16F

May 14, 2018

A windowseat is great

In an all night diner

It was unfair the Airport

Shorted  me  enough

Stuffed me, a long-legged  man

With a long-winded rant

I stifled in my windowseat.

.

My legs were cropped up crinkled

Like the babies sitting next me

Their cries exited and were emitted freely

Some cries  deep inside  deep inside me.

.

I bet one windowseat would be great

In a darkened diner

My inner world would wander

That  eighteen  wheeler

Lots of legroom  not so tight

Roads to walk  upright

 

THERE’S FOG

March 6, 2015

There’s fog.
Then, there’s people landing planes at all hours.
There’s dogs chasing birds
on runways. And one way those people in those towers
can plan to, and see to, land planes is
the guts to go with the guages.
They heartfelt dealt with data,
Trusted all they’d seen
on their farforeign &; onlyman-made monitor screen.
As dogs flushed their fog,
hands hover over lights
and cover their old bets,
their usual action.

,

,                                                                            from 2009

Should I get older

I recognize me,  more blind,

Crinking my neck back, there, as

I look up at the cliff terrace

And A windowed hideaway behind,

Not so unapproachably high,

Fixed over our Pacific, finally,

That we thought might couldn’t be.

Hard rain, hell, wept down a wet

that mixes well w/regret, on my shirt

.

                                                  2

.

One can look past all our four shoulders

From inside the glass wall

On the backside of our Adirondacks

And maybe just make out

What we’re watching and talking about.

A man closely following his own footsteps

The long stretch of the shore,

But looked up at the both of us,

Here Hand in hand, and how then the heavens poured.