behind the door

there was a knock
at the door the other
night. late. past eleven.
it was windy and raining,
no one was out at this
hour, in this weather.
but the knock
was persistent,
i yelled out, who is it.
and there was no
answer. more knocking
ensued. more yelling.
whoever it was
couldn't hear me,
and wanted me to open
the door. i expected
the worst. the police,
some sort of trouble,
evacuation, a fire
nearby, the plague
was coming up the
street, crime, pestilence,
famine, all were
suddenly on my front
porch, waiting for me
to open and let
all hell break loose
in my life behind
the safety of my door.
so i unlocked it and
turned the knob, i
cracked it just a little
to see my neighbor
standing there. hey,
you left the lights
on in your car, she
said, then went away.

bill day

it's bill day
and the dining
room table is
covered with
opened envelopes
and stamps, two
checkbooks,
address stickers
and registers
to document
it all. i'm so
far behind the
times with
online banking.
but i'm that
way with alot
of things, i
still tuck
my shirt in
and own a stereo,
with a cd
changer,
and have a
phone that's
been out of
date for at
least a year,
which translates
to ancient. but
somehow i
mangage to get
it all done.
hopefully she'll
tell you that too.

icecream

i'll share this
with you. come here,
lean towards me
and lick that sweet
cold cone of ice
cream. open those
lips and stick your
tongue out. it's all
yours if you want
it, but we need
to share to really
make things work.
none of this my
cone, your cone
nonsense, okay?

checking out

one night
at the holiday
inn, ten years
or so ago, i checked
in for a few
days in an
attempt to smooth
out a marriage
that was already
done. i sat on
the edge of a hard
bed that smelled
like smoke
and rotted cabbage,
and listened to
a man through
the thin papered
walls coughing. his
television was still
on at two a.m.
i never went to
sleep. i thought
about my son who
slept alone
in his room that
night without his
father in the house.
i laid down
and listened
to the coughing,
to the bland voices
of the tv, and
reasoned that this
is what hell must
be like. the next
day i got a lawyer
and found out that
hell has many levels,
more than i imagined.

the first time

i remember
the first time
at eighteen
in the back seat
of a dodge dart
swinger, army
green, with
rolled and
pleated plastic
seats, the family
car before
baby seats,
and seat belts
or cupholders
or air bags,
or anything.
there may have
been a map in
the glove
compartment.
her name was
marsha, a friend
of my sister
who needed a ride
home. she was
lean and tall,
older than me
by several years,
with long straight
hair. i remember
her lighting
her cigarette
as i drove,
smiling at me,
moving to the
center to put her
hand on my knee,
then telling me to
pull over somewhere
dark. i never
saw her again,
or talked to her
again, or ever
heard anyone
even mention
her name in
passing. in some
ways it was like
she never existed
except for those
quick five minutes
on that hot summer
night, when we
made anything
but love
in the back seat
of that car.

needs

i need to get
moving, i can't
keep waiting
for the phone
to ring. i need
to get to the
bank, i need
coffee, i need
to get dressed
and out of here.
get off
the computer and
get some food,
go to work, before
the day is shot.
i have alot
of needs, i
realize that,
but they're all
justifiable.
and don't even
get me started
with what i
need from you.

ebb and flow

it's easy to stop.
to let it pass
and go on to the next
new thing, or love,
or place you think
you need to be. love
is a tide that rises
and falls under the
spell of the moon
and things we don't
understand. you don't
need a list of
reasons to stay or
go, it just happens,
all part of some
mysterious ebb and flow.

things have changed

i don't recognize
the view, things
have changed, buildings
have come down
and gone up. the old
street is more
narrow, but the trees
are full and tall
and lean over
like old men and
women, nearing their
own slow end. the
drugstore is gone,
the bowling alley
bulldozed halfway
into oblivion,
that patch of woods,
hollow and dark holding
so many secrets of
us in our youth, is
flat and barren, a
gravel parking lot
without cars. it's
easy to just drive
through and leave, no
sense in stopping.

moonlight

she sleeps
soundly when
she's here.
i can feel
the weight of
her against
the mattress
as she breathes
softly and clear.
her skin
just barely
touches me
as the moon
moves slowly
across the sky,
allowing just
enough light
to pour in to
make me believe
once more.

you'll see

i'll pay you back
tomorrow, but i'm
flat broke right now
i spent all my money
on the horses
and women, i put
gas in my car and
food in my belly. i
don't have a penny
to share or give
you, but i'll be
flush tomorrow. i
promise. hold tight,
keep the faith, i'm
on to something good
and things are about
to turn for me.
you'll see. you'll see.

lean on me

when the waves
break over the levee
and fill the streets
with water
and the cars float
by, and the rooftops
become havens for
those who may survive,
don't worry. it will
fall back. it's the
way things work,
trouble and then
peace, rain and then
sunlight.

let's go

there was a day,
which seems like
yesterday to me,
when you could make
a few phone calls
and gather the group
of guys together
to roll out for
a beer or two, or
to a nightclub,
when those of us
that were still
single could get
out on the dance
floor and sweat and
hopefully not make
fools of ourselves
trying hard to meet
women, but now, at
this age, everyone
needs notice
in advance, at least
a week or two.
then there's kids
to deal with, wives,
girlfriends, jobs.
jimmy wants to know
what we we're wearing
on this night out,
jeans or slacks,
button down, or polo.
jesus. frank's knee
is sore and he's not
sure if he can make it,
but if he comes he wants
to make sure there are
no steps he has to climb
and that there's parking
close by. larry wants
to bring his third
wife who doesn't trust
him out with the guys.
tommy and bill
don't like each other
anymore since the
poker game, so if one
comes the other won't.
randy wants to eat at
the bar while dave
and joe want to reserve
a table, preferrably
outside. it's all up
in the air, but for
me, i'm always ready
to roll. just call.
let's go.

seeds

the struggle
of the seed
unseen,
pushing up
through dirt
and weeds, bone
dry or too
wet, making
it's way up
into whatever
it needs to
blossom and
be is not
inspirational
at all, but
i get it.

that's all

i need twelve
sundays in a row.
a string of days
and nights where
nothing is urgent
and needs to get
done, no phones,
no work, nobody
but you to tend
to. we could go
down to the sea
in the morning,
after making
love all night,
and breathe in
the ocean air.
that's all.

rainbows

when i was twelve
i'd listen to my
mother and father
do battle down below.
what dishes we had
sailed across the
room and broke into
a thousand pieces
like little white
stars. of course
liquor was generally
involved, as was
the lipstick on
my fathers face,
and scratches from
the nails of some
woman. sometimes
there was blood,
my mother's, or
a broken arm, a
broken nose, a cut
phone cord with
the carving knife,
but always lots of
glass. i remember
how the sunlight
would catch the little
rainbow pieces
caught up in the rug
when coming down
the steps in
the morning to go
to school.

storms

a storm in the form
of work comes every
now and then. it blows
in off the ocean
and batters the house.
but you close the
shutters, lock the
screens and doors
and wait it out. if
it takes the roof,
there is nothing you
can do, but get another
roof. it's just one
storm and beyond that
is blue skies, at
least for awhile.

