Fun With Telegraphy: Poem - all is before 1st light

I've been taking a lot of heat from my freinds practicing Telegraphy that I have not been writing much material for Morse Code. So here is a poem I like that I've translated. Keep coming Back!

.. .----. ...- . -... . . -. - .- -.- .. -. --. .- .-.. --- - --- ..-. .... . .- - ..-. .-. --- -- -- -.-- ..-. .-. . .. -. -.. ... .--. .-. .- -.-. - .. -.-. .. -. --. - . .-.. . --. .-. .- .--. .... -.-- - .... .- - .. .... .- ...- . -. --- - -... . . -. .-- .-. .. - .. -. --. -- ..- -.-. .... -- .- - . .-. .. .- .-.. ..-. --- .-. -- --- .-. ... . -.-. --- -.. . .-.-.- ... --- .... . .-. . .. ... .- .--. --- . -- .. .-.. .. -.- . - .... .- - .. .----. ...- . - .-. .- -. ... .-.. .- - . -.. .-.-.- -.- . . .--. -.-. --- -- .. -. --. -... .- -.-. -.-

.--. --- . -- -....- .- .-.. .-.. .. ... -... . ..-. --- .-. . .---- ... - .-.. .. --. .... - -- .. ... - .... .- -. --. .. -. --. .-.. --- .-- -... .-.. ..- . --- ...- . .-. - .... . -... .- -.-. -.- -... .- -.-- --..-- .-.. .. --. .... - ... - .-- .. -. -.- .-.. . -.. ..-. .-. --- -- .- ..-. .- .-. --- ..-. ..-. -... .- .-. --. . --- ...- . .-. ... .. .-.. ...- . .-. .-- .- - . .-. .- .-.. .-.. .. ... -... . ..-. --- .-. . .---- ... - .-.. .. --. .... - ---... - .... . -... .- .-. --. . .-- .- ... -... .-.. .- -.-. -.- .- -. -.. --.- ..- . ... - .. --- -. ... -.. .. . -.. .- .-- .- -.-- --..-- - .... --- ..- --. .... - ... -.-. .- ..- --. .... - --- ..-. ..-. --. ..- .- .-. -.. .-- . .-. . .- -. -. .. .... .. .-.. .- - . -..

**

‎‎POEM - ALL IS BEFORE 1ST LIGHT MIST HANGING LOW BLUE OVER THE BACK BAY, LIGHTS TWINKLED FROM A FAR OFF BARGE OVER SILVER WATER ALL IS BEFORE 1ST LIGHT: THE BARGE WAS BLACK AND QUESTIONS DIED AWAY,THOUGHTS CAUGHT OFF GUARD WERE ANNIHILATED

Poem - A Poem for Robert

as a young go-getter
killing myself for a hi-tech firm
i boarded at his house
in the upstairs room

he wrote constantly
at the desk in the living room
his poetry and his habit
of writing was soothing

it was strange to drop by
years later in a driving rain
and see the house dark
with an empty front room

like me he had moved on
and left no forwarding address
because few cared or bothered
and i know how that feels

we think we know which way
the wind will blow
or how seasons roll out
inevitable change

or at least i thought i did
when i thought a lot
with one opened beer after another
watching him from the kitchen

i remember a mellow light
surrounding me as i washed
my mismatched dishes
as his typewriter punched the page

and later as a drunk
that kind of light eluded me
though the dishes matched
in a distant perfect house

(To hear the audio recording of this poem, click here.)

Poem - there is enough

there is enough
life to quell
this fiery temper

enough solitude
to delude me
into thinking

time enough to
destroy every
beloved toy

..

if i rouse i
may find
nothing

i may find a
lost sparrow or
phoenix

there may be
only a flash
or cold ashes

..

i believe
there is
enough

leave the
comfortable
room

& the
panoramic
window

----

As always, for Latif

Poem - Beautiful Day

i worry sometimes when i'm writing
if the reader will get it

thinking this way means
i don't understand a damn thing

but i've been taught now
to stop investing in this

today is a beautiful blue day
and i'll stop considering the ruin of it

Poem - how wise i am to be this way

i hide a resentment in a complement

i forget water is boiling on the stove
till it is almost all bubbled away

i burn my index finger on
the pot on the stove

how wise i am to be this way

---

April 1

Poem - Night Swimming

midnight on fine summer nights i would secretly drink
& then skinny dip in the pool as if i was stealing from someone

but it was my pool in my silent dark backyard
under a million stars that were fixed and stared down at my white body
with a bit of that regrettable farmer's tan

i'd hear the water quietly moving as i moved
lapping on the aquamarine colored tiles
and i'd look up at the sky and see the night in the water
my shoulder would nudge the pole star out of the way for a ripple

i'd be afraid of the luminous bottom near the deep end
but then dive down to it through the blindness

i'd go to the bottom of the bottom to touch the cold surface
though fear was never solved nor would go away

------

For Stephanie

Poem - Together

as if we could keep the legs
by spreading them or the pages
by reading them

all this reaching and desire
like trying to save a day you loved
so you could have it anytime

there's no keeping
but don't be discouraged
we're together right now sitting here

the kitchen is bright and dishes
done

Poem - Guilty

not committing the sin of ingratitude
nor of arrogance

but guilty as always
of whatever i forgot by accident
or what i denied

------

For Billy Collins

Poem - The Angel of Constantanople

"One of the most magnificent shrines ever known (is) the old Constantinople Cathedral...restored by the Emperor Justinian in 568, after the plan, says tradition, of an angel who came to that monarch in a dream.

The angel is stated to have appeared a second time....to a boy who was guarding the tools of the masons, and ordered him to bring the workmen immediately, in order to hasten the building. As the boy refused, the gleaming (angel) swore by the Wisdom, i.e., by the Word of God, that he would not depart until the boy returned...

