the wind's mercy

little bird, stand
wherever you land
and the world will come gather you in
and you will be at home
with your friend or two, there
you'll be happy,
with whatever nest
you begin

a season or two
will pass by, by your leave
and you will be at home
'til that change in the air -
till the wind picks you up,
and your place rolls away
far below under you
and behind

you will stay
fixed,

flying forward and high
in your place
in the sky -

keeping pace
with the wind
until you angle down
where it looks like a place to begin
again,
now

and the world will come gather you in.

let's not not

let's not not and say we did
in fact, let's do the opposite
whatever that works out to be
we'll work it out just fine -
you'll see!

rope hammock

sink back
and take a big pull of iced tea, just
drink in

a moment of calm.

look out on a sunlit world.
With clouds
hanging beams of sun, from themselves
there's nothing those sunbeams have to do now,
but draw out across the tall grass of July -
and there's nothing that you have to do right now
but hang in this moment,

sigh

looking-glass smile

I'm dying without you, or worse:
I want to
how about that for a kettle of fish?
me, the unstoppable idiot grin
like a cheshire man, fading out from within
'til there isn't much left but this.

the balancing act

what you want to save
and you want to destroy, well
the difference between

isn't even a space

you can balance them both
can't you now? If you can't,
you'll get out while you can

but you want to find ways

to make everything fit
nice, according to plan
so that you're not to blame

so that you're not the one

who destroys what you'd say
you've been trying to save

well, isn't this fun?

the poor neighbors

I want to control you like a saxophone
with my fingers pumping keys,
lips working away
you'd make harsh, skronking noises
in a raucous tone
I would practice you for hours,
never learning to play

no more drinking love poems

that's it
no more,
- I'm swearing off.
I can see where I got carried away
with this particular trick. Gone
too far, but not too far gone to quit. To call
"time, gentleman!" - and ladies too, of course.
But that's it. That's all. That's that - I'm flagged.
Cut off! No more drinking love poems.

No more lines making wine
of your smiles, no more
controlling metaphors
turning your bubbling laugh to streams
of sparkling sunlit champagne, no more
amber waves of your hair, compared
to Anderson Valley's Boont Amber Ale - no more.
No more the clear deep hit of your spirit and wit,
knocked back in one stiff stinging shot! - no more.
No more drinking love poems.

Well,

perhaps I could compare you to tea?
Tea, with honey

- and a spot of cream, ah
the sweet perfumed steam
that rises from your hot, silky, glistening surface

yea, that'll work!

Tea it is, then.

Delicious.

the distractions by themselves

I want to have you in a room
with no distractions,
one of these days
or nights
or years
or hell,
for decades -
for years and months
and weeks at a time, for days and nights,

forever would be nice
under conditions like that.

Periodically, at least.

Because we'd also like to,
from time to time,
of course
emerge
from the room -
and go out,
amongst the distractions!

the distractions, by themselves
are not bad. To be able

to enjoy the distractions is important

to being together. To be able

to enjoy the absolute absence
of distractions, though -

that's far and away more
to the point.

stick shift

I love a girl who DRIVES STICK.
No really. I mean
no innuendo or anything! She's
just driving that automobile,
down the road so to speak,
if you know what I mean -
Powering down the road! Easing in
the clutch, shifting crisp
with precision...working it
through those GEARS. Oh baby,
you can drive my car.

"ye gods, girl"

I am thinking of you in ways
more suited to the classical studies group
of a federal penitentiary

all pent up,
some part of me caged like a tiger
waiting
and pacing,
waiting
and pacing,
and in-between sitting, and wasting
time.

classical literature
a diversion at best from these bars
but better than this nothing
to live with, I suppose

those dudes
are in there, reading pieces,
discovering and deciphering allusions,
gods and myths and idols and
oh, those glorious sylphs and nymphs,
minor and major goddesses and other bitches
and it's kind of a revelation
how dirty all that legendary shit is!

one guy: "FUCK Pluto -
big bad god of the underworld, so he gets to be all
below the law - 'Rape of Persephone' my ass
meanwhile I'm in here
5 to 10 for the same damn thing,
substantially"

another guy concurs

a third points out all those damn gods
were rapists. And especially right on up to Zeus. Mr. big
god of lightning, and supernatural nonconsensual bestiality
always turning into bulls, swans -
man, probably any time back in those days
when a girl got fucked by an animal,
people just said, "There goes Zeus again! - but..."
so they modified the story they told against her, "...she was asking for it."

To the side, one guy - "You think that really happened often enough
to explain all these stories? I mean,
bestiality
it's generally instigated by the human. If you think back then,
animals really thought we were all that much more sexy,
I question that."