joining the ministry

my certificate
to the ministry
arrived the other
day in the mail.
with it came a large
collection basket
with an extension pole
for those long pews,
and a flow chart of
the main players in
today's religions.
i applied online
to a place called
'ministry certificates
online'. they only
needed a credit
card number, no
questions were asked
about what
my ministry might
be about. which i
was glad of, because
i don't quite
have all the particulars
nailed down.
i'm shopping for
a robe now, not black
or white, nothing
traditional, perhaps
something pastel. i
lean towards lavendar
or a nice shade of
blue with white piping.
i have nothing
planned as far as
sermons go, i might
just wing it, yell
alot and then
whisper and shake
my head like i see
them do on tv. close
my eyes and have
someone behind yelling
out amen to whatever
it is i come up with.
but i have a few
ideas mostly to do
with behavioral issues,
nothing too religious.
i could easily do twenty
minutes on people
not using their
turn signals without
even looking at my notes, or
how flip flops are not
appropriate shoe attire
twenty four seven. i
think i might need
a nice hat too, sort
of like the one the
pope wears, but
taller and with a red
blinking light on top
to keep everyone's
attention. it would
be so large that i
could keep a sandwich
in it in case i got
really hungry with all
that gyrating going on.
or is it down, i get
that mixed up.

the back yard blues

avoiding the window
i finally take a glance
at the back yard.
i've left it in God's
hands for too long.
everything in the woods,
from over the fence has
found it's way in
and is happily thriving.
i need to bring order
to this green chaos
at some point, what
will the neighbors say.
nothing that i haven't
heard before, i'm sure.

keyless entry

i made a key
for you.
set it under
the mat, it's
silvery and
freshly cut,
i tried twice
to make sure
it turned.
there's another
one beneath
the potted plant
out back,
and one more
just in case
the others
disappear inside
the shed,
i've turned
the alarm off,
and gave the
dog strict
instructions not
to bark when
you arrive. i
even told
the neighbors
who you were
and what you
looked like
and that you
will be bringing
things in,
not taking them
out. on
second thought,
i'll just keep
the house
unlocked and
you can come
and go as
you please.

the bartender

when i went down
to have a drink
at the local bar
it was full of priests
and doctors,they
were glum, saddend
and sour, sloshed
in drink and lost
in deep rambling
talk of doom. they
had given up. they
as one agreed
that there was no
hope, no sense in
it all. but the
bartender was thrilled.
this was what he'd
been hoping for his
entire life. business
was about to boom.

exploration

even in
the dark
you know
each curve,
each small
nook, each
line and
bone that
holds her
flesh
together in
sweet wonder.
but it
doesn't stop
you from
exploring
her more,
as if
you just
landed
on this
sunlit
foreign
shore.

winning

the dilemma in
winning the lottery
is what to do with
the millions.
who gets what and how
much and why, and when.
what about the sister
who doesn't like you,
and the feeling is
mutual, what about
the father who never
calls, or the friend
who needs a kidney.
then there's the neighbor
who lost her job,
and all of the charities
that suddenly have
your number. but it's
a good problem. you slice
off yours, then delve
out the rest as you see
fit, first come, first
serve and no whining.

stray cat

i find another
stray cat and
take her in. she's
quickly adept at
her new surroundings.
food and shelter
and a soft bed
makes her purr, i
like the way her
tail edges up
when i move my hand
slowly down the
soft of her back. not
once has she asked
for a diamond ring,
or a new car, or
where i'm going at
such a late hour.
i like this stray cat,
i think i'll keep
her if she wants
to stay.

lay down

lay down
your weary
bones and
rest, don't
let the trials
of the day
spoil the love
you've made,
more work
will appear,
but she won't,
she's that
different.
that rare.

open

i was beginning
to believe that
i was no longer open
to new ideas. that
the store was closed.
i thought that i knew
what i liked at this age.
butter, cream, sugar
meat, salt and alcohol,
just to name a few
of the things
that will eventually
kill me. but then came
you walking down
the street in that
black and white
polka dotted bikini,
walking your dog,
and i had to add one
more thing to the list.
and suddenly that
changed everything.
the store is open
for business again.

the ring

i found this
ring the other
day, she tells me.
it was beautiful,
gold and laced
with diamonds,
another woman's ring.
it was left on
the night stand,
on the side where
i sleep. it's not
my ring, she says,
but i think i'll
wear it just the same,
maybe it will bring
us luck and back
together again,
but if not, you
owe me and this
is just a start.

it's getting dark

it's getting dark,
so bring your light
over here, where
i can see you. i'm
old now. i'm living
way beyond my
years. i can barely
walk. i just sit
and stare out the
window all day,
and rock. the cat
is in my lap, and
the dog is just
a photograph on
the fridge, still
leaping through
the air. i remember
everything though.
the first kiss,
the last dance, how
you leaned in
to kiss me, giving
me the green light.

more stuff

they buy more,
bigger and better.
they need another
whatever to be
whoever they need
to be for others
and one another.
they want more.
they have to have
more. it's a
steady diet of
staying on top
and fleeing the
bottom where a few
of us have found
our peace.

faster and faster

the spin of the world
is quicker now.
the clocks are all
moving at a swift
click. how is it that
years and decades
keep falling by.
you want to put your
foot out and slow
it down, keep
the children young
for just a little
while longer. keep
healthy, keep love,
keep this state of
mind. this hard
earned contentment
forever in tact.

the kite

my yellow kite,
so high against
the blue,
it's white
tail fluttering,
jumping with
the wind and tug
of string from
hands below.
like love, there
is no real control,
you just want
to keep it up
in the sky,
and flying free
and easy,
among the clouds
for as long
as it will go.

sea glass

the sand sparkles
with sea glass,
blue and green
shards, small shells
of red holding
light, the edges
softened and
feathered
over time. the sun
is still high
this august day,
your hand in mine
and what we find
against the shine
of water
that brushes up
against us, is
new memory.
there is no
yesterday, no
tomorrow, yet.
but this is good.
this moment in
late summer, and
having met.

hot pastrami on rye

i had enough
change and tokens
to get me
to the corner uptown
where we were to meet
and exchange thoughts
about our future
over a hot pastrami
sandwich with a pickle.
it's how i do
business now, and love
for that matter. it
always involves
a sandwich. it's my
trademark move.
eat, discuss, move
on, or build towards
some wobbly future.
we end it with a kiss.
each with mustard
on our chins and lips.
we agree to continue,
to see where this
passion might lead us.
and as i take the
subway home, back to
the bronx and she to
queens, i believe that
hot pastrami on rye
will keep us together.

fresh flowers

she is sunlight.
a clean cold
drink, long and
lean, a wisp
in the wind of
my time, her
time, crossing
paths and lips
and legs and
hearts, hot with
heat and fresh
flowers, unsent
but bought and
bright upon
the table.

mirage

my behavior of drinking,
gambling, smoking and
staying up late like
an alley cat has pretty
much robbed me of any
ambition, but it
doesn't matter. i have
a computer and i'm
on the internet all night
and day where i can be
all that i can be
and more. if you need
a cowboy riding the range
rustling cattle,
i can do that. i can be
a fearless astronaut
floating out in space
in my shiny silver suit,
or a carnival roustabout,
dangerous and tattoed,
with a smirk, i'm your boy.
i can be rich and handsome
or a surgeon working pro
bono to help those with
sun damage around their
eyes or who need a tummy
lift or implants. i
can be a politician,
a minister, blessing you
and pleading from you
a nice contribution for
my cause. yes, i am
quite charming as i sit
here typing in my tuxedo,
preparing to take my
limo down to the beach
where i will count stars
and write poetry to woo
you with. just tell me
what you want, who you
need for me to be,
and i'm your man.