The emperor...in order that he might for ever keep his word as guardian of the temple, sent away the boy, laden with presents, to pass the rest of his life in the Cyclades..."

http://www.jjkent.com/articles/stones-constantinople-cathedral.htm


i have thought him so often
unlike the angel on a blue morning
who appeared in shining white
before a frightened boy
and inquired for the master mason
to hasten the raising of the sanctuary
then waited forever -- i would not remain

god is so much more wiser
and compassionate to me
this force that blesses all space with
innumerable beautiful things
and unraveled reflective riddles
that seem meaningless unless
all is accepted with the grace that made it

Poem - Suburban Poem

it is so quiet
i can hear the ringing in my ears
metallic shore of a tinfoil sea

it is so still
the houses in the street are bizarre
facades made of sugary marzipan

they live in their frosting
i live in mine while the gingerbread foundations
are eaten secretly by the tide

the only things that intrude
are cars and birds because people
do not equate on sidewalks of sugar

but let me not complain
of the places i choose to go and have built
however fantastic & unreal they become

-----

Sunset Heights
Escondido

Poem - Serenade

we sat by a screen of moonlit baffled trees
a serenade of phone-tones
not crickets called though the night

as if playing hide and seek
screens glowed and were extinguished
the conductor was late due to traffic

the only thing that seemed real
were your eyes that found mine
not in a person but in a silhouette

the stage footlights became brighter
as the celebrated man arrived & silently waved
then the music began normally

---

Hollywood
2011

Poem - robert redford's face is radioactive

robert redford's face is radioactive
he throws out the first pitch and the ball becomes contaminated
it arcs to the pitcher with a trailing
soft blue glow

there is a tavern under the street
where only newspeople meet, robert redford's face begins to go critical
reducing the front of it to a puddle of glorious
atomic slag

the bar vaporizes like tissue
nuclear material melts into the floor like butter being sucked into toast
with a massive burst of radiation
that tickles skin

the slag will congeal
but we will never go away after the slag congeals, topped by a magnificent
reinforced cement sarcophagus
complete with sensors

A Poem About Hummingbirds to Latif

latif when i think of you i stayed out of those dark rooms
the kind where you can stay quiet and write

instead i remembered the saying credo quia absurdum
as i looked for the hummingbird that is lightening blue

he's never far away and with the looptie-loop
banishes all thought of the dutiful waiting & the when

------

Newport Beach
Second Day of Spring, 2011

Poem - the eye/ can take it in/ not speak

it rains
the second day
of spring

three apples
in the fridge

crossword puzzle
paper sleep

at the table
i see how
some clouds

become stairs
into blue
lit with light

so high above
any mind
or pencil

the eye
can take it in
not speak

Poem - A Notion

\

poet halfheartedly looking through the poetry section
comes across a slim work by billy collins
poet laureate

reading a few of the poems an old feeling of excitement
springs up & certain amount of dread shame
of his own work

he realizes a raft of flimsy "on his way back to home
wouldn't you know a damned red light
and white clouds" line after line

as he thought billy collins billy collins
turning into the drive like the book he didn't intentionally buy
but the work totally owns him

.

when he's inside he sits down and tries to write a poem
it is like trying to construct what he was
or what he saw when it happened

but it is vanity so he thinks about billy collins
and of the book and how he might not be able to write
but everything is fine

he had been magically knocked off
and he can' quite do anything except a kind of
hurt joyful hopping

-----

To Billy Collins

The Rainbows

Just before waking this morning, I dream of several rainbows,
looping and curling, almost tied together like a knot.
There are three tiers of clouds behind them, going up,
just after a storm. A scattering of white birds shoot through,
near the edge of the World.

All distance becomes trivial, suffused with light. I stand on a high-rise,
with gold windows, behind me the abandoned office of a friend.

E Poe Raven Bruce

E Poe had this raven he'd write to. The raven's name was Bruce, who had been raised by Jesuits in Philadelphia. How Bruce ended up in Baltimore is a whole story that won't be told here. Bruce thought Poe was a likable nitwit. When Bruce wasn't tapping on the window for snacks, he'd fly to a church steeple and let the weather-vane point him in the direction the wind was blowing. On the wind the raven could smell the forest from across the river, the warm tiles of the rooftops, and the time of the day. Then Bruce would get hungry and fly down to look for a dead cat to eat the eyes out of, or for tidbits washed over by the drunk smelling funk of E Poe. Sometimes Poe would hide under his desk when Bruce arrived, especially at night. Then he'd recover, rub his eyes, wind a clock, or light a candle. The shaking would go away as he drank, and he was always writing. With bright black steely eyes -- the eyes of an unrelenting & uncompromising, yet sympathetic universe, Bruce watched. Bruce was logical and responsible, in his witnessing.

*

When spring came, Bruce fell in love and few away for several months. When he came back the building was empty, but in the cemetery there was a black casket with E POE written on the lid. Bruce landed and tapped on the lid, tearing up flakes of wood. He tapped again, no scratching came from within, E Poe was not there. Bruce knew he was somewhere. Puzzles, puzzles -- his little bird mind couldn't unloosen to know what he thought he could know.

*

At night the yellow moon reminded Bruce, slyly, to go one more time to E Poe's rooms. That was easy. Bruce winged up and saw from the skylight there was E Poe, shimmering in the darkness, no candles necessary now. Bruce swooped down to land on a shoulder, but there was only air, he cawed in reproach, but all was forgiven. Then Bruce saw a finger of moonlight touch the mantle, and there was a smaller E Poe, behind a flat square of glass! And Bruce was pleased, because the imperceptible E Poe assented to what Bruce saw, and Bruce knew it was E Poe's soul.

Knocking it down was easy enough, and broken covering, Bruce speared E Poe's spirit through the heart. Bruce showed E Poe the thing he had done, and Poe sat there and bowed his head with a smile. Into the card he climbed.

Through the skylight rose Bruce, with E Poe, over the town, past the steeple & weather-vane, they flew. Aside the moon, they glided, to the river high with tide. There avoiding the muck, Bruce let E Poe go with a flick of his dread beak, like a chip on the water. The moon was like a white light, reflected on E Poe's tiny face. It bumped and winked, and then was gone.

Barnes & Noble / The La Costa Express

In Orange County just after it started raining, the blacktop appearing as obsidian, I was perusing the books on sale at Barnes & Noble. Over in the periodical section, I'm surprised to see an old guy who goes to AA meetings where I live, in La Costa.

La Costa is 75 miles south of here. I also thought he was dead. Have you ever met someone like this? It happens more often than you'd think.

"Hi." I say.

"Hello." he replies.

"How's it going?" I ask.

"Fine." he says, a bit irritated that I'm still talking to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm looking at books!"

"Oh."

"You don't think I'd be here looking at books!?"

"But you live in La Costa."

"Jesus Christ! Just because I live in La Costa, I can't show up here and be looking at books?"

"Hey -- no offense. I was surprised to see you."

"Offense taken!" He pushed up his glasses. "Any more questions you want to ask me, before I get back to enjoying myself alone?

"No -- no." I wanted to say "Hi"."

"OK -- "Hi". Now beat it!"

