the glass in half

you are such
an activist optimist
you won't settle for:
any less
than the best hypothetical
case

- and you say:
if it doesn't live up, then
potential's a waste

people fill
an empty glass
up to half, then they use it for
a personality graph - it's a metaphor, hey.
But when the question is asked,
well you don't hesitate - you just laugh,
you cut the glass in half

then it's full!
there ain't no "glass half-empty" with you
you cut the glass in half
then it's full!
if expectation doesn't fit, you can cut it in two

you are such
an iron-fist idealist
you won't tolerate: falling short
of the mark -
you'll recalibrate, though
if you can't meet the goal,
you just cut in half - call it "whole"
you cut the glass in half

then it's full!
there ain't no "glass half-empty" with you
you cut the glass in half
then it's full!
if expectation doesn't fit, you can cut it in two
then it's full!
baby, I am half a fool for you
you cut the glass in half
then it's full!
it's not the way you look at it,
so much as what you do

No more playing round! With the sunny-side / flip-side
Tear those gray shades down,
and call both sides bright
Well it could be black or white
- except you can't see black
there's no point in admitting the lack,
just cut the glass in half

then it's full!
there ain't no "glass half-empty" with you
you cut the glass in half
then it's full!
if expectation doesn't fit, you can cut it in two
then it's full!
baby, I am half a fool for you
you cut the glass in half
then it's full!
it's not the way you look at it,
so much as what you do

I think of you often and sometimes

I think of you often
and sometimes,
naked

I think of you often
and sometimes,
I smile

I think of you often
and sometimes,
I can't

my mind isn't here, anymore
it's gone miles

occupy

people fit into each others' lives
and fill each others' evenings up and
plan together days, and then eventually
fall years behind

they stretch back blind, into a haze
horizons forward seemed so clear!
but where was it we've been?

oh, dear

a horror 2

it's out there, still
it hasn't moved. It's fallen
silent
watching close

it knows we know it hasn't left

it knows we know it's here
it knows

This mad, sadistic vigil
could go on
and on
drag over night
it's fallen silent: watching close

for any sign of movement, life -
and all the garden's little mites
and bugs and moths have fallen still
unmoving, twitching not a scale
antenna straight, clenched mandible
and compound eyes stare horrified
wings out, head bowed, defensively
they can't take their eyes off the thing
they cannot see it cannot see
the dark sinks in
devours all.

It's lying still.
its stillness lied
as if I'd move a muscle, now
as if I'd get up, look outside!

I'm going to just give up - give up
I need some sleep

tonight

somehow

pretend it isn't even there

this thing is right outside the house

a horror

there's weird wind
and scraping sounds, from all
around the house

and in the garden, now
- it's just
as if the weeds

were whispering "hush"
the crickets heed
- and every single living thing

is stopped,
and silent: listening
until the what it was
is through

and finished with us

no lullaby.

with you, here
gone
beyond reasonable waking
unavailable, remote -
I'm going to just have to lullaby myself. I must
dive, crash,
and gather in the twigs and straw of my eggless nest
around me like loose comforter stuffing, bury my head
so that the stars and wisps of ghost clouds can close in
and - invisible - wend me on their dark ways
towards morning.

It's not a race, but
I bet I wake up first. And I'll
have coffee for you, ready
to compare dreams. But yours
will be best.

as usual

name tag

Cathy,
I love you
I've let you down
I know that you hate
being called that name!
and still I deliberately began
- I won't say it again,
yes, I'll say it again! I will:

I love you
I've let you down.
I know every better way to begin!
and yet I began like that
is it too late to take it back?
Dear Catherine

I love to destroy the world

I enjoy destroying the world
especially the part where
everyone's like "why?" and
I have no real answer for that
so I

destroy the world, I
destroy the world, because

I love to destroy the world
it gives such a nice, clean feeling.
Like destroying the world,
after that first
big, cleansing spring rain!

ah,

can you smell the air?

