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.