November 23, 2020

“Some realization comes on a new day’s breath, It’s brisk and showing”


This is the part of the film where he wakes up

It’s here she helps him

It’s where he then gulps his pretend pride

And maybe makes his important 1st step up

And maybe takes on the challenges in front of him

(Away from the ones inside)

All these years , then I finally need to be me

Now I’m sixtyish, now I wish to be the me

You’re the one (and you’re going)

You’re there where I want to be me


November 16, 2020

photo-Rajukhan Pathan



‘Avis’ says rare bird.

‘Rara Avis’, rare person.

When I imagine you, the words

(When words mean more somehow)

I could just use ‘Rara Avis’, and this

Would suffice for now


November 12, 2020

If only I could come
& Be complicit
With yr unserupticious 
Stride, on yr too short walk
Beside yr green mountain riverbank


If I might promenade
With you, in yr own stride.
You went & rode against survivalist mode
Unnatural, but naturally you
Saw to yr own pain
(I can’t see to yr pain)

I can’t know what number
Stage of grief I am on
Somewhere inside of zero and seventeen.
I won’t talk

I’ll catch you, I’ll match yr stride
On yr shockingly short walk


October 27, 2020


photo-Mehmet Bicer


Here’s   far from hardly   a chink in his ardor

His duplicitous

To himself  most of all

Is  super  obvious

A double agent  deep-breathing quiet

So dominoes don’t fall.


Here’s   far from hardly   a mark on his honor

His cowardice

He can cover  less & less

From  himself  least of all

Bravery he saves  to muster love enough

To face away  nothing , and  to  praise   all..

I need to knock on a locksmith’s door.

It’s the trying time here/ on the entrance in.

It has me hammering for him.

The man outside/ stands right in a stance

Out on his home mat.

That security window likely/ lives up to their claim.

Cats perched there can watch me.

I Calmly curse in the rain,

I’m still calm for the keys/ that Mercy sees.

That Mercy’s his cat. /Mercy.

This damn door blocks my way/ again & again,

To dry sanctuary

She surely has cures to unlatch me.


October 23, 2020


photo by Mcclean (unsplash)


It’s like I took/then lost this
I find the book but/ lose all my crucial glasses.


Since she’s away he awakens
In a computer chair at 4
In his underwear shivering.
He shivers his way to a quiet bed for yr quilt’s fervor.


(she’s away I fear forever)


October 20, 2020


teachers to small children

the world over

pastors to parish

they all will tell the pretty truth

(aside the pretty lies, “pretty lies”)

that crystalline snowflakes

are unique. unique.

and maybe later in both

secular schoolrooms

and sunday school classes

(and in all their varieties the world over)

small children might make snowflakes for themselves

they’ll fold lacy paper exactly in half

with a good crease

and taking their round-ended scissors

they’ll cut their very own unique cuts

so that when everyone unfolds their lacy paper

they’ll lift it far above their heads

everyone can laugh at their uniquenesses


but one thing that ministers & mentors

rabbis & nuns will fail to add

is that those one-of-a-kind snowflakes

are all


in their descent

on icy black currents

all their night fall



It’s the coldest morning this year

And the Farmer’s Almanac says this year

There’s gonna be a winter of ’em

Me, I won’t mind

I like how loud the still is


forty years ago a brother from Chicago

called the cold wind

“the hawk”

I wonder if it’s still true

I wonder if “that muthafuckin Hawk”

is still cursed & bundled against

in the only city cited for its big blow.



When island settings lose their place

in imaginings,

When our mornings sun  there

warms our skin, bare,

There’s these shade floral sanctuaries,

And, I’m betting,  perfect for setting your eyes on…

God’s perfect line,  one horizon.

When all  won’t free you,

Won’t call you from all this freezing

Point of view,

This illusionary season,

What ttthen?

photo-Jay Rembert (unsplash)

If You’ll find it’s kinda fate you kinda understand.

You’ll knock the gun out of the goombah’s hand.

It’s sent to the pavement

Between you and all the rest.

When you wrestle it from circumstance

Then Do you got the go to go the distance?


October 15, 2020

photo-belinda fewings

flying things instinctively know

to dry out their wings, first,

to try out their wings, & go.

surfacing a splendid splash,

surviving a fearful fall and crash,

take time off to dry off &

shake off the surprise of failure.

wake up and walk off what,

and where you are

before you forget to prepare for it

all to dare

the first time, again.


October 10, 2020

Where is the wound that shines?

Over 50 years on

Over this  his day on?

My Back  way against all this memorial day here

I’ll intentionally send me to a ill-shielded shy there,

Back at again to that  day where

I’m Far too young  to fathom,

Or even  notice  yr. crevasse,

Yr  Grande Malaise,

Yr. countdown…Yr. Pass.

It makes me madly think now

It takes  the saddest thing    to tell now..

Stuck in a stack of old NewYorkers

There’s this old drawing

A mere boy  drawn in black & white

Stands on a step of his own basement, stares,

He did look down on his own  livid  apocalypse,

His lips, and the caption say

“It’s  A.O.K.”


Here is the wound that shines

Tonight, a glint off yr. cracked onyx ring.

I lift it  in my open fist to my lips.