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,
Dead men’s tweed 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 half-holding love
At arm’s length,
& watching it do

.

.

.

.

.                                                               (FROM 10 YEARS BACK)

Intermezzo

February 5, 2013

I’m stretching & swaying

to the intermezzo

We eked out a way

to dampen the dramas,

to hamper the threat of

the dissolution

of this one

underwraps

 

U N T I L

October 15, 2012

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of what might

just happen in late night

screwball comedies,

A black & white

Cakewalk

Where he keeps just missing her,

& unknown to her,  her one & only is  so near,

& you watch  & wait for them to wise up,

For when their timing improves.

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of just sitting tight,

& trusting the plot twists,

& our protagonists,

& all that insignificant subterfuge

Until it all plays out that

They can take cuts in the

Everything’s-Fine   waiting line

Instead of that

He keeps just missing her.

.

.

.

.

.

(from years back, and now)

 

I contend,

Honesty,

When  honestly watched,

Starts  in  intention.

When looked at, no nonsense,

Before it cums sneezing  out,

When all one world,  as it appears,

Is  appraised,

It’s  appeased

By  half hard facts

&  a ton of impressions

To   meagerly manipulate

A clay  reclaimed

Setting The Table

October 10, 2012

“It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet people die miserably every day for lack of what is found there”        –William Carlos Williams, poet

.

.

.

Aw heck,  on a lark,

I likely heard a   “Hark,

Hear all this  beck and call”.

There, I see it had hailed from  icy altitudes.

So, when I wised up some, and tried to listen,

At this end, I waited, and while I waited, I understood.

It wasn’t  the explanation,

It was the going  on & on  deal,

Passing time,

It was  setting the table,  not the meal.

 

Big Moony Skies

October 1, 2012

I’ll give a knowing nod

To the brother inside the  IPod

“I rub my wounds with alcohol”

I love the sound of fuck all

I feel everything but small

Enraptured under big moony skies

Where prayers stand a chance,

Where joy awakens eyes,

Guts are calm, but  hearts  beat  restless

&  Dance as there’s  a man and moon romance.

1 HYMN

September 28, 2012

 

.

.

.I hate that

It came out  not right

Translating  with all my might

I misspoke.. you mistook…

I’d cracked a crooked smile, not smirk

I’d factored in the farcical

Nature  of  nature.

.

.

.

.

It’s that  it’s sad that

Few hymns  from pews  will praise

Coincidented   chaos.

Sad, we’re not force-fed all the fanciful

Nature  of  nature.

 

Like Neutral Luck

September 15, 2012

Some souls surely cry

“..If it wasn’t for the bad luck..”

Break for a deepbreathe breathy sigh,

“..I’d have no luck at all.”

Look,  My luck is neutral.

It lies like algae

On secluded moon moody ponds.

It doesn’t flow, or creep.  I fell

FadeToBlack asleep on a chair;

My book & pen, and nearly me,  there

On to the floor.

Alone, on knee,  bent,

I’d known I  loved rehoarding

My words, and alphabets–

They’d shifted some,  and had come

To a new sense.

 

Would it likely be by odd luck?

Or meant as, also likely,

Immense?

 

PETITIONS

September 14, 2012

PETITIONS

“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

AMSTERDAM

September 13, 2012

I lost a friend tonight.

The fleshSTOP forever kind of loss.

When he didn’t show up at the job

He went  on & on  about leaving

& Joining his dream;  Free  in Amsterdam.

Friends from that job

Went and found his body.

He’d lived alone in his own woods

Since his wife died.

Yet I knew him to truly enjoy his day.

(He was ahead of me that way)

His own time he’d savor.

Complex gourmet foods he’d prepare for himself.

He’d  savor

Simple fairweather, days & nights, for himself.

Goddamn, he wanted

& Waited on Amsterdam,

.

.

RIP  Dave