i'm just fine

a tree goes down
from the hard winds
and falls upon your
roof, taking with it
power lines and
breaking through
the rafters, setting
everything on fire.
it's not what
you had planned
for a friday evening,
after losing your
job and having your
son and daughter
get matching skeleton
tattoos. and so you
get a hose and put
the fire down, you
take your power saw
and cut the tree
into pieces. and with
those cut limbs
and branches you
make your self a
nice chair with skills
you never knew you
had, and then
you sit and get
comfortable, pour
yourself a glass of
wine. you watch
the stars and night
clouds, when the
storm has cleared
slide by the new
opening in your roof.
things have worked
out just fine.

xmas eve

i want to unwrap
you. i don't want
to wait for christmas.
i want you now, this
night, this
christmas eve, despite
it being august
and there's not a
snowflake or elf
in sight. i want to
rip off those ribbons,
tear into the tape
and paper with both
hands, using my teeth.
let's see what's under
the tree tonight. i'm
without patience
when it comes to slow
old santa, and you.

into the light

when you come out
the other side of
that tunnel, it's
dark hollow road,
so straight and
narrow, it hurts
your eyes when you
hit sunlight, it
blazes through
the windshield.
the truth, like
white light, is
always a surprise
after darkness.

the whole cake

yes. at times
in a weakened
state, i can be
jealous, green
and envious. i'm
rarely human like
this, but at times,
yes, even i can
succumb to my
lower nature. i
don't like these
suitors, these
clingy men in
suits and ties
that text and smile
and e mail and
pour you drinks,
and kiss you on
the cheek and touch
your hand. i'm
very selfish when
it comes to you.
i'm a child who
wants the whole
cake, not just a
slice, but all
the slices and
all of that sweet
icing too.

the dance

i bought new
dancing shoes
the other day
with you in mind.
a new white shirt,
black slacks, and
socks to match.
i'm getting up
the nerve to ask
you out. i might
just show up,
and start dancing
on your porch,
but i know it's
already crowded.
i can hear
the competion as
they vie for a spot
on your dance
card. i see
them sweating, red
faced as they
click their heels
for you, showing
you what they got.
i hope i'm not
too late.

the vase

in small pieces
you find the broken
vase on the floor.
it seems unfixable,
part dust, part
sharp slivers of
glass that can't
be mended back
together. it's a
cold puzzle of
porcelain broken
apart. you'd
have to sail all
the back to venice
to find the same one,
or one very close
to the vase you
had sitting on a
pedestal, so near
to where the dog
wags his tail in
happiness when he
sees you come home.
he only knows that
he loves you, and
misses you, not
what his tail
has done.

never simple

fatigue has set in.
i am full from all
the courses served,
but it's hard to sleep.
if i could, perhaps
sleep would solve what
is causing me to toss
and turn, to roll
back and forth in the
cold sheets, alone. i
don't like this edge.
this place where i've
wandered. it's never
simple trying to avoid
the word love, when
it wants to be said.

more of the same

the war is over.
well, not exactly.
people are still
dying. i almost
forget why sometimes,
but it seems
important,
as every war does
in the moment. of
course in hind
sight, it's always,
the question why,
what the hell
were we thinking. we
can't make everyone
like us no matter
how hard we try.
meanwhile, it
continues as the
homeland gets
bored, we drink
our coffee and
flip through
the paper to other
news, the sports,
what's playing at
the movies.
and the war becomes
a very distant drum,
with a slow sad beat,
the boots barely
audible as they march
into darkness.

untitled

i lie down
in this bed
of water
and let the
waves roll
over me.
whether i am
in light
or darkness
i'm not sure.
i know nothing
still,
having read
a thousand
books. no
inkling really
about love,
despite being
in love.
or life, having
lived one. not
enough to
fill this
small cup
i drink from.
if i lived
another
fifty years
i'd still
have nothing
to help you
with. you'd
listen, but
that's all.
nothing gets
passed on,
just the words,
you'll have
to do the rest.

fired

i remember this
one man, my boss,
a midlevel lifer
in the office
where i worked
was crying as he
walked down the
hallway, fired,
carrying a single
cardboard box of
photos of his wife
and kids, and dog,
and beach house,
and relatives
some gone. with a
security guard
behind him, he didn't
he even nod, or
slow down as he went
by my office, despite
our friendship and
endless conversations
about life and love,
sports and nothing,
everything.
his head was bowed,
as the tears ran
down his red face,
into his beard, wetting
his light blue shirt.
i'm glad that he
didn't stop though,
i wouldn't know what
to say, as others would
feel about me as
my turn soon followed.

the warranty

i have a warranty
on the roof. a life
time promise of repair,
although i'm not sure
if they mean my life,
or the life of those
tacked on tiles.
if it rains and comes
pouring through, i'm sure
someone will be right
over. my phone is
covered too, unless
the battery gets wet,
or i drop it,
as is the fridge and
new micorwave. my ac
unit and heater has
a ten year guarantee
but the small print is
so small that i'm sure
i'm getting screwed.
i think my polio shots
may have worn off, but
i don't have the paper
work on that since i
was six when i had
those innoculations.
my vacuum has a three
year parts and labor
warranty and my car is
covered for five years
or fifty thousand miles.
i bought a broom the
other day and the girl
at the register asked
me if i wanted extra
coverage on it. i told
her no thanks. i'll
take my chances, but
i'm second guessing
that decision while
i sweep up everything
else that has broken.

half in

i've lost alot
of weight,
but only on
one side of my
body. my left
side is thinner,
toned, and several
sizes smaller
than the right
size. this has
caused a problem
when buying
clothes. and i
realize that
i'm halfway into
alot of things,
and this is
just one more
example of that
fact.

runaway train

she tells me,
looking into my eyes,
holding my shoulders,
steadying me, that
my blogging is like
bleeding that can't
be stopped. you are
wounded and the blood
keeps pouring out
like a fountain. i tell
her yup, and what's
your point. she says
take a break. go to
the beach. give your
brain and fingers
a rest. the world won't
end if you just stop
for a few days. i tell
her i can't stop.
i'm a runaway train,
i'm burning all of my
coal and speeding down
the rail without a
destination or a stop.
there is no station,
to pull into. she laughs
and says, this is what
i'm talking about, nutcake.

night out

i ate too much,
drank too many drinks.
i fell in love with
the waitress, heather,
who was half my age.
i asked her to marry
me and fly away,
or rather take
a bus to miami beach
together. just the two
of us. all of this
within the span
of three hours.
my bartender, pete,
rolled his eyes,
having heard me tell
the same bad jokes
on other such nights.
he put me on club soda
and coffee for the rest
of the evening and
set out a basket
of bread. he takes
care of me, he really
does. and when it's
time to go, when
the lights go up,
he calls me a cab.
he's now officially
my financial advisor
too. i trust him
that much.

chapter two

chapter one started
out nicely. well written.
the characters fleshed
out and the plot line
pushed along at a nice
and interesting pace.
it was obvious that the
two would become lovers,
but then trouble came
along with all of
life's problems and
unexpected turn
of events like fires,
death, destruction,
your basic mayhem
and disaster. the author
put them on thin ice,
in peril, and hanging
on by their fingernails
to the edge of the cliff.
chapter one had it all.
but in chapter two,
the sun came out
and the ocean subsided
and didn't flood the town,
or send everyone to higher
ground. the sky was
blue and birds were
singing. i really liked
chapter two, how smoothly
and content the two main
characters had become
with one another. i might
just stop reading at
this point. i'd like
to stay in chapter two.

