write my heart a letter
I tell it to go home,
that its beat goes on.

walking in drizzle--
nothing sensational yet--
but I'm real duck funny.

The big brute snowplows
are not gentle in their ways
moving morning's slush.

The library clock
pays no attention
to those sitting
in the reading room.
But I do.

Circa late 1940's, early 50's

Dry potato moon,
with prefabricated joy
you make houses white.

Lessons

A suspicious husband I knew
studied the mileage on his wife's car.
And a mountaineer friend told me
that if I shoot a squirrel in the shoulder
I won't spoil the meat.
He didn't say what he would do if
he caught his wife cheating.
And I didn't ask.

"Yo Maria" (rewrite)

Coming home from a brilliant but somber
friend's reading in Brooklyn. The "F" train
dips under the East river like a shark and
I'm reminded of that somber humorist,
Herman Melville.
The florescent light make the car morgue
like. I am alone except for a nude "Maria"
crudely etched into the stainless steel wall.
Her legs are invitingly open.
"Yo Maria," I say above the rail screech.
I think of lines by Ferlinghetti--"They are
cutting out the Bay ferries but it's not too late
to get lost in Oakland." Well, I think, I have
Maria. Therefore I am not lost. And she is
showing me the world.

City of black snow--
as if autos tossed rages--
foreheads are black too...

Ashes on my brow,
the wine neither
bitter or sweet,
the wafer dry
as nailed wood.

The worm can's full,
the trout hungry,
the meadow golden
and the river bank's lush.
So why do I dream of pulling
up a suit of armor?

The blue sky
before dawn
reveals only
the color of
my eyes....

The muse didn't tell me to
beat on some old drum with
thoughts foggy mountain high
no-the muse told me to "cluck-
cluck" like a dust loving chicken
so I do,I really do..

My contribution th bumper sticker lit


Christ playing football
down at Texas Tech
no degree, but what the heck

Dry the cobweb, sun,
and scurry the spider home
for he lurks nearby

On the far side of mountains
lifes' frayed bathrobe
glitters before dawn

Vision

Empty rivers dry
saw soldiers hearts floating by
while the pols talked on...

This February,
the wind,
still with a hump in its back,
talks loudly....

This February,
the wind,
still with a hump in its back,
talks loudly....

Meander river,
I am no longer the fool
asking you go straight

I thought my swim,
thru the culverts and ditches,
fine. Til I found the road.

Valentines

Tell the little scars
the roses still smell
remembered too the daisies

Untie the rainbows
let me self-clean rainy days
for I wish to grow

Cease your prattle, goose.
Peeling potatoes
you are so much, much closer....


The cherished dragons,
the dark ones we won't let fly,
inhale so much fire.

Singles passing nights,
the everchanging stars,
so warm, cold--so what we are....

Valentine



Tho I fought the good fight,
love is in the air--
when what I need is a flower bed--
somewhere near you
or the sun--yours, mine--
sun, flower bed, fresh air and rain,
rebirthing rain

Mirrors

I went to slay the dragon--
he bounced me back--
to another maze.....

Let the North star stare
like a diamond on velvet--
arrogant their fires

Reaching For a 4 year old

There once was a queen of carrots
who thought all little girls were like parrots
she said they're not any fun
when they can't count past one
and they all want to be movie starlets

walk together nights
as if our love was a stone
skipping across streams

All my lumpy dreams
thumpity thump in the yard
if I hang white sheets....

The flags are flapping
as we listen to whispers
from the open graves...

Lighten up rainbow--
with your pots of gold,
you are heavy at both ends...

I chase steel gray dawn,
as if it was a white swan
swimming far away....

The helicopter,
like a big, lonely turkey,
drums along the shore

Gusty river winds,
waves with ice cream soda froth--
as all the boats rage....

In front of the library (the one with the lions)

On dark -hued slate,
a brocade of ice crystals--
slippery its beauty....

January sun
against my cool cheeks
gives morning a golden glow

Recipe for War

Mingle right and wrong,
put gold trim on the trousers--
tinge it all with blood...

Cloudy Dawn

The sun's in a box
beneath layers of tissue,
designer ribbons....

These New York towers,
sleek as junkyard cats,
glower square their inner fire....

All the hard cinders,
all the courage with pain--
over the hurdles...

The effort of the waves,
and their ultimate defeat--
smooth the sandy beach...

Each day's a river
carpeting the sea,
the edgy, tattered- edged sea...

"Garden"

Somewhere, buried beneath the carrots,
lies rage.
Love is under the sweet potatoes, the nubby,
mushy, orange-yellow sweet potatoes.
One has to dig for love.
One doesn't have to dig for rage.

Almost an Epitaph

I arrived in woods--
and I've heard the black crows caw
for someone like me....

The dying embers
of January's sunsets
light my memories

Times Square Garden

Tough as stage doorknobs
the decorative cabbage
blooms January...

Enamels of days
(ancient memories)
cover these old hotel walls....

An ocean of love--
leaning out and leaning in--
the waves always change

Orchestrate your dance
to the exciting number
of equal one and one

January 1st

Alongside the fire,
the Christmas tree still twinkles
as if it was new...

January now,
the days grow slightly longer--
but the sun's meek, mild--
a follower on his knees--
brass clapper on a bell.

Saw the fox again,
plus those two white tailed--
we all travel this new year....