F i n d

November 11, 2019

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


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




I could swear  when I’m there in Cold  Extraordinaire
I’ll find yr essence in the air
I breathe in on the other side of dark.
No charts, No GPS, No whereabouts facebook (I would guess)
Just heart, by the numbers, by the book.



Splash something stronger at the base of my pint glass

It’s more fertile earth

For to birth the guts & gas

One might need at night

To go on & drive clear off

Dark high-wire highways

Onto red dirt, rolling on cooling red dirt, to dead ends

So bleak a laugh comes out as a clearing cough



October 12, 2019

Maybe I can meet you

After my shift, hell after all my shifts

I’ll come to you from the usual dark

The black from the outside

Will brighten some on your skin

We’ll be less dissatisfied



If  when  we  go  off

With all of our ghosts, when we lift

We’ll come to ditch the usual dark

That black from outside

With more tempered dreams to venture

To be less dissatisfied


September 28, 2019




I can Recognize, but hell, I can’t Realize so well.
I’d drink more coffee but my cardiologist insists I don’t
I’d drink more coffee but my heart man prescribes “not so smart, man”.

I’d think more whiskey would push me to bask at last in a primal light,

but my general practitioner generally frowns about practicing until I get it right.

I’d read more but eyes see less.. I digress,

I’d come 2/pray more/give in/give more/dream-sleep in/weep for once/

walk the lit dark like I used to/ Take in the dark light. I’ve so far refused to.

I can Recognize, but hell,

I don’t Realize so well.










September 14, 2019


It went

That after horrible or violent events,

As a cruel way to vent too serious grief

& to take the pressure off some,

Dark jokes will soon surface. Then spread.

To workplaces, as casual talk, yes,

Plus, throughout campuses.

Though not through the usual mediums, this time./


I find it kinda funny when odd fears are realized

By the armed

Violence enablers,

Hoarding their hidden caches of


When the same crack team

Of govt.-trained troups

So successful far from home

Do go door to door At home,

Search warrant OK’d by presidential decree,

To go in, and go under underwear drawers,

Rifling for rifles;

Masturbatory safe dolls. Icons, even./


But at a time before that time,

We’ll drop by the plush residences

Of our adopted Representatives,

Pay ’em a visit,


Nothing melodramatic

Tight white shirts so they know

We’re carrying a friend.

We’ll mention

That though a lot of commerce has come,

A lot of exchanges, agreed & understood,

This time there’ll be no threat of voter retribution,

This time they just might do the right thing.

We’ll mention how wrong decisions

Made  might mean

Not seeing

One’s big boat, or golf clubs,

Or mistress, or ” Rainy Day” fund

Tomorrow, or even ever again./


Then, these same guns that this time surely helped ensure

A democracy we could live with,

Would go with the rest.



.Half a laugh I guess.

from “The Seventh Victim”

in honor of the (bad)Dreamland of Val Lewton

who blocked out such fear-laden imagery in his Noir

(OH  Chiaroscuro!) & also succeeded. I think, in blocking out that golden hour that film makers look for,near dusk,

when the light is just right to clearly convince us all, on film

“There’s Beauty, There’s Good, There’s Hope.”



.                                            HER  SHADOWS

When the time is right

The camera Artist  blocks out,

Frames, focuses, re crops,

To go  on his very own shadow chocked shot

Oh, he shapes the shadows for

Her, a  ruined running fear-filled fatale

who can only be, somehow logically, lured  into her shadows

(within an illogical hidden zoo)

Where at least one beast pursues her

fast footsteps,furiously echo just farther back in the dark

synchopated chasesteps/ high heels on one end of wet streets, & pursuit


She must be drawn to

She must be lured to

She must fold into

Saving Grace shadows


July 10, 2019

1st chance I was free, this morning

I tried to get you on the horn

You’re too far, two or three days away,

At least a half dozen states away.

That’s  a ways away.


I would speak about weaknesses here.

I could talk about how bleak it is here.

Your laugh could alter things.

That’s a ways away.



Those who know me best say I’m worst.

In the day, I’m dark.

My points of view are too sharp.

My brain is broke. They’re checking now, here.

“It’ll all be OK”,  I was taught to say,  but I fear


That’s a ways away.


April 17, 2019

“The thick leaves in my murmur/ Are rustling like a dream/ And all their myriad voices/ Instinct with spirit seem”        Emily Bronte, from “The Night Wind”






I’m half-Hale & a Hardy old man.

Yet I have one world  of failings,

Yet  universal   ‘elan.     


The endgame  is a sight closer

I can only see it  now

Like the woods across the street, Close,

Like one worn path for the woods.


January 23, 2019

It could be I got bit
Three times by a recluse spider.
Here in the sub-tropics
Where recluse spiders are a risk
But I’m a bit of a recluse, too.
I like the dark,
My own time, & whiskey.
Oh, the friends and kin they call me;
They go “Cool Guy!”,
Man, they might  “Night Falls”  me.
When  there’s  three red moons on my arm,

They all do enthrall me,
Almost with their own flow chart.
It’s dangerous art,
Three red, full moons on my arm.












June 18, 2018


“We’ll know as children again all that we are destined to know, that the water is cold and deep, and the sun penetrates only so far.”
– Jim Harrison



If you’re tired to talk

If it’s too late for listening

My little time to tell you

But I think I just must tell you both

My dreams were dark   no  darker

Much darker than your bedroom

I’m afraid and I need to tell you

I want to tell you to hug me

And to let me under your blankets.

One morning I saw you and they were off

I stood  and  stared

You were the very best thing I ever saw

Both of you were so good  I cried.

I don’t want to wake you

Just my little time to tell you  both

My dreams were dark  no  darker.



for mom & daddy


( Rockwell Kent, “The Lovers” 1928 wood engraving on paper)