a fashion statement

you've made
a fashion statement
with your super
girl underwear
and cape. i see
what you are
getting at,
you are telling
me how strong
you are, how
you can rescue
me as i fall
daily from
the tall buildings.
i like the sound
you make as
you whoosh across
the sky and catch
me in your arms.
but those boots,
we have to do
something about
those crazy
yellow boots.

sunday

can you walk
a little
faster. drive
quickly and
bring those
lips and legs
asap. it's
sunday and i'm
in a lazy mood
to get busy
with you.
i'm a bee
on a flower,
a lighting
bug lit up
on a summer
night. i'm
a melting cone
that needs to
be licked and
bitten into.
none of these
metaphors really
work, but i'm
throwing them
out there
because i have
nothing to do
until you
get here.

cold water

a cold swim
rattles the bones.
chills you from
head to toe
as your feet
scramble against
the hard pebbles
and stones of
the ocean floor.
this is not what
you expected when
running across
the hot sand
and leaping into
the blue green
sea glimmering
with a high hot
sun above it. but
it's the only
ocean you've got
for now. so you
shiver, and slip
below, seeing
only the strange
green mist and
the occasional
lost fish that
bumps your leg.

the beach

she goes down to
the ocean with her
bags. her books, her
bills and checkbook,
her phone, her water
and snacks. sunglasses
and towels, a chair,
even her laptop makes
the trip down to
the beach where
the august heat
has warmed the water,
taken the chill right
out of the deep sea.
and she gets nothing
done, nothing read.
she lets her feet get
washed upon, feeling
the sand, the salt,
the lazy waves that want
to pull her in and
save her.

measurements

on the door frame
in the kitchen
they measured the
two girls and one
boy, each with a pencil
held upon their head
when they could stand.
their names were
beside each mark.
i could imagine
them all smiling,
being still and
funny as this was done.
every year for ten
years. they got taller
and taller, growing,
growing and then
divorce came and i
was called in to
paint the house.
everything white. even
the door frame. hiding
the marks they made
with a primer and
two coats. brushing
smoothly against
the wood, painting
over what was there,
as if no one was
ever here.

terminated

she doesn't see
it coming. the hammer,
the nail. the swing.
jobs end. love ends.
we never see it coming.
or perhaps put the
blinders on, staying
in the shade, refusing
to see the light,
the truth of what
comes and goes right
before our eyes.

dead mice

the cat brings home
a dead mouse from
the woods. the blood
still in her claws
against the soft
fur of her mouth, and
she lays the catch
down upon the top
step for you to see,
for you to have.
and you sidestep it,
you need to get to
work, you have your
own mice to catch and
and kill and worry
about keeping
the blood off of you.

empty rooms

these empty rooms
full of empty chairs
and beds. things
unused. lights never
turned on to read
a book. no need to
paint these walls
that no one ever
sees, or hang a
picture on. the
hollow walk runs
up the stairs, down
to the basement. the
silence not so
golden when
the children
have all gone
to lives and rooms
of their own.

flower child

her feet are in
the sixties.
sandals still
on to ease
the bunions. that
flower still in
her hair a dead
give away. the
peace sign on
her bumper. she
wears the music
out. the same old
songs. a bottle
of mateuse, a
joint, a van,
a dog, three cats,
and wanderlust
that keeps her
ever moving, if
not on the road
then at least
within her mind
in a time that
she can't let go.

film noir

i love you
in black and
white. a film
on reel
to reel that
chatters
in and out
of a projector
in the
back room,
from a small
window and
prism of
light. grainy
and etched
with time,
the sound not
quite right,
but fine enough
for us. and
everyone
has a cigarette,
a drink,
and nods with
a knowing
smile. they
all know
what love is
and what
happens when
it ends.

life

while falling
backwards,
in mid air,
through
the crevice
of the fault
as the earthquake
shook and split
the earth
in two, i
noticed
two bluejays
flying overhead,
as blue and
carefree as they
could be, one
with a worm
and the other
with twigs.
their wings
fluttering
gently towards
home.

dear jimmy

i left my christmas
tree up the whole year.
i even had a little
train set beneath
it that ran through
my tiny christmas
village of fake snow,
and carolers.
the smoke poured from
the tiny smokestakes.
lights, bulbs, tinsel.
the angel on top.
through the summer
months i watered
it and kept it lit.
it glowed out into
the lawn from the front
window. the neighbors
would laugh and shake
their heads at my
thread bare tree. but
i didn't care. i even
kept your presents
right where i placed
them, wrapped with
ribbons and bows.
and there they will
stay until you get
out of jail, and come
come home to open them.

meat

i've grown tired
of cheese and fruit.
vegetables raw, or
cooked. i'm tired
of nibbling on food
that the forest
animals would love
to get a hold of.
soy this, soy that.
carob begone. i'm
not a model on
the catwalk.
i can't pretend
any longer. i'm
ready to pass out
from a lack of protein.
i am as pale as white
wine and the inside
of a pear cut
in careful quarters.
i need meat. red meat.
seared and grilled
on an open fire with
the fat crackling and
burning in the flame.
give me a knife, a
fork. i need to cut
something.

wind

the wind tells you
nothing you don't
already know, but
you listen just
the same. you nod,
and hold your hat,
you button up and firm
your feet to let it blow
against you, it holds
you back, or at least
tries to, of where you
want to go. it comes
from all directions.
lifting up the debris
from the street into
small dark cyclones.
it's too late. too old.
they want you to fail.
it will make them happy
if you listen and
obey the wind.

stay

dream this
dream
for awhile.
me and you.
you don't
have to stay
if you don't
want to.
you can leave
at any time.
whenever
your heart
gets tired
of being
happy and
loved, just
pick up and
go. i won't
follow. i won't
wait. but i'll
remember.

salesman

the dogs
are barking.
someone is
coming up
the street,
a stranger
in a suit
about to knock
on everyone's
door with a
his business
card and
flyers. he
wants to
help, he
wants to
tell you
something you
don't already
know. he
is nothing
if not
persistent.
he is able to
block out
and resist
rejection in
a way that
i admire and
aspire towards.
but i won't
let him in
either.

apple pie

i'm happy with
this pie you baked
me. thank you.
two slices was
quite enough.
apple was not my
first choice, but
just the same, it's
quite tasty. you
shouldn't have, and
now i feel guilty
about having to
leave, there are
so many other pies
out there, waiting,
hot on the sill,
as the dark night
cools them.

i see you coming up
from the deep end,
swimming underwater
with goggles and scuba
fins on your fine
little feet. you move
so swiftly through
the indoor pool. the
fish are envious of
your long strong legs,
kicking and splashing,
moving you forward
at a rapid clip.

full service

i want to validate
your parking.
stamp your ticket.
pull you up around
to the special lot
and scrub you to a
nice shine and polish.
i want to put air
into your tires.
gas you up and check
your oil. i want to
wipe those windshields
slowly until i can
see all the way in,
from front to back.
i'll even put you up
on the lift and see
if that undercarriage
needs some tlc. i'm
a full service station,
relax. there's coffee
and donuts while
you wait. you'll be
back behind the wheel
in no time.

one more

pour me one more
cup before i go.
i'm going to alaska.
i'm in love with
no one, and want
nothing but a white
endless range of
blowing snow. i want
to feel the cold
on my face as i
stand beneath the
brilliant blue sky.
i want to know
once more what it
feels to be alive.
pour me one more
cup before i go.