"What do you know about it, four-eyes?" Bristling from the bald guy
hurt glowers from several others, rained-upon looks. "What
do you know about it? What are you in for?"

Four-eyes, abashed, looks down
sheepishly

fast or famine

martyrs, we
make a virtue of misery
in the midst of so much
plenty, where virtue comes
so easily - or ought to! - why,
it isn't constructive. This world -
a gift? Yes it is! But we sniff at it,
walk on. Let another take first pick
from what is right there to see, too
good to believe! Really. But
we will pick: to suffer
and offer it up. Why

you'd think our God
was a glutton for our want
for self-deprivation,
to see how we go on
or rather: go without.

On feast days, we'd never know,
never be able to tell between
fast or famine. What
do we mean

#1 add Sour Cream, Guacamole and Cheese

eggs
potato
chorizo
BURRITO!!

Breakfast is the meal of the day, and its NEAT-O!

to wrap up all you need
in a tortilla skin, then shove
- not shovel - it in
your face is happy as sin!
and no you don't need any setting, plates
or knife or fork or spoon or tool
to get yourself a start-the-day-right bellyful!
don't even need to dig, just to dig in
with two big hands
grabbing
and a big wide mouth,
gnashing, smacking
with a grin
while your tongue is all
"ooooo!
huevos deliciosos"
so good, you want TWO
so good you say "pretty please"
even though it's in your hands
you already have it! Man,
that #1 add Sour Cream,
Guacamole and Cheese
could get to be be a habit.

the tired refrain

We want the good without the bad
We want the right without the wrong
We want the light without the dark -
and where's the harm in that, you ask?

We want the true without the false
We want the joy without the pain
We want the sun without the rain
- at least today - we want it all.

Except the parts that we don't want -
with those left out, we won't complain
We swear we won't! Is that so bad?
Why can't we have the best? Not both

We want the good without the bad
We want the right without the wrong
We want the light without the dark
with half our brain, and all our hope

With all our hearts, we want a pure
unalloyed bliss - is that so bad?
To make a wish? we have to ask

although we know it is

The Golden Age is Coming Down

We must end this Golden Age right now.
We've seen with Maxfield Parrish eyes
these clouds like towering columns, gold
supporting tons of azure marble skies, a dome
whose surface curve
is too sublime to see! yet we perceive

that it is lit from below

and we are the light, we two. We see
that we are lime, and burn
too hot and bright - our eyes reflect
that fevered sheen, as we
each out-perform
each word, each single thing
we mean! we out-perform
We lie, sometimes -
it seems, from meaning it
too much.

This theater can't just keep its doors
open for us -

This one show,
ours

is such great, good fun!
oh wasn't it just one magnificent run?
it is going to have to
close.

We knew it, both
at the same moment - faith,
ah love, our act has lost its touch.

And we can take it on the road, bang
it into shape, lose this or that scene, or change
that or this cue -

or make this or that cut, or just
flop, collapse, exhausted, sit - and be excused

We are exhausted, love.

Lock eyes: resist.

You and I have said so much,
too much
and we'll say too much, yet.

But this:

There's nothing more to do. Except
admit

there's nothing more.

Accept.

Shall we try yet again,
to regain our breath?
to cry like a baby, without regrets?
or collapse into sleep
without trying to dream
to wake up the next day
like a criminal
escapes,

to return to the scene?

We'll return to the scene.

And the set that enchanted,
the lines that enthralled, the
choreographed dance that brought gasps
one to all,
and caught all hearts in throats,
and held one single thought
prisoner for hours-long moments
- the whole perfect, elaborate, natural, true
and brilliant artifice,
this one act, a genuine article that we wrought
- is through? No! - the act we set up,
we sat up through nights, discussing,
perfecting -

has burned through its light.

So brilliantly, until it was all
- true.

Until it was all.

Once it became all - from the weight of the sky,
the ceiling fell through

and with it:
the sun came in,
and the air went out.
In a snap
of two figures, the act
was a memory -

doubt

was not even a shadow
not in the cruel, harsh spot
thrown by that hard sun.

what can we do? To follow it now -

The set seems so hollow.

The light of day shows it's all painted on.
The lines don't mean what they used to say.
The dance cuts just as thrilling a figure
as ever you could wish, but its heart's not in it,
now is it? - and though we throw ourselves into
the lunge and embrace - and it fits!
with the click of an oiled display case
hinge, but - we no longer care how it plays.

Its heart has gone rote.