What a beautiful day, I guess
the world, on a day like today
could almost get a free pass.

keenness

Beauty's brightness, keenness comes
from knowing: soon enough, too soon -
too late! The thing you saw and knew
in every part of you, was true?
It's gone.

Was gone.
Before your very wondering eyes, and in the instant
that you asked, "How can a thing this good be
in this world?"

It isn't.
Fade to past.

old together

Every time I run into you,
it reminds me
how we thought we'd grow old together

well guess what,

it's
happening anyhow

Godlike height

From godlike height, I'm bound
to look down and admit,
I too would love
to fall

for it.

haiku roll

sushi: haiku food
meaning packed into small forms
bursting with delight

"Believe You're In Love?" EARLIER DRAFT

oh no, you
you're not sure.
You know how you feel -
you just don't know how you should.
And so you're left
self-confused
You should try this test,
there's nothing to lose. Just

Think of one name
(the one you're thinking of)
and use it to complete
a three-word sentence that starts:
"I love..."
then say it out loud
just give it all that you've got
say it with some meaning -
say it with some feeling -
- does it make you happy, or not?

'cause you can't believe you're in love
if you're not in love. No, you can't
believe you're in love if you're not
in love.

It's as simple as that.
An easy read.
Don't try to trick yourself!
You'll only succeed.
There's a million things,
to complicate -
but they're not what you wanted to know,
and they can all wait. Just

Think of one thing
- and do you want it the most?
If it isn't worth it, then no
you don't deserve it
go. Let it go. Let it go!
Just let that thought sink in.
Does it hurt worse than death?
- then maybe reconsider
what you need to give, or admit
you don't know best

'cause you can't believe you're in love
if you're not in love. No, you can't
believe you're in love if you're not
in love.

You can't believe you're in love
if you're not in love. No you can't
believe you're in love

If you're not in love.

sketchy

I just saw a guy
samurai topknot
barefoot pigeontoes
overalls.

He walked right in front
of my car, in the crosswalk

He had one of those
John Lennon Army jackets

His hair was like a big, greasy hat
- one of those floppy, formless ones
that people keep their hair under.
Only his hair had taken over - right up
to that top-knot pom pom

He had a round face
like John Belushi
as a Macy's Parade
balloon

or maybe, it was the topknot
that made me think of Belushi

man

I can't even remember what that skit was about
just him fucking shit up with that sword

said so

I made a remark about your eyes
they're remarkable
I thought for a moment about your charms
they're considerable
it's possible I could love you, you know
you're so
lovable

I'd hate to think what could tear us apart
but it isn't unthinkable, though

you never know.

telling slips

"It's important to be an alcoholic,

if you're honest with yourself"

it isn't what I meant
that matters. In your eyes, I
could be perfect! one of those guys
with a real problem, but heartbreakingly
aware of it, and scathingly self-
articulate

perfect
just the thing
to torture yourself with
and over for years. Darling,

your life could be like writing a novel
one of those
really painful novels
that you love. "Fiction memoir," like
that one guy who got excoriated,
who you always rise to defend.

Skip to the chase, shall we? We know -
both of us know!

I'm no good for either one of us. But

oh,

I'm perfect for you.

You said so.

"At Least It's True"

When your heart fell out
of your chest, this morning
it hit the street, shattered
and the rain came down and
washed the blood off
all the pieces you'd hide -
but you fell to your knees
with your fists
in your eyes

the truth hurts
but at least it's true
the truth hurts - but
at least it's true, you know
it hurts
but at least it's true
you've got to pick those pieces up
and put them back into you

and you know they won't fit
quite the way that they used to
with quite a few missing
and the rest out of order
you try to laugh off
all the pieces you lost
but it hurts when you laugh
when you cry
when you cough

the truth hurts
but at least it's true
the truth hurts - but
at least it's true, you know
it hurts
but at least it's true
there's no use lying to yourself,
you're not so easy to fool, no
no

~ guitar solo ~

what your eyes saw
made you cover your mouth, but
you shook your head, bit your tongue
hoping you'd wake up
pried your eyes off - closed them tighter than tight
but the truth
had already crept in
to the light

the truth hurts
but at least it's true
the truth hurts - but
at least it's true, you know
it hurts
but at least it's true
there's no use lying to yourself,
you can't be fooled by a fool,
no

I got invited to a party and I didn't come

I got invited to a party and I didn't come. I
didn't know the people. It
seemed too much like spam, somehow
they think they can buy my bon mots and joi de vivre
with a note taped to the door "Hey, neighbor!
Please don't call the cops"?
Well sorry, I just

I won't attend. Those
are false pretenses

Wait, what? barbecue?