no news is good news

in twelve months
she has had every
disease known to man.
been mugged, been
abused, been lost
and lonely, and tried
lamely to end it all
by taking too many
saccharin pills. she's
had the hiccups for
ten straight hours
and believes she's
being followed.
she's broken bones,
and lost all her money,
and her watch in
a card game in atlantic
city. she's been caught
in the rain without
her shoes, had a flat
tire on the jersey
turnpike. she's had
six babies in one year,
and the blood bank
refused her blood on
account of bad karma.
it hasn't been a good
year for her. i really
need to change my
number.

just drive

i like the way
you drive your
car, with one hand on
the wheel, cigarette
dangling from your
ruby red lips, dark
shades on, the radio
turned up, the windows
down. i like the way
you smoothly shift
gears, as you throw
it into sixth when we
hit the open road
and you need some
serious speed. i like
the way you wink,
and click your nails
against the dashboard
and say hold on, here
we go. and i feel myself
get pinned back against
the seats. i could
go anywhere with you,
even nowhere.

while wandering about
the desert the other day,
almost in an hallucinary
state of mind, but not
quite, i came upon fellow
travelers also out on foot
in the deep sand and
brilliant sunlight and heat
of this wasteland.

foreplay instructions: part one

begin to set the stage with
low lighting (may i suggest
candlelight, or if you don't
have any candles, turn
the light on in the hall
bathroom and leave the door
slightly ajar), and put out
some finger food, (preferably
cheese and crackers of
some sort. whole wheat, not
saltines, perhaps a
nice brie, some grapes
and strawberries would
not be too extravagant,
but in a separate dish),
and once all that is
done and you've opened up
a good bottle of wine (see
separate dvd on wines available
in the lobby after class)
and the music is set on low,
and the dogs, cats
and kids are all put
away, then start with
a kiss. go slow. i
can't say this too many
times. go slow. this
is not a race. a touch
of hands, fingers are
good. but no pawing, or
clawing, work slowly down
and around all of the hot
zones, (these zones will
be explained later, but
should be avoided during
phase one). perhaps allow
your leg to touch against
her leg. try to remain
upright in this phase.
some more kissing
may proceed at this
point. whisper a few words
into her ear. something
she'd like to hear, perhaps
tell her how nice she smells
or how wonderful she looks,
but don't keep repeating the
same thing over and over,
and nothing too sentimental,
like you smell like a bed
of roses. it will seem
insincere. then give the neck
some attention, nuzzle,
don't bite, or drool if
at all possible, (if you
are chewing gum, this
would be a good point
to get rid of it) go
gently at the neck, which
is that area between
her earlobe and collarbone.
kiss the neck. it's a very
sensitive and often neglected
area. don't be in a rush.
sure, it might seem like
it's taking forever,
but trust me on this, take
your time, it will be worth
it. okay, where were we.
when you hear a sigh,
or something like that,
or she says your name,
which is gold, and her heart
rate appears to speed up,
you are on track.
heavy breathing is
a very good sign too,
so don't panic. she is
probably not having an
allegic reaction to the
food and is in no physical
danger.(but if she does
black out, call 911)
the next few minutes
are crucial. things are
in a delicate delicate
balance. be careful.
imagine you are a
safecracker. it's
a small window of
opportunity. you must
use all of your senses
for the removal of
this clothing item.
determine if it's
a frontal snap or
it's in the back, then
slowly move your fingers
across to determine
if it's one, two or
three, or god forbid
a four snap item.
slowly, but with
some force unsnap, be
careful not to pinch
the skin and be aware
of any resistance, either
verbally, or physically.
if all the lights are
green, proceed. once
this is removed, she'll
help you get it out
of the way and put
in a place that
she'll remember later.
if there is a still a dog
in the room, have her put
it in a high place where
he can't chew it in half.
this particular piece
of women's clothing can
be quite expensive despite
it's lack of fabric. okay.
this concludes phase one
of elementary foreplay.
our next lesson will be
tomorrow. everyone please
bring a fresh can of whipped
cream to tomorrow's session.
the next steps are very
complex and will take serious
students only to the next level.
i suggest a cold shower
at this point and try to
think about baseball.

the sun persuades
the trees to grow
in abudance, long
limbs, thick trunks
and leaves. and the
rain provides the
moisture needed to
enhance the growth,
to fill the earth
with life.

the great wall

so you see my predicament.
if i quit and go to china,
what then. i don't speak
chinese at all, i'm not
good with other languages,
in fact i don't do well
with this one. i'm baffled
by other cultures. unlearned
in the art of getting along
with strangers. but i like
the big wall they have.
i'm fascinated with it.
such a great idea at the
time, to keep out invaders.
having had my own wall for
so many years it would be
nice to compare and contrast
the two.

pizza

with the power
down from the winds
and rain of yesterday
i was able to catch
up on my sleep. i
was about three hours
behind. but now i'm
up one hour, so i can
stay out late if you'd
like to do something
like go get a slice
of pie, pizza pie,
that is. give me a
call. you've got
my number, you know
where i live. i won't
eat until you get
here. bring chapstick.

gallons of
ice cream
in round
cold scoops
have made
the summer
more bearable,
although not
my waistline.
but these
stretch pants
that i bought
will see me
through the
winter too,
when it's
time to eat
turkey, gravy
and stuffing,
and pie.

blame

the most difficult
thing to do, besides
living a life of
faith without doubt
is trusting me, not
you. i know my
weaknesses better
than i know my
strengths, having
used them more
in the line of duty
and current though
ever changing events.
it's not my achilles
heel, or knee, or
solar plexus, or a
strike to the temple
that does me in,
it's deeper than
that, and lies
in a place formed
a long time ago.
i conveniently blame
it all on my parents,
or lack thereof.

while dangling
high above the ground
on the power lines
in the hot air balloon
painted a bright
orange and yellow,
the balloon operator
offered our money
back. he said he
was sorry and if
we ever survived the
fall, or being
electrocuted that
he would give us
a free year's pass
for further flights
across the state.

the intervention

when i arrive home
my house is full
of people, some i
know, some i like,
some i even love,
but there are
strangers there
too. and they are
all wearing gloves.
as if they have
some business to
do. they are gathered
in a circle with
chairs, and one
empty one in the
middle for which
they invite me to
sit in. they want
to talk, to discuss
my life, my future,
my lack of direction.
it's for my own
good, they say. we
want to help you.
we want to save you
from yourself. but
i shake my head and
laugh. you're too
late i say. way
too late, but please
help yourself to
some milk and cookies
in the kitchen. i'm
going up to take
a nap.

hurry

weakend by the day
and heat i've left
a trail of me for
you to find, my
shoes, my keys,
my hat and pants,
my soaked shirt,
all in a staggered
line of removal.
i am under the
fan, in the deep
white bed awaiting
your arrival. hurry
before i fall alseep.

the debris of
night is everywhere.
the clothes and
shoes left where
they were removed
and the glasses
half empty of wine
and booze, the
crumbs of all the
food we nibbled
on inbetween the
sweaty interludes.
a cyclone of a
night, and i'm still
spinning, spinning
in this warm sunday
morning light.