And we look up, and out. The audience - once proud,
lively and lovely, and sitting composed
all of glamorous, amorous, potential distinguished
and bright future selves - all who we ever could have
or have been - in a spell. Enrapt! So enrapt
with this charming, elaborate, desperate thing, this act
- as we grinned and we laughed our way through, and into
and through every heart in the place. Yours,
mostly, and mine - there was no gesture wasted
on us! And the show - what a crowning success!

You and I flew too far off the charts to test
So brilliant, so bad - that audience sat
struck down by each scene, entered into,
possessed!

Have they left, wanting more?

The audience, now
has eloped.

you and I
- oh, so sure! We were so sure,
we never had much use at all
for hope.

Well, a parting of ways. May as well
do it right. For so short, oh too short of
the best of all possible times, darling,
accomplice,
oh loved one of mine,

you and I

had one hell of a life.

sophiaphilia

We're all of us hypocrites,
only the solipsists
choose to exclude themselves
(technical grounds)
but do they exist?
how can they say for sure?
if a tree falls and kills one -
am I still around?
If wishes were wisdom
and love was just words,
philosophy's systems
could order this world
fixed - with permanent firmament,
punctured by stars -
in its infinite place.
Not too small.
Not too large.

died

I've died
and I will not rise
again

the salvation I had hoped for
is worse than spent, and
I will never
find myself

and I will never look. All
the people and the places that I trusted
forsook.

All the certain, sure, secure, loved
loves

have flown home.

Home.

Where have they gone?

Someplace I've
never known.

the burden of breakfast

The burden of breakfast is lifted
from you. Your eggs can go back
in their paper-shell nests. Your eggs
will not need to be beaten and whipped
with water and milk, to sizzle and steam
into hot, fluffy mess
of white-yellow curds.

Your marbled pink meats are not wanted. Not now
- you won't need to peel back each limp,
tender strip to let dangle, then drop
into frying pan, sizzle
and spit juicy grease
like white hot pinpoint darts

- that nip you all over
your oh so exposed
so overexposed
pale skin,
while your smile
strikes gleaming white ad-copy sparks - and
you model your apron, and nothing much else
in your model dream kitchen.

Put your defrosting bran muffins back up
to freeze to organic, home-made vegan blocks,
put up your vacuum-sealed brick of black coffee

- keep your peppercorns whole, with a flourish
- you won't need to twist
that big thing, with
the greatest of ease,
all in the wrist, held
in your firm grip
asking me "Please,"
to say when

When.

whispering distance

if you lived in whispering distance, I'd lean
and tell you good morning with such brevity
you'd swear that my lips were the sweet soul of wit
and we'd pass our good days through good evenings, between

There's nothing wrong with fucking the girl of your dreams.

There's nothing wrong with fucking the girl of your dreams.
just
as long as you're dreaming.
Because in reality,
there's always some fucking obstacle, and
you better not pretend otherwise, because -
Pick One
is it:
distance?
commitment?
lack thereof?
conflicting issues?
"lack thereof" is a motherfucker, man
I feel you on that one.
Is it:
fashion sense
you have to pretend to like NASCAR
teeth that are just wrong?
some kind of shocking hygiene arrangement
is it:
tell me what it is
there's always an obstacle, man
I'm telling you
in this, reality -
she's not into you
you're not into her RELIGION
race problems
- what are you a racist?
how can that even be an issue for you dude?
she's your fuckin -
dream girl right?
go for it

it's no holds bar, here
dream away!

wait

wake up.

You're a fucking pervert, dude

angel, protect

Shepherd watching over me
black and white
and up and down
this long road that I have to walk, now
in the rain
through part of town
from bar to home
this motherfucking cop
will watch
and drive by,
watch
a half a dozen times, at least
to see that I am safe
to walk.

I like to do things like

I like to do things like,
recommend the Beatles
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
to people.

"It's good! It's pretty good."

Meanwhile, total hypocrite

I never even heard the thing.

tired is like being drunk

when the world is tired, and you reel
to see the lights, you feel the wind move by
and find the sounds where they live, and all the surfaces
are where you lie.

Idolatrous

I want to bear you on a palanquin
through ancient market squares, where green
and azure tapestries hang walls
between stout bamboo booths and stalls,
whose tables groan with merchandise
with opulence, with gems and spice
and you'll be dressed in bolts of silk
I tied myself, after your bath
a ritual of honeyed milk
you'll soak your skin
luxurious.
I dry you off, I'll polish, buff -
that honeyed milk
is sticky stuff

Form Ranks

Form ranks
and file out
into the hall and congregate
amongst yourselves,
with only those
upon whose trust
you can securely count

and whisper looks
and listen eyes
slight truth can add a lovely sheen
to color all the mutual
and ugly lies
that pass
between

- just we -

whom we can trust! Not those
we smile and praise to their wry face.
The awful truth on them is known
(we made it right here, in this place)
it's true our truth could not stand light
but it fits perfect, small and mean
in this dark room
and dark is cool!
come on
hang out!

