Saturday, April 30, 2016


Memory’s a fraught and noisy bird
pursuing him while he runs mindless laps,
apprising him in angry chirps and flaps
of all he ought to have recalled,
but can’t remember ever having heard.


Friday, April 29, 2016

What Love Does Not Depend On

At sea in separate uncertainties
three lonely members of three unrelated species

just today discovered one other, formed a family –
they seemed to breed an equanimity

together they were never able to achieve alone.
Love does not depend on being known.


Thursday, April 28, 2016

Heaven and Hell

We think we are wise
as we hem and we haw –
but we’re fogging the windows:
we jettison awe

from the central equation
we can’t seem to solve
in which Heaven and Hell
meet, tongue-kiss, and dissolve.


Wednesday, April 27, 2016

In and Out and Back

Magic is ephemeral
and permanent.
Magic breathes us
in and out and back
into the Firmament.


Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Big Blue Pet

He guards his fantasies as if they were a big blue pet –
an undiscovered species only slowly opening its secrecies
to him – an azure animal he hides, to which he feeds
his private nights, keeps out of sight not out of shame or fear
but in the prayer that, unmolested and protected, what proceeds

between them might exceed the limits of what everybody else
appears to think is good enough. He wants the greater size,
the stranger stuff – an essence of which no one he knew, knew –
a prize to which he hadn’t gotten yet, but could. The thing
his big blue pet might let him know, and one day would.


Monday, April 25, 2016

Too Much, Too Much

You’re willing – more than willing – to say why –
indeed you’re spilling with the impulse to regale –
but loving someone won’t admit of explanation –

itemizing pluses on a chart imparts a mere pale
simulacrum of the thing about which, well, you
might much better sing a nonsense song, not

long, but long enough to push you gently into
the availingly oblique: distract you from the task
of answering what is too much, too much to ask.


Whatever You May Be

Whatever you may be,
I want you irremediably
to reside, preside in me.


Eye Doodle

Single doodled eye's unhappy.
Where's its mate - its ocularly apt
companion? Sucks to be abandoned.


Mr. Death

Mr. Death gets goofy when he drives his car.
Loves the business of eradicating Is-ness.
Never has to drive too far.


Your Spine is Mine

I sit upon your back,
give it a chiropractic crack.
You like it fine.
Your spine is mine.


Sunday, April 24, 2016

All Affairs Should be Clandestine

All affairs should be clandestine –
radiate the blunt transgressive funk
of indiscretion – wrest from wet meshed
flesh its bluntest best expression of exstasis
past the blasting yes of orgasm into the terrible
delight of being locked into the prison of the spasm
of the urge to do it all again, again.


Saturday, April 23, 2016


His name was GanderGoose.
He was an ornamental thing –
he sported ornamental wings –

and favored pamplemousse.
He was devotedly devoid
of things that had a use.

He liked life fast,
and loose.


Friday, April 22, 2016

One Single Thing

She’s grateful for one single thing:
the Universe appeared!
It's turning out to be exactly what
she craved and feared.


Thursday, April 21, 2016

Contemplating the Incarnate

It must be this:
you re-emerge
– outcast –

from an amorphous mass:
another moment
of you

comes to pass,
has passed,
and then

the massed
feeling business of you

turns, returns
into a vast
eternal now again.


Wednesday, April 20, 2016

She Went On Talking Barely Audibly

“There is no pretty way to die,” she said.
“But let’s not make a dirge of it.
The galvanizing urge that governs
comfortable sentience is remarkably
resourceful: weaves right to and through

the tiniest of breathing threads.”

She went on talking barely audibly like this,
as if her thoughts had left their messy beds
right in the midsts of nervous dreams,
whispering inchoate schemes –
so soft his ear had had to strain to hear.

He said the only thing he could imagine.
would be clear: “Goodbye, my dear.”


Forgive Me, I Will Lose You

A pull behind the clouds
behind the eyes exacts
a fracturing -- a splintering
into serrated glints:
sharpened blades of grasses
golden-green with mid-July –

which slide into wide fields
now morphing into folds
of a Sargasso Sea,
which calculatedly informs
the barely semi-conscious me
that I’m about to enter

what in waking life I call,
as if I understood
what I was saying, “sleep.”
An ardent necessary
dream demands my rapt
abject attendance: I am

its carrier and it’s my carrier
and it is time to carry out
our intraconscious
internecine plan. Forgive me,
I will lose you. I’m dissolving
into not-a-man.


Monday, April 18, 2016

Sometimes I Speculate

Sometimes I speculate that it’s to foster an absorbing,
more illuminating sense of the inevitable soft relations
that a vision always has to palpable reality
that my penumbral apparitions come to me.
But this one didn’t stay too long. It saw I wouldn’t see.


Sunday, April 17, 2016

When Everything’s Alive

Have you ruthlessly
to want to throw
the thing away
to have a chance
of getting underway?

Or is it rather that
the thing you've tended
endlessly to misconstrue
must have at last
to rid itself of you?

Hard to connive,
when everything’s alive.


Saturday, April 16, 2016

Your Friend and You

Your friend and you
ran out of words again.
Attempt another tack.
Put on a soft adagio.
Massage his back.


Friday, April 15, 2016

You’re Here Because

It summons you! And you’ve appeared.
It’s not at all what you had feared.

You weren’t wrested from your sleep –
or hauled up from the briny deep –

or taken from a mother’s arms –
or wakened by abrupt alarms –

no terrors have affronted you.
You’re here because it wanted you.


Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Alter Egos

Alter egos often sit and lean against each other:
one not ever worrying he ever won’t be on a roll;
the other wondering if there is such a thing
as “soul” or being “whole.”



Thoughtfully unfolding
into yet another day,
it seems at last to come to you:
there’s never not a way.


Monday, April 11, 2016

It’s Hard to be as Beautiful as I am

It’s hard to be as beautiful as I am.
It’s hard to be so beautifully blue.
But since you’re not as beautiful as I am,
it must be so much harder, dear, for you.


Sunday, April 10, 2016


Yesterday you were
a dullard.
Today you woke up


Friday, April 8, 2016

They Sat There Like That All Night

Whatever he was quietly
imparting to her ear,
it clearly wasn’t lending her
a modicum of cheer.

We hoped that she would find
a way to find a way away from him,
but they sat there like that all night.
She couldn’t seem to stray from him.


Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Shot Up From The Earth

Shot up from the earth –
an easy birth

of slender root and vine:
a concubine

of dirt.
So far it hadn’t hurt.

You hadn’t had to toil.
You rather liked the soil.


Tuesday, April 5, 2016

He Just Found Out

You know how
you don’t know how
you got here, yet you’re here?
He just found out what to do about it:



Monday, April 4, 2016

The Thing That You Were Not

Today resistance grew so rabid that it took a form.
It grew warm,

then it grew hot.
Today the thing that you were not

became the thing you are.
It wants to push until it’s gone too far.