i love you

i can fix
that for you.
the flat tire,
i can get
the ladder
and change
the bulb.
the filter
in the furnace,
no problem.
shovel the
walk, rake
the leaves,
i'm your man.
i can go to
work and make
a living
and give you
what you need,
and don't need.
i'll keep you
warm at night,
make love to
you until
the sun comes
up. i'll
rub your
shoulders and
back until you
fall asleep.
whatever you want
i'll do. except
don't make
me say this,
i love you.

chicken tenders

i watch you in
the kitchen
pounding
that pink
chicken
breast with
a wooden mallet
and wonder
if you think
it's me that
you are
tenderizing.
seasoning
with spices,
before you bake
it and devour
it with your
ravishing
appetite.
i hope so.

letters unsent

it's a life
of letters written
and unsent, most
of the time. but
every so often
one does get in
the mail and what
is on your heart
is told in real
time. the love
unsaid is finally
said, or not.
it's difficult
sometimes to tell
the truth for
fear of losing
you.

amaretto

bring your pillow.
your amaretto
and club soda.
bring the ice
cubes and the logo.
bring on the night,
the day is too
long without you,
but somehow i'll
manage to be
patient and not
stare at the
clock, or slow
moving light
outside my window.

out of ink

i dreamed that i was
out of ink. bone dry.
no more thoughts to
post or twist onto
the wind of white paper.
i dreamed that the
oceans were gone, and
that all of the ships
and vessels at sea
could be seen and walked
upon. i dreamed that
the sky was empty
of clouds, there was
only blue from one end
to the other, not a
wisp of white to be
found. i dreamed that
all the stars had fallen
and nothing twinkled,
nothing streaked
across the black night.
emptiness without hope.
this is not a dream
i want to have again.

bluto

i'm not getting
enough feedback
with this blog.
i write and write
and write, i pour
out my blood and guts
telling all, and
what do i get, zippo.
well, with the exception
of one or two people.
but basically there's
no, hey steve, great
poem. beautiful, well
crafted. you're a
freaking genius with
this stuff. but will
it stop me, hell no.
did we stop when the
germans bombed pearl
harbor...nooooo.

a reason

i had the x ray
the m r i, the sono
gram, they even made
me say ahhh, and looked
down my throat. they
put flashlights
everywhere. yes.
everywhere, but they
couldn't find a thing.
they put ink into
my veins to see where
it would go, they
tapped on my knees,
opened my eyes, they
did a spinal tap. but
no luck at all.
you have no heart, none
whatsover, they said,
standing around with
their arms folded
in their white coats,
with clipboards and
stethoscopes around
their necks. you are
incapable of love or
a real realtionship,
was their diagnosis.
we're very very sorry.
but i was relieved, at
least now i had a reason.

blind date

she did a high pitched
impersonation of the
queen of england, or
at least what her perception
of what the queen might
sound like if she had
gotten the wrong meal
sent to her table.
the accent was perfect,
as she loudly did her
comedic improvisation
scolding the young waiter,
acting indignant.
i wanted fish, not steak,
she loudly exclaimed
for all to hear within
the room, and at that
point i realized that
i could no longer go
out on another blind date
for the rest of my
unnatural life.

the note

i found this purse
in the alley on my
way home from work.
i took my usual short
cut between buildings,
getting off the bus,
off the subway.
the alley is always
dark and dangerous,
but in the summer there
is enough light to
feel safe if you hurry.
the purse was white
and shiny, almost
like a seashell on the
beach, lying by itself
on the pavement, it
had little pearls
embedded in the strap.
it looked just like
the purse you have.
the one you carry
everywhere. everywhere.
i picked it up and
opened it. there was
a piece of paper
inside, just that,
a note. no money,
no jewelry, no credit
cards, or id of any
sort. no hairbrush, or
make up. no mints.
no gum or perfume.
i opened the note
and read it. it said.
i'm sorry, but i
can't do this anymore.
the message wasn't
subtle at all, but
where you placed
it was. i thank
you for that. very
very clever sweet girl.

do not go gentle

i see you resisting
the years, fighting
age like a prize
fighter in the ring.
there is no graceful
exit. none whatsover,
i see you going down
swinging, not acting
your age, misbehaving,
and getting up off
the floor and finding
the spark for more.
more mischief, more
mayhem, more of
everything that you
did in your youth.
i don't see the
rocking chair, the
nursing home, the
over fifty five ranch
where you are penned
in to eek out a slow
death. i see you
battling the sun
and snow, carving
out a world with no
end in sight, until
it stops.

stay for awhile

come home. lay down
the trouble. rest
here. come sit for
awhile and let me
fix you something
to eat, something
cold to drink, put
your feet up, take
off your shoes. here,
let me take your
coat, your bags,
your burden. stay
the night if you'd
like. there is no
need to go back
out into the rain,
into darkness anymore.
i am here for you.

greyhound

sitting on
the bus as it shoots
the gap, and enters
a tunnel you realize
that it's a long ways
from start to finish.
there is no straight
path, and the memory
of where you've been
is often foggy with
wrong turns, bad
stops along the way.
you cringe at
bus stations where
you spent the night
and brushed your
teeth in a public
restroom, slept on
a bench waiting for
your destination to
be called. you can
hear the squeak and
exhale of airbrakes
as the doors flop
open into another
hellish hot day in
in jersey or delaware.
nowhere to be in july.
no one gets off, but
an old lady with
knitting needles
and a jar of blueberry
jam. everyone's got
that far away look,
that unshaven, unemployed
gaze. not a spark
going on in this
dark tunnel moving
down the freeway. you
stare out the window
at the scorched earth.
the endless sagging
fields of corn stalks.
the abandoned sheds
selling fireworks
a week ago. you stare
at your ticket in
your hand. you try
to remember where you
are going and why you
left wherever it was
that you came from.
all of those black birds
on the wire, as still
as stones make it
all even worse.

camping out

i decided to camp
out the other night.
pitch a tent in
the woods right
behind my house.
i built a fire,
circled it with stones,
i was on highland
just in case
the creek flooded
in a downpour.
i broke out a can
of beans and heated
them up in my fold
away pot. i washed
it all down with
vitamin water. then
i put some marshmallow's
on a stick and listened
to the animals in
the woods making
crazy screeching
noises. i could also
hear my neighbors,
the newlyweds,
jim and betty making
similar noises from
their window. i put
on some bug spray
and sharpened
a tree branch to a
fine point, keeping
it close by. i
burned my tongue on
some marshmallows, had
some more vitamin
water then got into
the tent to go to sleep.
an hour later i
hopped the fence and
went home and crawled
into my own bed.

what's that on your neck?

jealousy comes
as a surprise
this time around.
the mere mention
of another wanting
your attention
gives me a strange
cold chill. i'm not
sure why or how,
or what to do
with such an
emotion leaking
into the bloodstream.
but it'll pass.
i'm older, wiser,
i'm more secure
and sure of myself
when it comes to
relationships. i've
been around this
block before, yes,
many times, but
just out of
curiousity, what's
that on your neck.

losing it

i have stacks
of old magazines
and newspapers sitting
on the diningroom
table, half
of them half read
for lack of time,
lack of interest. other
things have gotten
my attention lately,
maybe that's why
the electricity went
out and the cable,
and that i'm sitting
here in the dark
with you. i blame
it all on you, the
empty fridge, the
dog running free outside
without his leash
eating grub worms
in the yard,
the mail piled up
in the foyer, dropped
daily by the postman
who just shakes his
head and goes on
to the next house. i
have no Z bags
for the vaccum, no
clean dishes, the bar
of soap in the bathroom
is the size of a half
dollar. spider webs
are everywhere.
at some point you have
to get some clothes
on and go home.