You're on the team

the money we wasted

the money we wasted
would never have made it
through to our pockets and wallets
today. It would have been used up in minor expenses
the pinches and crises that pass without mention,
which we made it through without bloodshed or famine
in so many clever
and desperate ways.

I'd never take back, not for tenfold return
all the money we burned through on nothing to burn
when we purchased so little of worth,
when we bought
a succession of moments that held

all we sought.

twilight way

We definitely went the wrong way.
Tall trees in front, above, behind us
turning into silhouettes, against
a pink and bright blue monster
streaming up with reaching tendrils pressed
above and over, peeking down at us
through one long rent - a gap
someone has scratched through thick black crayon wax,
along the bent and twisting trail
that trails behind
and bends ahead for miles and miles
- "how did we miss the turn?" I ask.
"there weren't any turns," you sigh
"But isn't this the way we came?" I say,
despite our upward climb. We know by now,
we should be going down - and soon,
we will be blind

believe the hype.

baby you and me girl
we will be so pompous
to announce our next scandal,
we will call the press conference

protect you

good, seeing you

Some dumb rock show huh? See the people around
bounce, bounce off

I will do my best to hold a space
around you.

My best is not bad
(it has to be)
This band is too great
to risk ruining it when you start kicking people!

But I don't know why - after all that is past,
why I am happiest
when I can circle my arms
around your shoulders protecting you.
as if you need it. as if you ever did

did I shrink and you grow,
since the days when I thought you did?

and now
do I grow, and you shrink? my gorillalike forelimbs
sheltering your birdlike bones - no,

you are strong. Not hollow, nor fragile, yet you
lean in

just a little,
and I am sure I am neither so strong, nor so clumsy as my hands
suggest -

And there is nothing between us to protect,

anymore.

but you.

Quite A Bit!

Do you know how much I love you?

It would be impossible for you to know.
Your puny mind can't comprehend it.

The enormity of the force of the sheer feeling
that I have for you in my heart
would shatter any number of lesser hearts,
like yours. To bits. Just be glad: this burden

is mine, to bear. You will never know the force
of it. The force
of how much I love you.

But no, don't thank me!

I do it gladly.

Such is the strength of my love, that it makes light
of paltry burdens.

insomnia afternoon

why is it so bright
I mean
my eyes are swimming
skies are shock cerulean blue
and clouds are white, like magic white
in towered blocks
but I can't sleep forever, yet
it's like a waking nightmare, oh
so beautiful,
I hold it back
as this black ribbon winds me home

this little old couple

this little old couple
sat right next to me at the bar
of the wine bar / cafe
that I sometimes frequent after work.
it can be hard to go home, when you know -
it's such a cute little place,
the food's really something.

this little old couple
at the little wine bar cafe
were so adorable
they asked about what I had picked,
and was it good?

it was. The husband ordered the same thing, and
I wasn't listening in

but they were so adorable
that my heart broke open again.
once again, another damn time
with both halves cleanly-split
like my salad's avocado - with its hard,
heavy pit -
aching
from the loss of the one
who I thought I would grow old
with.

It can be hard to go home, when you know -
what you know. But, you know,
I'm not ready - I've never been ready
to give up. But

I guess I need someone new
to grow old with.

geometric rates

our love should increase at a geometric rate
as I grow exponentially into your life
and the angles and arcs of your heart fill with sparks
from the lines and the
fuck
I failed geometry.

your mercy, you know

I'm pretty much at your mercy, you know.
Though you may know it not.
Your sword-point is poised,
- hanging by a far slimmer gossamer thread
than the one under which ol' Damocles sat - and aimed
by a perfect hand with perfect eye,
in one blade-straight line from the center of my heart
up tip, foible, forte, hilt, pommel,
to the sky.
Note -
not the bottom of my heart.
No, nor the top -
but the center.

You, dear, will run me through
one of these days.
(if in fact, you haven't already -
that sword of yours
- so sharp, I may not feel the pain
'til I fall)

invisible light

her invisible light
shines out from between the stars
and she colors the night
an invisible shade of blue

as she gets on my mind, I bow my head
from the weight of one thought

which is weightless itself!

- but freighted like chains,
and chests of gold
from the pondering
that I have put into it,
and shut the lid.