I leave him alone, but I can't help but seeing him in the corner of my eye -- he's dressed in a red flannel shirt and faded blue jeans -- like he always is. Meanwhile, the rain has let up.

*

A week later I go back to La Costa, and I attend the morning meeting. The chair where the guy always sat is empty. Plenty of people could sit in it, but the chair stays unoccupied.

I don't tell anyone about meeting the dead guy at Barnes & Noble, because I'm not sure he's really dead, but nobody is talking about him anymore so I don't bring it up.

*

The next time I go to Banes & Noble in Orange County, I guess I'm not surprised to see him in the bargain books section. He's wearing the same flannel shirt and jeans -- looking exactly like I saw him last time. Why not?

"Hi." I say.

"Oh sweet Jesus Christ! You again." he says sarcastically, with a short glance. "Why don't you fuck off?"

"Where have you been?"

"What are you, my fucking mother? Get away! Scram!"

I see a staff person frowning at me, so I leave him alone.

*

The next meeting, in La Costa, I see someone sitting in his chair who looks just like him. It is his brother. I go over an introduce myself, which makes him angry.

"How's _________?" I ask him.

"Whadda ya mean, how's __________?" he yells at me.

"Is he around?"

"Fuck you! He's not here!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I fucking mean! He's not here!"

Now people in the meeting are looking at me with disgust. I excuse myself and sit down.

*

The next time I'm in Orange County when I go to a bookstore, I decide to go to a different one altogether.

Acceptance Letter

One day, just before spring, he got an acceptance letter. He was not anticipating an acceptance letter, from any publication -- let alone from a prestigious magazine. Because of this, at first he couldn't comprehend what the slip of paper said, because he assumed it was another rejection slip, but the form and the words were bizarre, they were wrong. It didn't read like anything at the mailbox. He got into the kitchen. When he realized that this was AN ACCEPTANCE LETTER, he laughed and slapped his left hand down on his lap so hard, he accidentally punched himself in the balls. That was unexpected too, and it really hurt. But he kept on laughing and waved at the mailman as he came back down the road from the big Commercial Dairy. He was so happy, he let the damn pony into the house & stand in the living room and stare out the picture window all afternoon. This was the first time the pony did this without breaking into the house when he was away for a few hours. Might as well let everyone enjoy themselves.

Poem - On Cruise to Catalina

nearing we watched the boat go up waves
until i felt blind because the sun was so strong

i looked away ashamed and sensed the rise
of mother sea under my feet

the disturbed try idle thoughts
i think about what i choose to see in front of me

catalina's scrub hardness had sheep and goats
the mining there played out badly

the romantic part of me wishes to identify
this place w/ past but honesty urged me to come clean

scars show on the cliffs over smashing waves
the island was indifferent at best and worse angry

like dreams the ocean rolls on forever but it lifts me
a great wind sends regrets away

**

nearing we watched
i felt blind because the sun was so strong

i looked away ashamed
sensed the mother sea under my feet

catalina's scrub hardness
anything taken to it played out badly

i wished to identify
but honesty urged me to come clean

cliffs over smashing waves
indifferent at best and worse angry

the ocean rolls on forever
a great wind sends regrets away

----------

Southern California
March 2011

Poem - Tears of a Cafe Window

*


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*


*


*

*

*
*

just before it snows
on lake street
a garbage truck
runs over the tears
of a cafe window

no -- the tears
of condensation
on the cafe window
drilled through
the garbage truck
like diamond bullets
reducing the vehicle
to a flaming ruin

no

no

the truck is gone
& drops of water
keep sliding
silently
down

Poem - Lipstick on the Pig

you questioned everything
which was good practice at thinking

but this kind of thought does not solve reality
that was never to be solved

which is not saying nothing matters
because everything matters

choose the sane way
by giving more than you take

when you have something
tell and let it go without elaboration

all these essays and discussions
don't have to keep speaking

other people will be
wanting lipstick on the pig

surely through all of this sustaining
find the joyfulness of a child

Poem - The Pistol Tattoos

she has tattoos below her navel
2 colts single-action cocked & outlined in blue
drawn so as if she could pull them

her elvis smile rests lightly
thumbs hooked through the beltloops
with the faded blue jeans

-- - ------

2/14
Escondido

Poem - Google Translate

this star
this life
this place
reader is many places
all over the earth

the moon rises
a window lighted

.

gwiazdy
to życie
to miejsce
Czytnik jest wiele miejsc
całej ziemi

księżyc wschodzi
oświetlone okno

.

эта звезда
это жизнь
это место
Читатель многих местах
по всей земле

Восходит луна
освещенные окна

.

dieser Stern
dieses Leben
diesem Ort
Leser an vielen Stellen
überall auf der Erde

der Mond aufgeht
ein Fenster erleuchtet

.

aquesta estrella
aquesta vida
aquest lloc
lector és molts llocs
tota la terra

la lluna s'aixeca
una finestra il.luminada

Poem - The Ballad of the Narco Submarine

this is the ballad of the narco boat
fully submersible to 30 ft
air-conditioned for the long dark haul
pushed by fast diesels
across the death of the sea

departed at night with no stars seen
out from uncharted cliffs mud and mango trees
we stood out north northeast in the swell
at 3 am we hit an uncharted reef
and sank with 4 tons of cocaine

the designers were appalled
and so were the accountants and bosses
sealed in the deep our names won't be called
they said it would be a short trip
and the money would be paid cash on return

the sea moves and the distant shore waits
in the jungles new leaves grow
boxes and plastic bags are filled for the subs
farmers and poor boys in need line up
being made ready to go

the dock is rotten and the planks sigh
up the bundles go one by one
a child watches and is innocent enough to be afraid
afraid of the periscope and green fiberglass
afraid for the driver afraid of the sea

this is the ballad of the narco sub
across the death of the sea
mary mary mother of god pray for us
forever now we're under the water
la campana de la aldea se agrieta próxima
vez que suene

Poem - Prelude and Fuge No. 5 in D, by Bach / The Racing Course of a Life

the racing
course of
a life

middle age
resisting
being spent
by the
trajectory
set by youth

eyes tear
but you
promise yourself
you are
not crying

explain
it is only
the light
in that certain
part of day

at the wheel
of a shiny
automobile

impeccable
power suit
italian tie

behind you
a gulf blacker
than the road

in front a
dizzying peak
where dreams
can all die

the white
you will have
must have

you know

(To listen to the audio recording of this poem, click here.)