dog in the middle

it's a blue room
with windows that
face the sea
and stars at night.
there is a big white
bed in the middle
and candlelight.
there is music
and wine. there
are the hours
between now and
sunlight. what else
do you want or neeed,
i ask tenderly
as i lean over
my daschund, moe,
sleeping in the
middle, to kiss you.
what else, my dear?

it's a start

when the floods come
i'm heading to higher
ground. i may even
buy stilts just in
case i can't outrun
the deluge of water
that breaks through
and over the levees.
i'm taking my dog
with me, and some
pound cake. he loves
pound cake. i'm
not saying we'll
live happily ever
after up in the hills,
but it beats drowning
and not having cake
or a dog. it's
a start. again.

maybe this will work

it's a nervous
wedding, with a mix
of young and old,
new children, brought
into the fold of two
lives taking vows,
dropping the ring
into a patch of flowers,
and eating cake
from each other's
hand. even the dogs
have been allowed
to attend. the liquor
overflows, and the
food disappears,
while a band plays
banjo and drums,
washboard and
harmonica. a screech
of sound. like a
train about to
derail. but in fairness
it's all good. all
with effort, rowing
together towards
some distant shore,
a place called
maybe this will work.

more

i'd like to eat
more of what you
cooked, but i can't,
i'm stuffed. i'd
really enjoy having
one more drink, but
i'm full and woozy
from the last one.
i'd like to stay
awake another hour,
or just five more
minutes and hold you
in my arms and listen
to the sound of you,
but my eyelids
are heavy and almost
shut with fatigue.
i'd like to make
love to you once
more, one more time
before you go, but
i can't. i'm weak,
i'm old, i'm done
now, finished and
only after one.

celebrity

everyday that i wake
up i am a little bit
taller. when i
stand the floor is
further away than it
was the day before.
the doctors don't
know what to make of
me. they have never
seen anything quite
like this condition.
my head scrapes
the ceiling and seems
to have grown five
sizes larger than
it should be.
and there is no bed
that i can lie on
without my legs
hanging over the end.
i can't drive a
car, or go anywhere.
everyone points at me.
i am no smarter, but
they all ask me questions
about life, about love,
the war, the economy.
i feel obliged to meet
their needs, but i'm
the same old person
inside, just taller.
all i can do is be
tall, be a giant. i
am beloved by
everyone, but no one
in particular. how
could anyone truly
love me, with me way
up here, and her way
down there with all
the littles.

changes...

she got her hair
cut the other day.
short, spiked
blonde, white
blonde, straight
up in pointed
strands, gelled
as if electricty
might have some
thing to do with
the process. she
added a few tattoos
to the new look.
a dragonfly on
her arm, with
fluttering green
wings and a band
of bullets around
her thigh. lovely.
i asked her
what was up with
the new doo, the
skimmpy clinging
dress and stilettos.
nothing she said.
i'm just tired of
looking like all
the other mom's
at starbucks. i'm
still the same
girl inside.

untitled

the perfect
arc of sun
against the moon
showering shadow
upon us, or the
flowers that
can't help them
selves, but to
spread on wings
or wind and fall
with seed to bloom.
tells us something
that the faithless
might not want
to hear. too much
going on to
just ignore these
miracles. and
yet, so often we do.

stand back

you don't think i
can dance, do you.
that i can't shuffle
and tap these old shoes
into a stomp, a twirl,
and bust a move. go
ahead and laugh. but
give me room, lots
and lots of room.
let me show you what
i got. let me show
you how we used to
do it before you could
even tie your shoes.
tell the band to play
something fast,
something loud,
something that i
can groove too.
stand back, sonny boy.
stand back and
watch me move.

dog days

cold water
upon my brow.
the borrowed
fan, with ice.
i'm stretched
out on the stoop,
like a leg
of lamb.
someone needs
to bust open
a hydrant,
flush the heat
off of this
scorched black
street.
put that cold
sweat dimpled
bottle of beer
into my hand
and tilt it
south, let
that sweet
brew pour down
the hot stack
and take me
to the promised
land.

chance

i take a chance
on you. a lucky number,
a throw of the bones.
i let the wheel spin
round and round
and round. we all
want it to fall on
love, but it's too
soon to tell. so
many hands to play,
so hit me, give me
another card. i've
anted up, i've
raised the stakes. so
much to lay on
the line and throw
down onto the table.
but you have to
play to win as they
like to say. you have
to empty your pockets
and let it all ride.
you can't hold back,
or hide your heart.

the dark side of the moon

while circling the moon
very slowly, i came to
the dark side. but it
wasn't dark at all. there
was a circus going
on down below. the ferris
wheel was lit up red
and yellow, and was spinning,
the tents were all up,
white with red stripes,
the strings of lights
were everywhere. and
everyone waved to me.
the children, the old
people, the circus hands,
the midgets, snake boy
and the clowns, all
waving with wild and
smiling faces, so happy
to on the dark side
of the moon with their
candy apples and pink
clouds of cotton candy.
even the lion roared
with pleasure.

fish and flowers

she is languid
like a river
in southeast
asia where the
sun rises yellow
and slow, already
hot before the
cock crows, before
the boats
have taken in
their first
heavy nets
across the bow.
her legs and
arms are water.
her eyes green
like it's
shallow depth,
alive with the fish
and flowers
that reign below.

the exterminator

the sunday morning knock
at the door was loud and
hard, persistent,
getting me out of
bed just enought to crack
and window and yell out,
what? excuse me sir, but
i'm from the exterminating
company and we are doing
a once in a life time
free service to the
community to get rid
of mice that might be
invading your home.
i'm looking into a hole
at this moment next
to your stoop. it's
obviously a rodent
that's doing the digging.
what? i yell again.
i have rats? no sir.
perhaps mice. i can see
him holding up a
laminated photo of
what looks like
the tiniest mouse
in the animal kingdom.
they burrow under
the dirt under
the foundation and chew
right through
the floorboards while
you're asleep. i jump
back into bed and pull
the blankets up tighter
and yell back out to
the young man. okay,
go ahead and get rid
of them. help your self.
but you have to sign
this paper, he says.
never mind then,
go away. i yell. i don't
care. but sir, you
have a hole right here,
all you have to do
is sign this paper
and we'll be your
extermiator for life.
i want to tell him
to spray himself and
go away, but don't.
i shut the window and
lie back down. i can
hear him still talking
but can't make out
what he's saying.
finally he gives up
and i hear him go to
the next door to knock.
i fall back to sleep
and dream about mice.

let's not call it that

there are a lot
of things i won't
do, but few will
i not do for you.
i'm under your spell.
but don't get me
wrong. i'm not
in love, let's call
it something else.
sex slave, okay,
that's too crazy.
what if my mother
read that, what
would she think
if she thought
that i was someone's
sex slave. she'd
imagine me in chains
and shackles,
in a dark dungeon
being fed bread
water on an
infrequent basis.
being ferried around
in a windowless van
from house to house.
she'd have no idea
of the icecream
we'd be consuming.

jumping

in small jumps,
up and down, one
after another, i'm
gaining elevation.
at some point
i'll be able to
bounce higher than
the roof, the moon
is not my ultimate
goal. not at all.
that's been done
before. boring.
i have bigger
aspirations,
undefined dreams,
confusing perhaps,
but i believe it
all starts with
these small jumps
up and down that
i do in the morning,
that i do late
at night. higher
and higher. if i
suddenly disappear
you'll know why.

