…but from here;  a boxed baggage bin,

in whatever vessel burning,

Point on  into blank,  frigid  forths.

Andever  vexed  in  yearning.


Blind Pilgrims/ Taxed temporal things/

Kinshipbourne/ Trapped/ As my fathers/

Captive on this  course/ We’re  bound to be/

Forlorn/  for treks  on farther.





from many years ago, for  Daddy

 rest in peace, b.3/21/29-d.5/29/57

These  agonies, stowed loud  to stoic  quiet,

Annoy her, as if their noise could be heard,

Annoy her,  every word,

Every imaginable syllable

And though a throw-away joke…

She’ll attest is a thrust attack,

Jeez  these agonies

Have me taken aback

Have me taking pills & drink to swill ’em back.


September 24, 2015

True happiness we are told, consists  getting out of oneself, but the point is not only to get out- you must stay out; and to stay out you must have some absorbing errand.”

-Henry James, from “Roderick Hudson”


Too wretched still/ 2 week without coastal sunsets

To wreath Night’s long door/  I long for

The right time alone  & wait &

As I wait/ I’ll eliminate/ obvious suspects

Crowding my space I’ve longed for/

To my credit the thing about editing out

All the non essential/ It’s Everywhere/

A lot easy to pivot w/pen  then slice there/

I can stick to plans/

Mic down the music some  & blinds slats/

I’ll recede that

Loveleaking hand off a needy cat and/

Speaking of love, lean forward & force

A poem to her.











near the end
purple clouds stir & near
mis-en-scene set, I’ll be blocking the shot
readying my stand-ins
cueing my soundtrack
I’ll need special effects to capture the light
to be faithful to the script
years ride past alongside our precious bond/
then one moment  one light courses through  brighter than  other rays onto…
she had signed off  (often)   onto a missive
(I leaned forward & forced  this life
To really read)







“The woman I’m thinking of, she loved me all up
But I’m so down today
She’s so fine, she’s in my mind.
I hear her callin’.

See the lonely boy, out on the weekend
Trying to make it pay.
Can’t relate to joy, he tries to speak and
Can’t begin to say.”

— from Neil Young’s ‘Out On The Weekend’


September 21, 2015

I heard some guy say

that he was more in debt

than an honest man could pay.


I bet I don’t check my check book but

My needs are nameless

And exceed;

what a deceitful man might utter,

what a sweet woman might offer,

even all a clever man can never call.


I’ll ache,  Cah  Rist!  Icy bone fingers,

I’ll arch-stretch wide and hard, outward to  outsides.

To outsides,  otherwises,  outreaching,

beseeching, imploring.

Discretely exploring

the notion

the ocean

of need


September 19, 2015

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



September 19, 2015

I don’t even half choose

to carry loose change.

It lets itself be known  to me.

A quiet man  might be noisy.

I search for the underlying themes

That surface, as blue gills & dying perch will do.

I search an unresolve.

I search an unsettlement I mean to settle up,

Which flotsam, which riches  from the deep end;

Raucous & compelling, can tell all  in sleeptalk?



Find a pen

And something to write on.

Mind,  legs-open for

Something to write on.



.                                                                                                       (from 2009)


July 21, 2015

I insist only on this inconspicuous  voluptuous  decay.

It easily persists, remarks itself, in just the way

I can oh so stoically  keep it candid.


I can secrete the rancid,  as I stare

Right into all the cameras can scan


I’m  staid  as  a  post,

Not readily afraid of the costs.


June 26, 2015

Half the hefty  longing  i left

At large/

Kept at bay/

I’ll still have

Those all-distant train’s whistles;

Songs  I  won’t/

Sing  or  say./

I  not-so-still have

An other half

To  ink

Too much

If  thrift  wit

Against  all  it;


And/or  deadpanness,

Can handle that beast

W/ Monkey grease,

Why go  quiet?

And you’re thus  quite  dangerous,

Or at least

You’re red-lit  too quiet

So red that

All fear for to stand clear,

They’ll stop, some spy some, and bet, I think

To see you Pop

Or soften to a safer pink.



“Every eejit’s had to’ve heard about it;

‘Better Hold your mouth lest you let go the rest of it'”


-(5 minute)  old saying


March 26, 2015

 I have staved off   lost passions

 I’ve held on cold cliff holds

I stayed and endured elements,

Harsh and all part of a hard whole

Where   lost passions

Sounding far, in the fog,

Meaning more in a quiet man

Than a kind word,

Can  work

To urge  his stoic stand


                                                                         (from 2009)
“This time tomorrow I’ll know what to do”
              -David Bowie, from “Stay”