Mistakenly Finding Compassion for the Army of Egypt

Today, I thought I read "EGYPTIAN ARMY SHELTERS STRAY ANIMALS" and I was moved at the compassionate nature -- totally unexpected, of the Egyptian Army. What depth of wonder is related to the things happening in this world? Can you say for sure where it ends? What a fool was I to think otherwise, mired in negative reflexive thinking. I resolved, through this example, to be positive, for more positivity to manifest.

Then I re-read the headline, and it was "ALBANY POLICE SHELTER STRAY ANIMALS". Holding to my new resolve, no matter how misguided, I shall still reserve compassion for the Egyptian Army, and especially of the Police Department of Albany, NY.

Poem - all changed

the front
of this morning

inescapable
once faced

sun no challenge
air no challenge

time accepted

the room
my steady hands

same speech
same thoughts

same action
all changed

Poem - The Quest

porn star looks for
noah's ark
clued in by bible

finds it in turkey
no but meets a lieutenant
in the airforce

finds it in russia
no but meets an acrobat
with eyes like a gypsy

at the shores of
the caspian sea
or black stained oil malta

she says goodbye to
the motor launch

she says goodbye
to old thinking

she surrenders

ii.

in egypt

a man tries to sell her
a nail from the ark
wrapped in cotton

the box is small
and rectangular
and false

in israel

there is a rare photo
or map of the ark
much confused

shop closed
old german lady dead
window broken

she surrenders again

iii.

before you know it
she is back in LA

the only thing she
kept is a glass charm
for good luck from fez

noah's ark is everywhere
she will never drown

Poem - Snow Stop

southern california flawless
sunny day after day

i miss how the snow
stopped everything

you couldn't do a
thing only wait

envy even the smallest
bird who was still free

New Word - Dysons

Dysons

The peculiar squeaking noises a Dyson vacuum makes while sucking.

"As I vacuumed, the machine emitted a barrage of dysons, like sound effects reminiscent of a Woody Allen movie."

The Uncanny Valley

I think "The Uncanny Valley" relationship-phenominon to highly-lifelike appearing robots is a natural emotional reaction for normal people, because a robot will always be artificial on some level, and making technology appear natural is in contradiction to what technology is -- an invention of the will.

On the gross level, your human will feel like the scientist is trying to pull a fast one on him. On another level, the human being will feel like technology is trying to mimic him, as a replacement. Ultimately, technology can do neither, because it is the demonstration of the will.

Basically -- I think that "The Uncanny Valley" can be avoided if we relate to technology as Invented, and not as Life, and we resist the temptation to mimic through technology theories of the how and why we were created. Technology is an expression of the will, which is human expression, and has limitations. Ultimately, nature has no limitations, because it is natural.

Scientists will continue to grapple with the unlimited reality of reality.

Poem - imperial urges create

the curia in my heart
wanting to make simple wood into a cross

upright and straight
rather than level unadorned and plain

imperial urges create
golden cities and magnificent churches

but we create out of nothing
emptiness follows emptiness without excuse

Southern California Short Story

He read Candide, and laughed. People stared at him in the library. It was 10 AM. After having this, he walked to Pavilions and bought an expensive coffee, from a detoxed blond, and spilled it on the floor of his car. He drove through the shade of many palm trees. He drove past 3 tall modern buildings, in the restrained style of Miles van der Rohe, the color of bone.

A Spanish pirate was buried where he parked his car, near Back Bay. The dead man's name was José de Gálvez. He had been shot by an arrow in the thigh, and had bled to death. Up on the bluff, under a house foundation, was the remains of a cache of silver on the edge of an Indian burial ground. The ghost of the dead mariner haunted that part of the scrub, and the mud flats of Back Bay.

Sometimes, the ghost would stand on the road, and cause cars to go off the cliff. Teenagers were the best for this. The ghost of Gálvez also caused a small plane to be confused, when he made faint light. The pilot thought the mud flats was the end of a runway, and the pilot was too late to pull up and crashed and died.

The ghost of Gálvez looked at the writer, and wondered how he could hurt the gringo. It was too bad the light was so strong. Gálvez wanted to hurt the gringo who parked over his grave. Anyone who walked on his grave, he knew of it. Wherever he was, it brought him back. Gálvez was doomed to linger here forever. With his ghost eyes, he looked at the writer, and knew the writer would be that way too.

Poem - know the prairie never knows/ never forgets

now dead funeral hole next
to an airport

nobody stuck around to see
if your coffin made it in

all the people who you really loved
dead years ago

we should have our life celebration
while alive

but we can't

we mourn but we don't drink anymore
so we drive

we go out miles to where the prairie shows
stand there

son of the midwest

know the prairie never knows
never forgets

Poem - Some Other Time

watching an innocent pair
of autumn stained clock
hands turn

and hearing the traffic
in the street without
looking at anything

new york you are in
my mind and outside of me
trying to get in

going for a walk
taking a break from mute
white pages

soon it may snow a
new white that will conquer
all the gray

a few flakes will defy
gravity like living forever
over the facades of w 43rd street

-----

To Bill Evans, playing "Some Other Time"

Poem - To My Foolish Heart

Video of Bill Evans playing "My Foolish Heart"
at the piano, NYC 1963

*

hey bill you're breaking mine
as you play 'my foolish heart'

smiling at the same time
of the busting of it

remembering all the doors
passed in and out of

saying hello to such
an unexpected upturned face

and then one day she is gone
no letter unsaid goodbyes

through all this i see
how we can't go back

we only go on
as brave as possible

and then being
that way

as every place always
was embracing us

Poem - The Shore

life is words
words can kill

we are ruled
by the language we acquire

you will never realize
if you are not free of this

you will stay on the shore
and see a horizon

you will have a shack nearby
with an unpaid bill

you will have a girl you loved
who left you

~

la vida son las palabras
las palabras pueden matar

que se rigen
por el lenguaje que adquirimos

que nunca se dará cuenta de
si usted no está libre de este

se quedará en la orilla
y ver un horizonte

usted tendrá una choza cercana
una factura sin pagar

usted tendrá una chica que amaba
que le dejó

poem - simple here

bird droppings
twigs rusted pipe

the ride of the hill is that way
you know your feet

below is earth
above is sky wing white

hint of cloud over
you & bugs old barbed wire

forgetting now
in everything

simple here

well water newspaper
old pipe

Poem - The Nightingale

you do not understand
so i do not understand
there is nothing to understand

*

hep!

