Saturday, January 31, 2015

Almost Buds

We were the winter trees
in chill mist and dank,
close as glass to drizzle.
I remember your hand
settling around the page
under the pillow
and between days.

We drank hot tea and talked.
Deep thoughts and serious,
we laughed at society
and our lack of place.

The equinox and new leaves
dot a weft of twigs and stems;
fringe the mist with promise.
How impossible
being this age
and never pledged.

Circumstances force us
to be the forest.
We come to a place
where memories rest.
A stone throat speaks
the heart’s silence.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Under Doll

The media eye rolls
over the female body.
This is not everybody.

I find myself in front
of the cutting edge.
Hold the honing steel.

The oval, the opal, the
range finder fastened
securely to the barrel.

More than Mississippi
nights flow through
grassy boundaries.

Could this be big fur?
I’ll take the baseball—
paint your face on it.
Could be my home run.

Wednesday, March 06, 2013


The night has big lips
and smiles with an overbite.
O Moon, she lets her
bright tits hang out.

I'm doing a donkey time
dancing on this one foot &
singing without any strings.

Old Lady Moon she makes
me swoon and bottles of
silver toots. I guzzle her wine
and she fills me fine like
ladles and goblets and boots.

Drip me your love, your
tears like pearls, and I'll
loll in your old blue gazebo.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Way Over

Way Over

On the way
we knew
it would be over
by the time
we got there
but we had to
get there
we could believe it.
We were
on the way.
There was no way
we would stop
We didn't think
about it.
We couldn't.
We wouldn't
if we could.
It might have
be better
if we had,
but it still
wouldn't be good.
We didn't
let the mood
By the time
we finally got there
there was
nothing left
but left overs.
We couldn't leave
on our own.
Our destination
was our destiny
but not our
No Johnny
Come Lately
we were always
ahead of ourselves
even when
we were
behind the times.
Delay was
in the way.
Detour was
de rigueur.

Saturday, August 11, 2012


Behind gold bars the saints of Sacks
and Goldman reign free as they will

ever be—solitary in their precious
minds. No need to prosecute the rule

writers. What use? What wrongs us?
Regulators play later like actors with

no heart. Oh, the fungible chains of
imperial favor, the up and dash to it,

the down at the Dow; Oh, legendary
ledgers, wages and wagers, Uroborus

consumer, Slice-O-Matic appliance
financers—toast me over easy as living.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Neon in Your Eyes

Here break brick
walls, work stopped,
blizzard blows snow

dunes along the walk.
Twilight at midnight,
fractals and stop lights,

sequins drift against
the doors as you
struggle out of sleep-

single cup of coffee.
Metal stockades, the
pit-bull drags a chain.

Amble out the door
and to an all night
market, someplace

open, bleak but near.
How holy the alley
under icy wires.

Squeeze around the
locked gate like half
a dream and stillness.

Out of Context

Out of Context
Job Hunting