Sunday, November 30, 2008

Buy Me Socks

Buy me socks, don't make me need you
I prefer to walk alone, woolen and warm
one foot on the ground, softly.

Don't look at me that way -
you're only blocking my view.
I might miss something, just there
behind your right ear, a frog prince leapt.

Stop talking so I might hear him
as he slaps his rubbery spread toes
splashing onto thick flat pads of purple lilies.

Please don't love me. It will just
turn into garbage day, mounds of old
musty newspapers full of such useless
recyclable drivel. Breakfast in bed

should not have much to do with food.
So go ahead, feel free
to devour.

the Killers

Saturday, November 29, 2008

And the days are not full enough

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass

Ezra Pound

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Friday, November 21, 2008

Poem as Physical

No longer are these words confined
to page, no longer flesh pinned to bone
no eyes boxed in blinders, all the world
has opened into delight of sudden horizon
once cloistered ships spun inside bottles
now smashed they gleam like parchment -

a fountain pen poised, tattoos tender skin
as gently, wind lifts tattered sails.

and now I want you --

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Cult - Edie

John Donne, The Good Morrow

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.
- John Donne, The Good Morrow

The Farmer

Tonight the moon waxes yellow -
Over bent barbs of wheat shafts
Fields appear a little softer
As the last cricket fades by the creek.

The lone farmer in silhouette
Walks towards the familiar barn
It’s eaves and vanes casting unfamiliar
Shadows of slanted fences.

His thick boots crunch
The dying leaves along the path.
From deep within the horse begins to
Stamp and blow its nostrils flaring

Steam rises in clouds. Yellow moon
Obscured in haze, waxes home
A little softer even though the last light
Has long gone out. Oh, to hear her laugh;

The way she used to.

Saturday, November 15, 2008


worlds grow out of nowhere
in sprouts and sprigs, in gentle nudges
nose rubs, spiral kisses that turn to sucking
until suddenly you're up against a wall
his tongue in your throat
your legs around his waist
desire pink as blush dawn
sun now coming
through thin shy curtains
and you wonder
what it was ever like
to feel dead.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Toe Cramps and other things of Nuisance

The waves crashed as high as Trump Tower
The one in Chicago
The lifeguard was OFF DUTY
The clouds were low ferocious
The lightning struck just as I stroked
The waves frothed and came into me
The water took me furious and grey
The gull reeled encased in glass
The moon shook
The stars broke as my hand reached surface
The end is never predictable my friend -
The toe cramped
There was nothing I could do.

25,400 days, he said

if we're lucky
so we had another mimosa
cool in the sun

Thursday, November 13, 2008


He didn't leave he floated
away as if he'd just done
a line of cocaine

(not that she would know
what a line does to gravity)

No sound of footsteps

there she was
left floating too

(in Marilyn's favorite pool)

white fingers
stars pressed to a desert ceiling

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

How A Heart Feels On A Sleeve

A little vulnerable
A little brave
Quick-beats of not knowing
Red rag muscle gasps
Out there
As if to say

Look here
I don’t belong
Bleeding lace onto cuffs

Such undetected murmurs
Fear of sudden flat-line
Irregular pulse
Skips a beat to the last

thin voice singing

Saturday, November 1, 2008

November 1, 2008

Contemplate distance
how near -
in patterns of rhythmic verse
span of breath, ardor of kiss
attrition of a marble staircase
treads bent to tales of journey.

How many travelers have felt
roughness of an artisan’s hand
as he placed each step with tenderness?
Who has let their thoughts linger
caressed iron rails or slipped against
each groove and notch of stone
leaned into cold walls alive with history
until they penetrate the corporeal?

If your life should mean a thing
- if my life should mean a thing
Dear Heart - let it be this.
Diminish distance even as it sinks
into twilight’s vapid mouth.

Midnight to midnight
it will always only be
-- you.