these words the mysterious call
of a surreal nightingale

wanting to come in
during the long dark night
when i am half asleep

in fear at those times i choose
not to be unconscious or oblivious

it comes unbidden time and time again
because you have shown me

seeing is lovely
how some deal made
to allow you or i to go

where few are allowed to transgress
certainty dies propellers ejected

steering on and on

------

for Latif

In Charge of the World

there is a cat in a tree
not supposed to be so high in the tree
a little girl calls for the cat to come down out of the tree
the cat thinks it is in charge of the world

there is a well-dressed man in a limo
living a secret agony in the city that never sleeps
everyone fears him and he has the power to ruin lives
the man thinks he is in charge of the world

there is a person who is writing this poem
sun rises over the cat and the man and me
like them i think i am here and i am relatively in control
just enough to be in charge of the world

Poem - i expect things to make sense

i expect things to make sense

with the sunlight i worship not here but 8 minutes into the past

and my very substance borne from an unknown star

exploded billions of years ago & specks of it wandered through trackless space

through an eternity of death


i expect to have certainty

in a place that is as fragile and transitory as it is ridiculous

with the rest of the universe in mind

full of emptiness and unequaled nothing

no sighs no thought no place


how amazing it is to be so different

like one polished gem in the inscrutable throat

of murderous time or a bright illogical mote of dust

that magically arises in the face of

the dread certainty of nothing

--------

Written, written, written -- might not be fixable, but there it is. For JJ. CM

Poem - my good luck shared let us be resolute together

my good luck shared let us be resolute together

here is the morning full of the memories of mahasiddhas

a million letters from the buddhas held up now delivered

padmakara and jesus christ entered like all-day with no mysterious divisions

old leaf royal at my left foot and a pool humbling me with clear water

-------

For Latif and Alpha

Poem - Incomplete Poem to the Mahasiddhas

Incomplete Poem to the Mahasiddhas

(Author: It cannot be done, but like a stroke of lightening on a blue cloudless day, here is the thunder-clap.)

i pray to the mahasiddhas
they laugh

no harm done
give your offerings

we like rocks
we like guts we like wind

trash death
sun moon mold beer

*

mahasiddhas
emanate from jail

mahasiddhas
spring from traffic accidents

mahasiddhas
evolve from old ketchup

*

acinta mahasiddha was in a meeting and found it boring

ayogipa mahasiddha was offered a free bath & laughed

aryadeva saw all the pretty girls from serenity house

babhaha sat next to him and laughed ha ha ha

kilakilapa shared

bhandepa clapped him out

bhiksanapa had a donut

bhusuku came in late

camaripa had on old white shoes

campakapada showed the bums loving eyes

godhuripa had plenty to give away

caurangipa appeared to be whole to the missing

celukapa mute and strong as stone in his chair

kalapa stole my heart

dengipa shushed me

-------

Ah! The result of Sensing a Beautiful Morning & being alone, or these and all the others
1.07.2011

Poem - The Poet

a poem could be written
a thousand ways
and not at all

some of the best he declined
to ravage by fuck death
pen

no false pride in this
you don't know him

i do

Poem - Rework: To the Place

you go to the place
in hip of the narrow valley

not a lamb to the slaughter
nor fools gold rambling

if you go look for the drunk
who slept in the barn

he left incidentals
rotted with bird droppings

you're looking

you're looking
look at you looking

he could be in needles
he could be in a library

he could be crossing a stream
he could be the river

or not place buildings streets
dark windows shine

hell laughing medicated
high arrested shot stabbed

own burned lost forgotten to all
except to your own eyes

that now see above tree branches
in the form of a mute 'X'

*

you feel an apple
in your barn jacket

you take it out and eat it

----

Bennett Valley

Poetry Makes Me Coffee

Poetry -- who uncannily looks like a friend of mine who lives in San Jose, comes in.

"You're writing terrible poetry." says Poetry.

"Yes, I do." I say.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" asks Poetry.

"I don't know." I lie.

"Hmmm." she says. Poetry looks around the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"

"That would be very nice."

"Ok." says Poetry. She gets up and starts making us coffee. "You should cheer up."

"I don't feel depressed."

Poetry looks at me with her beautiful hazel eyes. "You should cheer up."

We have coffee and she tells me about how other poets were cheered up, throughout history. I'd like to make love to Poetry, when I'm in a better mood, but her phone rings musically and she has to go -- there are many writers who need her more than I. On her way out, she kisses me on the cheek.

Poem - Bar

lies as precious as rhinestone
cast over the floor of the bar
sown night gap after night
the door opens and all look
without turning your head
through red eyes
how are ya paul frank joe
don't ask

the police have come
girlfriend is banging aurora

Poem - To the Place

you go to the old place
situated in a lonely valley

not a lamb to the slaughter
nor fools gold rambling

if you go look for the drunk
who slept in the barn he is gone

he left incidentals
rotted with bird droppings

he could be in needles
he could be in a library

he could be crossing a stream
not wet at all this time

or laughing medicated
stoned high arrested shot stabbed

burned lost forgotten to all
except to your own eyes

that now see above tree branches
in the form of a mute 'X'

*

you feel an apple
in your barn jacket

you take it out and eat it

----

Bennett Valley

Poem - days a steady rain/ no hiding from it

days a steady rain
no hiding from it

sky the color
of dull aluminum

each fence post
ink black

straw nods down
sleeping on wet earth

scrub oak dark
on mountain

---

Winter Solstice
North County, San Diego

Ching Tzu Says "Ah!"

Chung Tzu comes in, through the sliding glass door all rainy. It has been raining for about 36 hours, uncommon here.

"What did you want to tell me?" he asks.

"I don't remember." I admit, drinking cold coffee.

"Ah!" he says.

"But it was something good." I remind him.

"Ah!" he says.

"You'd have liked about half of it, I think." I assure him.

"AH!" he says.

"I--"

"AH!!!" Chung Tzu yells.

"But --"

"AHHH!" Chung Tzu exclaims, and he goes out the back door, with his robes a-swinging.

Into the rain.

