April 19, 2019

Blackened breezes rustle
Sacred/ olive trees, skies muscled thick.
I took a sight that set me more lost
More sour than seasick.
I see him, knees bloodied,
Face drawn/ down
to earth.
I was being/ once/
Just a man also.
I spied/ by my back down
To my murk/
I cried/ by my own shadow,
But did not cry out,
To interrupt all that too intimate.




When I was a young/ more willful man,
I fasted/ from dawn friday
Until the last of easter/ Today
I’m past that/ I take the families
To the best italian place,
For sacrificial lamb & blood red wine
& all before that, maybe grace.






May 2, 2018


the creatures were there at their creek

when they witnessed me by the moon

I was quiet enough on my path

but they looked up, then back down to their drinking


I was so lost they didn’t scatter

so lost the full moon only considered my prayers

I got turned around when the wind picked up

I can’t find my feet or so far

my way back






May 18, 2017


































“The blind man loves you with his eyes, the deaf man with his music.  The hospital, the battlefield, the torture room, serve you with numberless petitions. On this most ordinary night, so bearable, so plentiful in grave distractions, touch this worthless ink, this work of shame. Inform me from the great height of your beauty.”

-Leonard Cohen, “Petitions”, from Death Of A Ladies Man

















One  way  to  be  unburdened

Might be   small talk, not hearsay,

A  Big-hearted  acumen,

Bare  arms,  &  mercy


October 22, 2015



not way outside the trailer porch screen/

stood in a stance/ an emotionally unbalanced/

unforseen chic/ attention-seeking/

14 yr old girl smoking/

she went and vents some again/

about her derelict parents/

and that she hid in bushes/

rather than come home when called from a running car/

she was sassy but the sec she flicked/

her butt out on the sunny yard/

& was told “Pick that up”/

she put it in a puddle/

(she was in more than a muddle)/

she was a spoon in spitting hot gumbo stew/

more than home  was chaos  in her classroom/

nightly she would walk/

right up & down that trailer park street talking/

no  yelling  to  herself/

someone old at a kitchen curtain/

called the cops & they came &/

appallingly cuffed her and offered/

a ride to a cell she had to hammer/

a call to guardians/ and if/

god doesn’t stammer/

they’d call some help/





That crap in yr creamy breasts  threaten us.


I pray for the day

We lay our selves back

No time on our back

I sing only songs that ring only true

Right to  only to you

In bed we’ll watch “Red Shoes”

We’ll leave off counting re-watching “Brief Encounter”

We’ll listen read & listen to Burton’s reading of “Under Milk Wood”

At least we’ll feast on a breading and cheese plate

We’ll  settle  in  safe

From cancer   and

From  wait.




.A rarity; one night very recently, I felt it necessary to pray. It was on the behalf of (me &) two very different souls; One a stranger, one a love.  –G.R.

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 the darklight I’ve refused to.
I can Recognize, but hell,
I don’t Realize so well.




.(from way back)




Gethsemane, by Mary Oliver

The grass never sleeps.
Or the roses.
Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.
Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.
The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet,
and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body,
and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.
Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did, maybe the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn’t move, maybe
the lake far away, where once he walked as on a
blue pavement,
lay still and waited, wild awake.
Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not
keep that vigil, how they must have wept,
so utterly human, knowing this too
must be a part of the story.



October 18, 2013

Once intimate names you were taught to whisper before sleep,

Spiritually assisting the adults in yr family

To be safe,

They’ve now too lived through to be distant relations.

Except when you & Unicef wave to them Xmasses


Now, when this faraway family of this one naysayer

Finally writes to him,

I doubt it’s not without

Very late night kind innocent prayer


October 22, 2012

In the upper peninsula of Michigan

blustery state road 2 you must go.

it’s quite common to drive over

deep blood in the snow/a dead buck or doe.

just as felines must fall & fill gutters

South of there, all over.

deep blood deep in the snow.

With the people of upper Michigan

it’s common they’ll drape over,

& tie up their meat

off the back their battered trucks

and freight it home to their freezers

for later.


Here in Southwest Florida

on the way to work

it’s uncommon…

(I called out “Oh my God!”)

It’s uncommon to drive over…

(I Killed an alligator!)

I was light on sleep and late for work

All in a dream’s dread, in my headlights

I called out “Oh my God”

still when I left work,  dark  in the dawning

(I left It for the taking.  It was gone.)

Still were spilled shadows. most, it was gone.


Lost. home, what would save me?

milk cream & alcohol

Nor Down on my knees

under Art on a wall;

Oils spilled on

empty space clean

I Know is for all, from All

(I called in “Oh my god”)

stains for a dream.




We came around the corner   through no door/

Saw us in a high-ceilinged room  for no furniture/

It is darkish  as an attic-trunk’s photograph/

Sepia./  And they had each stepped up

To face the wall/  Not disciplined children/

Not prisoners/ No devastating storm imminent/

Women and men in old jackets & shoes/

Stepped up to face the wall/

Uniformly  four feet from each/ like bunks/

Though I suppose some mouths chose murmurs

Prayers  stayed  inordinately  inaudible

(a complex way to say of the plain)/

No one kneeled/

This pure obviousness  not to turn and whisper

“What do you make of this?”  or

“Why here? And not anywhere elsewhere

Necessarily  alone?”


March 22, 2012

Where is the wound that shines?

50 years on

On his day/

Why must the sound of industrial air here,

Its venting just sends me to a less-shielded shy there,

Back again to that day.

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 New Yorkers

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 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.




again, r.i.p. daddy 3/21/1929-5/29/1959