Category: Poetry

The ghost of night shades
the waterfront, cliffs and his
hasty footprints in
the sand. Painted flowers and
her tears flow back to the sea.

I still find myself wandering through the house searching
for something,
eventually, that will stop.

Still, in the mornings, I have this feeling I am forgetting something
important and I take another look around before I go,
eventually, that will change.

At night, I lay awake with thoughts that turn to tears
and then confusion,
eventually, I know I will learn to sleep.

At times, I catch myself trying to decide whether
I truly want to live at all, but I think,
eventually, that should pass.

And, when I think of you and wonder what happened,
I try to pretend you aren’t really gone,
eventually, I hope to get over that too.

together we are often quiet

we share our time, we share a home,
we share our lives without complexity, artifice or posture

we share soft words, we share simple thoughts,
we share the knowledge of each other and we share the wonder

and then sometimes we lie on the bed
and there’s nothing to say, that’s when we just smile and look at one another.

O, Sleep, sweet sylph of dreams
why do you spurn me, leave me here to worry these doldrums,
to face the hard shell of night.

If only I could breathe your cool breath,
feel your gentle kiss upon my cheek,
find relief in your depths. Come,

slip between the sheets with me,
sing your lullaby and
take me home to your quiet harbor-

Don’t leave me here to wander these barren shores alone.

Out here, the cries of birds might be the only sound you hear,
voices strident, piercing,
silver flashing, some the color of nuts, acorn shells.

Banshees delivering dour messages of death for man
Blow wide through these empty spaces but
Leave the creatures of the water and heavens untouched.

There are nests afloat and birds flying high
looking for thin fish bathing near the surface,
Gulls, souls gentle as the placid water, soar.

The Lord of night himself is a pale bird, the shape of an eye,
slipping across the invisible horizon
seeking escape from the relentless moon.

Out here, the cries of the birds might be the only sound you hear,
They, with the blue endless sky,
clouds insouciant abide.

It was my first experience as an amphibian at high altitude.

I slipped from the wing of the jetliner and rode the heavy turbulence in the upper atmosphere using my body as a bobsled.

Falling straight down, suddenly rising then streaking through the ice cold clouds, I held my breath, folded my legs to my body and became a stone.

Finally, I dropped out of the clouds and into the warm night, a bird. I could swim, sail and fly this smooth air, just as I flew through water.

Close to the ground, I hit and slid across the plate glass of a parked car in the hills over Malibu, where

I was treated to a view of the couple inside making love on the back seat.

What a fine day!

It is so lonely here in time

In downtown Detroit’s only diner still open at 2:30 am, the fluorescents chafe the street,
methamphetamine soullessly evaporates life, drains the blood of buildings, leaving them empty shells of crumbling brick

While I race to finish my work on a giant tablet of gridded paper, a matrix of time.
I race to realize the correction factors that can bring us back together again,
correction factors that came to me during the long sleepless nights when my eyes burned but I could not close them

I hurt
The night – the damned night fills the streets outside this window and it is cold.
I search for the final transcendence that will let us lie in each other’s arms again, but it’s so complex and this night…it will never go away

Time exists in the space of three orthogonal axes: you, me and us
I search for the correction factors that will resolve them and bring us back together again

It is the only way
I must get out of this bitter black coffee night forever.
No end, no bluing morning come to save me, no sweet breeze, no birdsong to rend the weak light, no cicada chatter to start the day

no hope

Feet twist.

Shoes, the size of a city street, hover over my head and slam the pavement
all
around.

Music plays.

Sweating in the summer heat, these bastards swagger down the street in big brown shoes,
they smell like humans and leather,
they dream in acrylic smeared from horizon to horizon, from planet to planet. Using paint thick as frosting-

They paint a sky and sea and city streets with old buildings and
ancient red brick still showing signs of toothpaste campaigns that no one can even remember

Everywhere, eyes fill windshields, engines pump rhythm.
Painted walls, mahogany, expensive leather, her bra and panties,
here, cigarettes and condoms stretch across the glass table in a sloppy wet leap.

There, bumper car hoods bounce, sewing machines chew on polyester,
whistles, squeaks, whines and chirps are all the lighter colors, the
heavy brush does deep brown.

Even before I walked or talked,
my mother and I went dancing.
We took the bus, we braved the walk-
mama needed to go prancing.

Then up the metal fire case stair,
banging, toning like empty tanks,
to fall into the kitchen chair
near the hamburger patty steaks.

O these girls were really cookin’,
the walls were bumpin’, jumpin’ jive.
Believe it, that place was sumpin’
makin’ bubblin’ brown chow with chives.

Lipstick, ribbons, and bobby socks,
peddle pushers, shorts, plaid and blue,
all the music that really rocked,
perm pressed hair and saddle shoes too.

The girls would jump and fan their hands,
swing their butts, spin and shout out loud.
The sound pour’d out to all the lands
and drew an even bigger crowd.

My mom was first among them all,
wearing a grin, big as a sign.
She was swinging, she was singing
or wriggling on the floor supine.

Mama was a’pran, pran, prancing
she was the top, she was first class.
Mama was a’dan, dan, dancing,
without a doubt, having a blast.