Poem - last night interview dream

last night interview dream
job title: running the sun

not too hot
nor too cold

raise it lower it
i had no related experience

spoke movingly
about growing green things

down here
on earth they listened

called me later

i got the job

Poem - boring as hell you & me

now we are friended
online

what amazing possibilities
lost now found

boring as hell you & me
it turns out

Poem - like a light in this place

from the bar last call

walking home in the lions den
of 3 am sunday morning

saturday night whim
exhausted

promises decayed
failure or dark irony

then i see two lovers
just sitting holding hands

like a light in this place

-----

Lower Haight Street
San Francisco

Poem - Doings of a Serious Crow

i

serious crow

on a lamp post

haight & baker

accepting the music

of buskers

ii

serious crow

flies to the panhandle

and a pretty girl

gives him sandwich

just a pinch from

her pretty fingers

o lovely girl

iii

serious crow

to a funeral watching

out of one black eye

a white coffin

rock up the steps

of a white church

the body bumping

softly so you can't

almost hear it

iv

crow back

to lamp post

at haight & baker

buskers gone

stale food and a ticket

and a magazine

w/ cigarette butt

caw caw caw

says crow to

muscular fog

and crows black eye

sees me

Poem - Clayton Street

pearl gray morning

i walk on clayton street

i know the cars the sidewalk

i know every shining window

i am the path of the mind

now going up over rooftops

from city to mysterious sky

into unknowable air a bell tolls 12

back to earth i hear

two students talk about girls

and smell the toke

a cab cuts through residing thought

an electric bus passes

a motorcycle goes

the postman is at the gate

----

For Evan and Fonta
12/10

Poem - The Mountain

no mountain climbing is worth it
unless your heart breaks halfway for how big the mountain is
and there is no confession to ease it
simply is

night falls and you feel lost
you can't go back
you must wait for the dawn
to see where you are

it isn't worth it unless you pray then
and there is no comfort because
you see how small you are to
mountain

fate flickers like a candle
you reach for faith like a sane person
feels for light or a rope
or a map

Poem - Morning

thanksgiving day

my words have failed me
thank god for the failure of words

i'm sun
i'm the pool cleaner mechanically going about
through a dreamy shadow
under water

then of this reveille
a bird cuts through the air

black phoebe to the best place
in the backyard

----

november 25
escondido

Poem - Venus Rises Over The House

venus rises over the house
suddenly everything holding onto
i let go of
as naturally as a sigh

i feel less weaponized
and how thru a whole bust life
i honed
my edges

day makes it seem
i never thought these things

Joe Stalin Helps Me with the Crossword Puzzle

It is a sunny, pleasant morning in Newport Beach. Joseph Stalin and I are drinking coffee on the patio, and we are reading different parts of the newspaper.

"The Pope!" says Joe Stalin. "How many divisions does he have?"

"He doesn't need any divisions." I reply. "He's the Pope."

"I've KILLED men who dared to even THINK about speaking to me that way!" says Joe Stalin.

"What way?"

"The way you are talking to me right now!"

"But you asked me a question!"

"There you go again!" yells Joesph. "I don't want the TALKING after I talk -- I was making a STATEMENT."

"OK." I say, and I start the crossword puzzle.

After a few minutes of silence, Joesph Stalin throws down the want-ads.

"We'll hang all the capitalists with a rope -- and they'll sell it to us!" he proclaims. He sticks his thumbs into his belt loops and looks at me.

I keep working on the crossword puzzle, it is very hard and frustrating. And I wonder inwardly, what does J.S. mean? What does the rope represent? Why a rope? How much rope? When would this hanging take place? What does the hanging, or 'hanging' signify -- literally or figuratively, or metaphorically? etc. etc.

"Well!?!" says Joe Stalin.

"I'm sorry, you told me to not interrupt." I reply. "But now that you asked, what is a 7 letter word that starts with an 'A' for the clue 'Alike: Twin'?"

Stalin thinks. "Hmmm. Try 'Achiral'."

I try it. "No."

"Acmatic?"

"No."

"Adenoma."

"Now you're guessing."

Stalin throws all the papers into the air and I hear them cascading down the side of the balcony. "ALL THE TALKING MUST STOP!"

*

About a hour later Pope Pius XI comes by, after playing golf at Pelican Hill. He's in a good mood, tan, serene, he mentions he shot an 83.

I think Joe is going to go at him for the pope thing, and I wait for it, pretending not to be hoping, but Pius and Joesph talk about baseball, and the Giants.

Chung Tzu Has Had Enough of Me

Now, at mid-morning, I am doing things. Chung Tzu is here, and I am trying to ignore him.

Bread needs to be sliced. I cut the bread with a knife.

"Oh!" says Chung Tzu. So I cut harder.

A mirror needs to be hung. I get a screwdriver and I drive the screws into the wall.

"My." murmurs Chung Tzu. So I drive the screws harder.

A cabinet should be repaired. I get out the hammer and some small shiny nails. I hammer away.

Chung Tzu has had enough of me. "Tisk-Tisk!"

"And what?"

"I've seen what you're up to --you use all your tools the wrong way tools should be used! You use a knife like it is a knife, a screwdriver like a screwdriver, and gracious! A hammer like a hammer!"

"And how should I use a tool like a tool?" I ask irritably.

"Well, right now, I certainly can't tell you. But I do know you're hurting them all. Possibly you should just stop what you are doing."

Chung Tzu leaves.

It is quiet when he is gone, very still. My feeling are hurt. I look at the knife, the screwdriver, and the hammer. I arrange them on the table, and I reflect on what I was doing.

"I'm sorry if I have been hurting you." I say to the knife, the screwdriver, and the hammer.

I decide not to cut, drive screws, or hammer for awhile.

*

When it is getting dark, Chung Tzu comes back. He sees the tools on the table.

"I'm sorry." I say, and I look down at my hands. "I see I don't know how to use tools right."

Chung Tzu smiles, and gives me a bear hug. "Ok, Brother. There, there."

The first star of the night rises.

-----

Dedicated to David Given Schwarm

Chung Tzu Fishing - Me Thinking

After the sun rises, I'm walking on the trail that loops around Back Bay. Around a steep bend in the track, I see Chung Tzu with a length of string and an old piece of wood. He has part of the string wrapped around the wood in the middle, but I don't think that he would ever catch anything -- it is comical, there is no hook.

"Good morning!" I say.

"Good morning!" says Chung Tzu.

"Going to go Fishing? I don't see you catching much with that!"

"Going to go Thinking? I'm sure you won't catch much your way, either!"

We both smile.

We both look at the vast expanse of Back Bay in the morning, and the wind comes up.

----

For Camilla

Building the Tower

morning sun shows
sugar under my fingernails
from making ice-coffee

dr seuss hypnotizing
the kid with songs & all kinds
of happy messages

well, how did we do? great!

if you want to build a tall tower
that stands in place, be sure to build it
in one solid place!

-----

October 29

Lao Tzu and Every Leaf in the Forest

Lao Tzu and I are sitting. We are sitting on a rock.

