Sunday, June 30, 2013

It Happens


He fell in love
with a tree today.
There isn’t anything
more to say.


Saturday, June 29, 2013

Your Ectoplasm

Sometimes your ectoplasm
and escapes

and drapes itself
across your lap.
It can’t go far –

at least while you’re alive –
but you will
find that when it’s out of you,

you can’t contrive
to take a nap. Ectoplasm
causes naps

which it then feeds on.
Godspeed, then:
may you quickly reunite!  

Chances are,
you will.

of you likes it
when you can’t nod
off. Too much damned light.


Friday, June 28, 2013



I’ll sit on a bit of you
if you’ll sit on a bit of me
and we two get to do it
in sweet perpetuity.


Perhaps a Coma in a Bed

The hail and deluge of detail,
those swarming seas of expertise,
those so-called passions that conceive –

Basta! Take your leave.
You’ve had it with spectacular disparity.
You'd like some undisputed clarity –

the last word in Serene.
Perhaps a coma in a bed.
You wouldn’t rule out dead.


Thursday, June 27, 2013

And So’s Your Old Man

The surface spitefully
ignites – hot with potential.
That’s its goal.

But while it’s frightfully
delightfully essential,
so’s your soul.


Wednesday, June 26, 2013

The Poetic Impulse

Oblique and so direct
that it erects
the phallus
in the pen
and in the poem's flesh –

so fresh
that it cannot remember
what it is supposed to think –
it cannot stop itself –
it clocks itself,

then sinks
into a rampant timelessness
through whose one tiny
aperture a picture blooms
into the mind –

a precious
find – what is the word
for it? inflated floating
beach toy, tire
round the middle,

under which
an ancient
impressionistic memory
as vivid as it is abstract
extracts six

orange-colored fish
against an azure blue –
and somehow you entirely
are in it and are absent
from it all at once.

You are a dunce
who can’t explain
a single thing.
And yet you


Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Now, When June Cavorts, Cajoles

Arrhythmic silly dancing –
clomping, clunky feet!
We don’t advance

into the heat all neat
and sorted through.
But wonders do construe us:

now, when June cavorts,
cajoles – induces blue
and gold – and juices

sighs from us in strange
voluptuous July as it arrives
to form the fleet seducing

center of the season.
Nothing much occurs
for any reason. We meet

and greet and prance
about in our pajama pants:
inordinate, replete.


Monday, June 24, 2013

Our Conglomerate Sin

I’m a writer

and a drawer

and we both
the violin.
That’s our


Sunday, June 23, 2013

Love You to Bits


None of it fits
when you love me
to bits.

Sucks out my breath
when you love me
to death.

You say you
could eat
me up.

eat me


Saturday, June 22, 2013


Crawling up in disrepair,
falling – calling! – from the sky,
aliens are everywhere:
you are one, and so am I.


Friday, June 21, 2013

More Room

Everything contains
the human face
and form and frame
for us: the taut

force which enters
every thought
is an inevitable bloom.

Sometimes it seems
the human psychic
apparatus ought
to have more room.


Thursday, June 20, 2013

My Father’s Child

My father’s child
was not beguiled
by paucity.

He liked excess.
He liked the mess
that bled and sped

in wild illusions
bred from his
enumerating head

like coiled snakes
in lapidary curves
of the Baroque.

My father’s child
could not not choke
at falsity. Whatever

wasn’t dream
could not be true.
My father’s child

was not like you,
or me. My father’s
child had mystery

and has it still.
Sometimes I feel
his spill – his

history inside my
curling mind.
Quite something

to wake up
bestride a predawn
hour to find.


Wednesday, June 19, 2013

On the Eve of the Longest Day

Light is the progenitor of dark –
the vast contrasting blast
from which the spasms
from which we erupt embark.

You fell in love with night
six months ago and you will fall
in love with night again
six months from now, but now

you feel the ardor of the Star
you call the Sun. New gods
have won:  revise your vow. Strip
naked in the brightness. Bow.


Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Poultry and Their Ova

The multitudes knelt down to beg:
“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

“Poultry and their ova,” the Grand Poobah replied,
“inhabit bird eternity: maternity implied.
“Sequence is illusion: simultaneous, untied.”

“But who began the ride?”
The Great Divine One sighed.


Monday, June 17, 2013


A large translucent yellow sentience
and two hovering amenities
arrived, spent, from a netherworld today –

oh, there are more than one, and some
demand a surfeit of essence which,
exacted from the center of you,
can quite do you in – and, in the case
of these exhausted escapees, quite did.