Well,

I can't see it, but

the light leads me on,
and I guess this is faith, or
tenacity, wait - what's the one
that is blind? Oh, love

bump

that last poem is like
really throwing me off

I'm coming in here all
"poem time!"
"time to write a poem!"

then the first thing I see is all
THAT

it's anti-conducive to the mood, I tell you.

anti-conducive to the mood

I must be getting so much pussy

I must be getting so much pussy
he says, all
big smilin'
but -
it doesn't appear to be a self-contained statement.
he either thinks it's a question, or at least
he seems to want an answer

well hey man I got no complaints

bullshit he says
I must be swimming in it
again with the questioning glare

shoot, I hate to bust anyone's vicarious groove. But
the
fact
is dude,
not really, I'm kind of a one woman man

bullshit again where is she?
finally a legitimate question mark at least. She's
elsewhere. hence the sigh and there's the rub

fuck that he says.
cut that distant bitch loose and live here now my man!
with this, he's adopted an almost fatherly,
wise, zen buddhist tone

because as he repeats:
I should be getting so much pussy
what am I a faggot?

now, he seems to actually want an answer to this.
well what do you mean, man?
he means, fuck!
with that fucking
line of patter of mine, and
the overall shape I cut
(I presume he means my jib)
I should be swimming in it
swimming in it

well fuck, pal - I'm a feminist ok? I don't need these
meaningless
dalliances, depersonalizing the totality of a woman's being down
to some
pink hole in a sex engine

after a moment,
he asks me to repeat that

I repeat something else instead
a tad more couth, but he cuts me off

"feminism? fuck feminism" he asks

you're missing out my man, I confide
- feminist pussy is the best
he doesn't laugh
at that, but that's ok
(it's true!)

he's on full steam forward.
"fuck feminism!" he spits

no

I mean literally

the dude turned his head and spat. On the floor

I'm a bit at a loss by this point.
and well, not much to lose by capitulation, so "You
know what man? You called it. I
must be getting
so much
pussy."

He knew it. With a big side-stache grin

He fucking knew it.

line cutters

I am a dead man
struck by eyes of you,
I can see all the way
from here to the end of this life
and it's all coming true
it's coming straight down
the line -

it's coming right at us

so hold on tight kid
and give us a kiss on the cheek,
for luck!

now forward
towards fate, we have turned
we are faced
we await the clank
and the rattling chain
yanking us inexorably up
that first
big
hump

and you wait,
you push back and up
with your back, with trust
with my arms circled round
your waist - and your head tucked down
you whisper something
just once

well hang on for dear life, now

here it comes

a bit too personal

I like long walks on the beach
holding hands
I can dance, but I'd rather not lead
all those fancy footwork held-together
dance-step techniques and routines
they're too beautiful to see, oh, I wish that was me
but I can only dance free-
style, to

semi-modern music. Apart
- not together, dance apart
the way each person does their best,
and does their best to watch the other's best
and tries not to overstep
and maybe
apes or imitates a move or two
as long as it doesn't come across as being ridicule

that's how I dance
so as not to show you up, or
appear to be ridiculing you. In short,

I'm pretty considerate.

I like flowers, gourmet
desserts, a cigar
from time to time
and a woman who doesn't mind

but who is quite ready to speak her mind

none of that's to say
I'd be opposed to taking a dance class! or
couple's therapy, whatever -
it's all tantamount. The upshot is:
people need help. Sometimes

help

I'm very romantic, maybe even Romantic
with the capital "R", as if to say
I come in after Classical, and sneer down at Modern
from a cape-tossing windswept height,
from far up upon my quaint, antiquated antihero amoral basis
that makes the world and me all seem, well
pretty awesome, but I digress.

Besides, who can really say what's best?

I've said too much.
I leave it to you,
you know what you want!

I guess

There's this girl

There's this girl who's pretty tall
maybe tall as I am!
or even taller maybe, even
or shorter than that, or else
maybe WAY shorter. That's all
cool too, 'cause she's all
casual about it -
with an ass like BOMP
and some medium boobs, yeah,
you know the kind
or maybe flip it: BOMP boobs,
and a medium behind
but she's got these very
very-specific eyes

ah,

that girl's beautiful, no

that's no lie

a drinking contest between me and the wine.

my eyes are lips - not windows, no
(they drink you in) but still they lead
straight to my soul

my soul's been put
in such a state I'd call it drunk,
from drinking you

but that's no sin
I tip you back
and drink my fill. My heart is lifted high -

my eyes, so full of you they start to swim -

my mind's lost touch, my fingers slide
and slip - but not a drop is
spilled.

Now, drain the glass
again
now, fill

this one last glass to brim
is overkill
but raise it up
again:
to light
to life
to you

too much

too much

to quite take in

This thirst won't quench -

just one more glass

okay,

you win