"I want to help others, but I am never sure when I am interfering, rather than helping." I say.

"Every leaf in the forest does not know it's name." says Lao Tzu. "But they all fall."

I watch the wind blow and I see the trees slowly shake. I want to believe each leaf that falls free and twirls in the air, decides to let go.

Poem - this morning tigger becomes a genie

this morning tigger becomes a genie
and has the magic to solve everything
but tigger discovers that the power of wishing
isn't everything without love

all of this wisdom
contained in a tv cartoon
on an ordinary monday morning
before 9 o'clock

i catch myself saying
'look! see? i'm starting to see!'
but i still don't love enough
and i keep at the wishes

oh to realize like tigger

Poem - but look

i go to the vintage cars
on display down the street

there is a light rain falling
and i am early all the cars are not there

you can't look at them yet
explains the nice lady

i would be disappointed but look

i have an angel by my shoulder
60 stories tall &

as bright as
a star

how nice

.

.

.

Here are Some Random Numbers for Today

7 20 7 95 38 78 18 39 64 23 10 4
94 20 84 6 11 21 98 39 98 38 79
12 40 92 17 94 83 17 65 89 23 88
44 48 50 6 96 8 95 83 38 49 11 53
34 85 26 63 52 10 100 98 10 44 92
18 6 58 64 11 36 56 61 78 97 99
70 92 8 13 17 66 38 48 72 49 95
85 34 55 90 55 4 74 97 54 30 50
22 27 71 77 29 81 38 7 88 66

Have fun!

Poem - rain drops/ down

rain drops
down

fuzzy

i'm immune
to it

i shouldn't
be

here is this
cloud

fresh from
sea

full of sprinkling
things

memories old
anger

notes from
the oldest

man in the
world

Poem - now today is like an open ocean

now today is like an open ocean
hovering before your eyes like a bird

the rocks are gone so is the tricky harbor so keenly aimed for
such is the grandeur of the mind

Poem - that is the way it is

disgusting hard messy
crazy fruitless
fucked up

do you like it
you must be crazy
or a bastard

sitting in the sun
with no real problems
being sad

in the other room
hear someone say
dick dick dick

dick dick dick
dick dick dick dick
dick dick dick

that is the way it is
it might feel better
or worse

-------

To Me
10.12

The Well

A sheaf of rain hangs over the hills, or a dark crows wing of rain falls with raindrops on raindrops riding piggy-back. It is 11 o'clock. Dishes were just finished in the sink and garbage must go out, water falling from the sky, or no.

I was thinking about Peter Shaffer, the playwright, though I do not know him personally. I am thinking of him now again, as I cast the bucket deep down the well of my mind like this, feeling for water and possibly something unexpected when it comes up.

Down goes the bucket again, it falls a long time. The sun is out. The bucket comes up. I remember remembering someone I met a long time ago, who I've heard lives in Alameda. I think about another person who works at a big bank now.

I know we're all connected somehow. So wish me inspiration, fame, money, a good lay, water at the bottom of my well. I'll give you crow rain, cleaned dishes, taken out garbage, and Peter Shaffer, and something else from the well.

Christopher Smart

For I am not without authority in my jeopardy, which I derive inevitably from the glory of the name of the Lord.

------

– Jubilate Agno -- Fragment B, 1 - Christopher Smart

Poem - memories and recollections

memories and recollections
points in the darkness

oh look at them
so beautiful

bright scattered out
getting smaller

millions of them
all narration

you can navigate by
but don't believe in them

Poem - i can see my son/ watching the show

i only hear the tv
when it is one room away

i can see my son
watching the show

bathed in blue light
he laughs when it laughs

and jumps
to the explosions

Poem - i have a pond in my hand

i have a pond in my hand
fish live they look happy
with no worries in the world

my other palm is over the water
and makes nice shade with such
smooth water how could we be unhappy

Poem - the strokes/ of a silent bell

night was clear
like a noiseless bell

it tolled again and
again the hours

but unlike last time
i wasn't counting

nor was i not
counting

the strokes
of a silent bell

Poem - the wonder i see

big jet off to japan or chicago
look at that plane pull for the sky

catching the morning light
through the mist -- go go go

so straight so shiny
it can't exist or be made

the wonder i see
senses i previously was blind to

now shows me of what i lost
and what i have

Poem - Untrampled

we are not right
we think our needs will heal us
we think our wants will give us happiness

contentment is not chained
nor can it be gathered like any gathered thing
that is why it is contentment uncontainable

and we know this
we were born knowing this
and this is why we are what we are

yet we resist and we burn
to take daylight to a war or the moon
from a starry ocean night to a tomb

words thoughts ideals plans
brief as they are pretty as they are
saw the wide world & said they owned it

our mental defects
are so much lesser and poorer
than any deficiency we ever thought up

.

so the imperishable
comes back after much ruin and denial
untrampled by beginning middle and ending

----

9/12/2010
for Anicius Manlius Severinus Boëthius

Boethius - Song VI. -- All Things Have Their Needful Order

For to each thing God hath given
 Its appointed time;
No perplexing change permits He
 In His plan sublime.
So who quits the order due
Shall a luckless issue rue.

---

From "The Consolation of Philosophy"
This is the seed of the AA Serenity Prayer

Poem - but it is here

moving out of my dead time
i understand a little of what you taught

there was no way to impart
this comprehension & you knew it

all that could be done was to suggest
over and over and give out clues

hopefully or not hopefully there'd be
some kind of impression

but still learning does not stand of anything
and impressions are voids to be filled

when we look fondly at what we have learned
and see there are no gaps at all

everything is naturally complete to create
uncreated completion

now i have strayed out of words and thoughts
but it is here

words and thoughts cannot describe anything

those who do not understand will say it is secret
or impossible to know

but like love it is here

----

for LTR

Poem - what comes to your mind

in the middle of the night
what comes to your mind

when i am naked and
unguarded i see clearly

all these things
i have had before

you cannot keep them
but they come again

i awake and i know
if i abide

they too will be here in our
short time

the new song is not
freinds are gathering

the house arises
there are no new places

nothing has been lost
but there is the fear of time

like a jewel that can be broken
in a clock that can stop

you who fear like this
a spot of rain just fell

is it on your left of me
or the right?