That fat thing sat there like a quid pro quo
for which there wasn’t any answer.
The others glanced above, below
and to and fro and, as was usual
for them, awaited yet a new inevitable fate.

We made a great
Unforeseen blind date.


Sunday, June 16, 2013


Today you woke and felt a certain delicacy of presentiment –
an indistinct prefiguring – an adumbration of velleity
becoming something longer, stronger – until what had begun
as whim had turned to steel. Intricately large vocabulary

in you whirled and wielded you into a reeling spiel:
then suddenly your words became usurped by burps: your
gut rebelled against the verbal glut. By now you’ve calmed
and come around. You thought you’d try to write it down.


Saturday, June 15, 2013


Bloated ghosts
like jello babies
coast through memories,

revoking any certainties
your recollections
ever had a basis.

Points erase their cases –
achieve a floating stasis.

Not a curse.
Could be worse.


Friday, June 14, 2013

A Theory of Mind

How dare you think I’m you!
After all I’ve done
to make it clear
that to appear
with all your filaments askew
the only possible prognosis
is catastrophe.

You’ll never last
with me.
But there you squat, you blot –
you vast assortment of insidious
proclivities aligned with hell –
imagining that you’ve
the barest chance to dwell

in my vicinity
in all your lurid lunacy
with cavalier impunity –
you dirty word
made flesh,
you flesh made lie!
Well, just you try.


Thursday, June 13, 2013

Past the Size of Dreaming

It’s past the size of dreaming. Nature wants stuff
To vie strange forms with fancy...

(Cleopatra, Antony & Cleopatra, act 5, sc 2)


It’s the amorphousness that gets you first.
Too thick to slake your thirst for flow –
when suddenly it gets a glow on,

puts a show on, starts to undergo
that alchemy again, when Juliet waits
on her balcony for Romeo who turns into

Marc Antony who burns into a god –
deriving from the same old sod as you and me.
There is no reckoning for what will be.

Let’s bloop up from the mud – regroup
and course with untoward colors in our blood –
vast eyes gleaming, past the size of dreaming.


Wednesday, June 12, 2013

The Morning News

Last night two dream schemes
took brisk walks through your capacities
and in their breezy tinted wake you woke
to choke on remnants of their gassy pastel hues
which, after you recovered from your cough,

you understood comprised the morning news
they wished you to breathe in. Off
the axis of your consciousness,
you realized you’d been strung along.
The story you’d believed was you was wrong.


Tuesday, June 11, 2013

When Someone Wants to Leave You

Don’t say no.
Don’t damn the flow.
You’ll wreck the show.
Just let him go.


The Sleeping Part

Gently hold the sleeping part –
make sure it doesn’t wake –
descend into its deepest heart
where give makes love to take.


Thursday, June 6, 2013

Menu Change

Our salmon mousse
and avocado dip
have given us
the slip.

They’ve changed
their venue.
They’re now no longer
on the menu.

They left
their bowls.
They each
grew souls.

They did it
on a hunch.
They’d had it,
being lunch.


Wednesday, June 5, 2013

On Sapphire Days

It’s pleasant hanging
out bare-assed
with friends
on sapphire days –

putting up
with all their
little ways.


Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Most Remain Intact

There are many kinds of innocence.
Their loss? Small need to fear it.
Most remain intact.

Though some expunged by sins against
the heart do leave the spirit
irremediably cracked.


Monday, June 3, 2013

A Thing Like That

Sensitively monumental! –
the thing that breathes
and stands and greets –
disarms and renders angry

seizures into amicable
rhythms in the blood –
that argues flood into
a reasonable flow – extracts

the dense collective sense
of random heads and turns it
into tremolo – an ornament
of tune – moon-threnody –

a melody that orbits
in voluptuous extravagance
erasing dread. Build a thing
like that around the dead.


Sunday, June 2, 2013

We’d Like to Say…

what holds us up
does not quite hold us up –
and we mean us

not merely him or her or them or you or me:
we are an awfully heavy panoply,
too likely to hang on to sameness
even when it clearly bears

the breaking, braking evidence
of lameness.
We’d like to say that we’ll get through no matter
what, but.


Saturday, June 1, 2013

A Bet You Do Not Want to Hedge

Felt as pressure of a pulse –
faint convulsion of an incrementally

increasing stress of interest
in the glint wedged in the smallest

tightest bit of aperture
beneath the sharpest darkest edge –

you place a bet here
that you do not want to hedge –

to risk your life on random outcomes –
even when the doubt comes.