No. No amount of barbecue
or your blaring reggae band
will entice me over
on this beautiful Sunday

for more than a few minutes.

stuff of dreams

my dreams have all turned to dust
which is quite miraculous, because
initially, they hadn't any substance whatsoever

if I could analyze this dust
and find out of what stuff it's made
the highest scientific minds would find me
oh, so clever

In Post

My life is going to be way better
in post. Walking around, it's as if I can see
already, where all the special effects
are going to be put in, and I have a sense
as to how neat
all the dialogue is going to be
after all the bad takes,
rough edges and failed improv attempts
are edited out.
And the relationships
are sure to come into focus, and the character arc
of the
Geez
"protagonist"
I guess
is just going to
come together, I can sense it.
I can already sense it.
I can almost see it

what a story.

The Royal Lords of Swordsmanship

The Royal Lords of Swordsmanship
were out in force upon the moors.
As if by secret summons called,
they coldly strode so boldly forth

from storied hall and castle keep
- while good men sleep, they rise in vain!
Conceit in every sinew, limb
- their glint of eye and fierce of mien, obscured

upon a mist-drenched night, as dead day's sun
sends last red rays through red mist falling,
curtained off - a ghastly twilight
sets the stage.

Matched off in pairs, squared off to fight,
they drank the moment, deep in breath
and flesh and blood, and readiness:
defending honor to the death

by deeds alone - no seemly words,
but steely swords sprang forth! And rang,
upon the mist-drenched moors and cliffs -
no witness heard the echo'd clang

of hard, hard steel, sharp blade on blade
- no spectator took in the play!
They strove with form exemplary
each parry, feint, riposte displayed

a high and lordly character
- an honor, unimpeachable!
Their lunges and their thrusts struck home
with puissance unspeakable.

These Royal Lords of Swordsmanship
have all sworn oaths, pledged man to man
to live by credo cruel and hard:
and to the death!

…With sword in hand.

"two birds of the same stone"

you and me, darling,
we are two birds of the same stone
flocked a little too close together - we
were laid out in one shot
by a flying rock

here we lie now, dazed
with our feathers splayed,
seeing tiny stars spin
'round our heads
in shock

in our tiny minds
in our little stunned brains,
we're beginning to see
that we won't again
be fine.

As our shallow breaths race
and our dark closes around
after all we believed in - was that rock

our fate?

twelvescore paces

I'm pissed, because
I have no idea what poem this was
that we were discussing back then.

Lost to time. And never now will we know!
And what's worse, perhaps (or arguably:
really not worse) is that
I may never again write another

For alas: the time for writing poetry
is passed. Or even for reading poetry!
The time for that is also: past. Time
for sitting on benches, by gardens,
reading metered words from a dappled page
- or composing,
with pad, pencil, and a long pause
over a thing too hard to say
well.

Well, screw saying it well. Screw
the poetic! Say it not well, then: say it
plain.

Poetry is past.

What's wanted now is business, straight
shooting, language that lays
out where the arrows point,
and sharpens their points
to the point of pain.

Pull,

hold,

aim -

loose!

DIRECT HIT!

Hey -

what sentimental twit
put a red-heart shape
for the bullseye?

my time, wisely

my time, wisely
used
- means nothing,
to me. But the waste of it
pulls, like a blade
coming free

from the skin of my life
- then at night, sinking in
with a plunge, comes the knife

as the new days
begin.

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.