Poem - of the river & the sea

do you keep doing
the things you've always been doing?
so am i
as summer is almost over and fall
begins the fall

being in a new place old cartoons
sound charming
and there is no mist or overcast
until 7 am

full blown day

the barge has
moved it's black bar down the bay
i feel soon
when fall is in full swing
it will be at the mouth

of the river & the sea

----

Back Bay
Newport, CA

Places With or Without My Love

I've never been to Kornsjø.

Or Stolipinovo.

Never visited Nagaland, or gone to the banks of the Rivière Soliette.

If I could listen to the Seufzer-Galopp, while driving on the Arbuthnot Road, while talking to a blonde about the 1911 Tour de France -- specifically about the close battle between Octave Lapize and François Faber -- would I be satisfied? I'm sure someone has had this conversation in such company, and they were happy.

Or I could figure out which Richard Doyle had come close to listening to the Seufzer-Galopp, while driving on the Arbuthnot Road, while talking to a blonde.

Or I could guess from Kornsjø, Stolipinovo has had a few people who have been back and home again on the way to the Rivière Soliette.

The moon is the same here, and in Nagaland. And whatever version of the Seufzer-Galopp you listen to, I'm sure it sounds the same.

With or without my love.

Poem - even if you want/ or even if you don't want them

what have i forgotten
many things wiped away by this day

but money lives in the past present
and future

a deadly responsibility
this business of having things

even if you want
or even if you don't want them

but don't be fooled and say
it is money's fault

Poem - all is before 1st light

mist hanging low & blue over the back bay, lights twinkled from a far off barge over silver water

all is before 1st light: the barge was black and questions died away,
thoughts caught off guard were annihilated

----

Back Bay
September 1

Poem - watching it snow

i

towards death

trembling hands
opened the bottle

it was a long walk
to the store & back

this is what you wanted
and nothing more

harming yourself

a face in the window
watching it snow

ii

months later

you can still see

every single falling
flake

iii

there is a part of you
a part of all of us

where it never stops
snowing

Poem - every time/ i watch dawn get started

here i sit again
before the dawn
on the third of four terraces
all others asleep below

i can't help but
marvel at the sky
dark blue yet
hinting of the coming light

the sun will rise
above a series of silhouettes
of the mountains
behind me

dewdrops surrounding
will become
a bewildering maze

and most will awake
to an ordinary day
in a given place in a given
moment

i am
stripped of this every time
i watch dawn get started

-----

August 2010

Poem - who is burdened with more than what they can carry

old pictures showing my tracks through the heart
stabbing reminders of past joy scattered over an unmade bed
the bed begs to be made so i fix the sheets

later i'm walking in a garden that is not mine
here i can see to the heights all the possible paths i might take
some trails are good some are bad

it is the choices at the start of a new journey that are bright
but otherwise there are things you cannot know
who is burdened with more than what they can carry

------

For Mel

Poem - over the boats

gone all month
but i'm good i suppose

my arms surround
a perfect circle of empty air

the light is lifting strong
off reflections from the waves

back bay newport beach
this is where the bluffs rise up

this is where my heart rises too
sun giving a new day

over the boats

Poem - risk

marine killed by an explosion
a youth who became a man

risk

concerned neighbors sent extra milk over
and a patriotic flag



when he came back
he's anywhere but here

Poem - on the train home/ we laughed

in love i see you and i don't know who you are
i know that i will never know you totally
but why be insistent -- has anyone been able to have anything
in such persistent questioning

we danced under the moon at buckingham fountain
and the lights changed color
as music played

"I got rhythm, I got music, I got my girl
Who could ask for anything more?"

on the train home
we laughed

Poem - a figure who is already there &/ watching you enter the door

you are dragging me into the room
by my hand, please stop

my arm was rigid and crooked
but i let you lead me, it is comical

people see this as a salute, or as a
declaration, for you this is help

my hand is not there it never was
i am someone different

a figure who is already there &
watching you enter the door

Poem - always coming/ always going

each moment
is like a wave

coming in
going back out

dragging us
or pushing

it lulls us to sleep
then to be awake

always coming
always going

----

River Forest
8/14

Meeting God in New York

Before I woke up this morning, I had a dream I was standing on a sidewalk in New York. I was near Chinatown, in Lower Manhattan. Grime & gum on the sidewalk, the old brick buildings stood, the stray bits of trash. For some reason, this hip guy was walking towards me -- when I saw the figure, I knew I was waiting for him.

It was God, coming into my life again, and this time he was disguised as a young, streetwise punk. When he got close enough, he had a tough friendly New York grin on his face. The kind of smile I'd seen all over New York. So I wasn't afraid when he was close enough to talk to me.

I woke up. It was dark and 5.30 in the morning.

Poem - they always meant well/ didn't they the grown-ups

i decided as a child
there was something to find

had to be something
because adults were crazy

they always meant well
the grown-ups

i had no idea mature
was to be a big dumb old kid

Poem - the horror/ of efficiency

i'm killing
ants with
bait

so last night
i dreamed of
thick lines of
ants going
from the
door

thousands and
thousands of
them all hungry
to their
deaths

the horror
of efficiency

who was the
genius who
cooked this
stuff up in
a lab

they're great
at what they
do these bugs
don't have
a chance

Poem - &

he was hooray for you
hooray for me
hooray for this
hooray for jesus christ
all together in this bar
all together with more drink
and he wouldn't stop
until he was seriously
hooray hooray hooray
down off the barstool
to the floor to the bouncer
to the curb / cop

&

when they stuffed him
in the back of the
squadcar he convulsed
like a fish i could hear
him screaming "You're
all a bunch of F--ing
worthless pukes."

the baseball
game came back on
and i watched his
abandoned last drink
sweat

Poem - he looked

he looked the way a drunk looked
he took pride in this denial

he thought he was like a sordid champ
even like a writer about to do the best work

he brought paper and pen but he did the crossword puzzles
to not think about anything

left every night by 11 the same way
in & out through the side entrance or back door

it is a bad dream for a dreamer who thinks
they still dream

Poem - One Typical Night Awhile Ago

bad men looking for
beautiful women
looking for bad men

i keep my eye on
the clock and the
clock doesn't give
a goddamn because
it is a clock

dwelling in the clasp
of imagined or real
missed opportunities
rolling along like
one drink after another

i have a smoke
i see the fingernail moon
i don't want to go
back in but i do
there is nothing else
to do when you
are at this

-------

Poor Phil's
Oak Park

Poem - i love you

i love you
but the love does not come from you

i see it is
the love in me to care for you or for anyone

so i can't lose it
like you can't lose your own love inside

and if you love me
with this in mind we'll be loving true

never believe
i can take it away from you by going