December 5, 2015

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.

( Rockwell Kent, “The Lovers” 1928 wood engraving on paper)
for mom & daddy


August 19, 2015

To those I try to love, & back.

One ought to honor one of us.

I will brave..then save embraces

before I leave,  For I believe

That by my storing away  more  rare  mercy,

Like a stout man stocks a pantry,

This sustains this suspect man, surely.

Make that..his take  on  “surely”





(from 2009)


August 13, 2012

“A man can bare himself  before others only out of a particular kind of love.

A love which acknowledges, as it were,

that we are all wicked children”

— Ludwig  Wittgenstein



I can dance around a fire.

If the spirits take notice,

If they’re drawn by this sight,

As  we   might  be

lured by the light

of dead stars,  already,

If the spirits take notice of

Me  at the blaze;

My body and face,

(Not at all faking

What I choose  to let loose)

Shiny, and shaking  away my disease,

Let said spirits kindly

sign off on release.






.                                                                                                 (Two & a half  years back)


August 4, 2012




There’s this secret I’ve kept so discreet

From lovers, & brothers, & mothers.

I’ve mis managed to become  so mum

It was only clearer to me

After  self therapy

The  other day,  or another.


From  this  encompassing  dream,

I   finally  wanted

All the  solid things  I was sold  to get,

When it’s important  to want one.


I   Get

Silk  batik ties, Italian silk shirts,

Mostly-silk  jackets,

Dry cleaned,  & all in the closet.


I  Wait For And Get

Too new Peter & P.J., Gabriel and Harvey,

Unheard of, they’re still in their jacket.

Too new Laurie Anderson, Richard Thompson,

Unheard of, they’re still in their jacket.


I  Waited  For  &  Get a

Big  Bio book   of Elliott Smith,

and the case is still closed


I   Get

New  Yorker’s

Drawings  &  Captions

All of them  (All these years)

Data   on   disc

unplayed  &  unsmiled  to. (sadly)

I   Got

New  Yorker’s

Drawings  & Captions

The Board Game…



Why  I  With-hold

All  that  pleasure,

I haven’t a clue.

It’s half-like  holding  love

At arm’s length,

& watching it  do






She won’t remember when

Without a word we wandered

Dark  collegetown  neighborhoods.

Where were the dogs & cops?  I wondered.

We were thrilled for the night  still.

Still,  there were all the satellites.

And very still, there was that light

In a candlelit  picture  window.

It  gave  a silhouette, a shadow   readying  a bed.

Buffing up a sheet,  she showed us,

Me and my sister Janny,

Her  heartstopping   Beauty;

A silent ballet shadow show  that

We acknowledged

Her  walkstopping   ethereal naked lines,

Then  continued on, still wordless

Then  getting stiller yet.

Haute Couture

July 12, 2012


“..If I touch/ Near the fire/ The unpalpable ash..”

-Pablo Neruda  (7/12/04-9/23/73)  from  “If You Forget Me”








I wonder when one day

We’ll pocket our passions

They’ll fasten  in look-see  neck  lockets

Soon it’ll seem right

To wear…She’ll share hers in sunlight

Fashion  will see to it  we


Undress off our soft  underthings

And  show  softer

Bold  and  tender



July 9, 2012

Her  cri de coeur,

Her  plea,  a  quieter  call

Was now  that she knew  I knew all

That she was/ That it was all

I could do

Was now

To love her?



June 25, 2012

Ink can slip onto  and stain a page

I think it can permeate a world around

it that can see it then re-see it  new

and adapt it to the stage.

The symbals clash, the lights rush up. Both  astound

A staring crowd.  So start up yr. casual

stroll from the wings,  not forgetting yr. casual










June 18, 2012

call off yr search

It’s all been a hoax

I haven’t been far

I have only been barely fair

I’ve barely fought my fog-like fugue

It’s hugely due to pointless and errant

intertubing,  buoyant

On turbulent,   or at least

Aimless  sees


June 7, 2012

In a world when women and men

Are children w/games,

Playing hard  truth seeking

And harder  at hiding,

In a world where words barely matter,

Rarely more than chatter,

Her talk is straightforward tender

As afterrain haiku.


Gee  no   gentle  rain.

Our muffled kisspers serve as

Counterpoint to gods’…


Lightning up this sacred joint here,

the room between our rooms,








(2 years ago and now)