direction

there is no such
thing as playing fair.
anymore. or so i've
come to think. the
deck is marked,
the deal is done
behind closed doors
in the dark, pre
ordained as the
bible claims,
or is it.
the paradox of life.
where the left turn
is always right, unless
you go another
direction and then
that's fine too.

storm rolling over

as we wrestle between
the sheets, the toppled
trees on lines
lay low the power
that flickers on and
off, teasing everything
that blinks or needs
it's currency. the wind
and rain is to blame
for us being in the
dark, for lingering
in shadows and opening
windows to catch
a breeze, to hear
the heartbeat of the
storm roll over us as
we go back to where
we were, hardly giving
the storm it's due.

don't worry

icecream at night,
especially in
summer.
is a good idea.
the best idea
when you need
something cold
and sweet and easy.
bring on the
whipped cream
and cherries, the
nuts and chocolate,
smooth and hot
on top. double
scoop. we'll find
a way to work it
all off.
don't worry.

sunday morning

it's okay to
sleep in.
to dream
one more dream
and let
the clock
move forward.
no need
to rush,
or hurry or
start the day.
there are
more hours
to follow,
more days to
come. plenty
to keep us
busy. let's
stall time.
freeze the
moment.
enjoy what
comes so rarely.

pool water

the pool water
shimmy's and shakes
with a glistening
sky blue as our
feet dangle in
the deep cool end.
our shoulders are
browned with
mid summer warmth.
our hearts catching
a second wind, or
third, why count
anymore, but
the depth is good
that we slip into,
going down to
touch bottom and
only coming up
for air when we
need to talk in
the sparkle
of sunlight
about what next.

a slice of wedding
cake has left icing
on your lips, not our
wedding, but just
the same. it's sweet
and good what this
has become. it's not
our kind of music,
and the heat is
overwhelming, but it
doesn't matter. i
am in the tent for
you, in my new suit,

passengers

we know each other
but don't, not really.
we ride the same train
everyday and nod
in silence on
our way to work.
sometimes she'll
surrender a slight,
but uninviting smile.
but we never talk. she
has a book, i have
a paper. we get off
at different stops
and on occasion we'll
acknowledge goodbye
with a slight tilt
of the eyes towards
the direciton of
the sliding doors,
or a movement of legs
to let one or the
other pass by. this
goes on through
every season, each
with our umbrellas,
our boots, our hats.
and the months fold
over into years, but
still we never speak.
and it's why our
marriage has survived
for so long.

cowboy

just because
i can't
ride a horse,
doesn't mean
i can't take
a picture
of me sitting
on top of one
with a big white
hat and a rope
swirling in
the air above me
as if ready
to rustle cattle.
what's the
difference?

the roofer

she needs her roof
fixed. but she's alone.
there is no man to climb
up there and take
a look. when it rains.
it leaks. she has placed
buckets and bowls
where the water drips
down. she sets her
alarm for two o'clock
in the morning to empty
them. this goes on
for days, into a week
before the plumber comes
who says it isn't a pipe,
and then the carpenter
who says it isn't
wood. then the roofer
who can't find a leak
either, but throws
everything he has
at the point where
it might be coming
in, which works. and this
is the man she marries.

in time

i lay down
and weep. not
for me. not
for you, but
for this world
that can't be
fixed. pleasures
being less
and less
important in
time. it's
just a passing
thought at
the end of a
hard day, and
with the news
of death on
top of that,
but i know
in time, in time...
i'm sorry, i've
lost my train
of thought.

rising waters

i see you go, but
don't. i feel your
passing before i know,
before it's told to me
on the phone or was it
in a letter. the lines
are blurred at this
point. but i remember
you. as round and strong
as any man, snug in
your red beetle car,
your one arm always
burned from hanging it
out the window on a
day trip to the beach.
i see your big swing
standing at the white
plate, the sun and
everyone so much younger
than we are now.
and it's your wife,
whom i've never met
that sends the note.
i remember. i
remember. and it's
unsettling, the passing
of childhood friends.
the dark water rising
so quickly.

the ferris wheel

since we broke up.
i'm sending a package
to you in the mail.
it's got everything
you left here inside.
a half eaten box
of candy covered almonds.
a tattered copy of
catcher in the rye,
a book of poems by
robert frost with all
the lines important
to you underlined. a photo
of me and you in happier
days. on the ferris
wheel where you threw up
after eating all of that
cotton candy and three
moon pies. oh and your
underwear that you left
hanging in the shower.
i think that's it.

kneeling

i want to blame
the church
for the condition
of my knees
at this stage
of life. all
of that kneeling,
and praying,
asking for
forgiveness in
advance for what
i was about to
do that night.
it ruined me.

distance

what distance
there is between
us means nothing.
it's land, it's water,
hills and valleys,
all of it passable
by rail or boat,
or sky. there are
bridges too that
will help us get
there, but it's
not the miles that
concern me, but who
we are between
the pages of our
covers, between love
making and the quiet
that ensues.

the follow up e mail

hey, how are you?
my arm and hands are nearly
healed from the fourth of
july accident. The bandages
come off next week, and
i might not need skin
grafts after all. i never
should have lit that sparkler
after drinking five shots
of tequila and washing it
all down with beer, but i
didn't see the lawn chair
or the grill full of white
hot charcoal. i'm glad
though that you threw me
into the baby pool to put
me out. that was nice of
you. it's amazing sometimes
the strength we have when
fear is inovlved. from what
i remember you seemed like
such a small girl. i hope
this doesn't affect
our second date. it was
shirley, right?
let's get together soon.

bliss

you want less,
i want more and
as newly weds
we find a place
somewhere in
between where
we can smile
and ignore
our differences.
the thermostat,
the window open,
a dog, or
cat, two boys
and a girl,
or none, where
do we go for
christmas. all
of these simple
decisions, not
discussed or
breathed upon
in the heat of
love, or romance
that has fallen
under the wheels
of the wedding
train. but
they will undo
what's been
done. trust me
on that.

we need to talk

i can't get out
of this cab. the
doors are locked
tight and the meter
is rolling red,
flickering like
christmas lights
in rockefeller
center. it smells
like three day old
pastrami back here.
the driver is behind
the glass and won't
talk to me. he just
keeps driving,
going nowhere in a
circle, uptown,
downtown, to battery
park then up
the FDR around to
harlem, then back
down the hudson.
i'm dizzy with
manhattan, trapped
in this yellow taxi
that won't stop. i
bang on the window,
but he doesn't budge.
he raises his middle
finger and presses
it against the glass.
i don't understand
why my son is so angry
with me and won't
pull over to let me
out. we really need
to have a talk.

action flix

she likes the gore,
the blood and guts,
the roar of guns
and cannons, the cars
in mid air with the
hero unscratched,
unscathed by flames
or arrows. she likes
the way the screen
lights up when things
blow, when the building
falls and the earth
opens and creatures
with fangs and wings
come flying out.
she likes the muscled
heros lathered in brave
sweat, the look in
their eyes as they save
everyone, the child,
the woman, the friends,
and even the little
house cat who leans
precariously on the
edge of a volcano.
and when the movie
ends, i like the mood
she's in.

the movie did not
bring tears to her
eyes, in fact it
made her roll
them and say things
like, pffft, i
can't believe he
did that. what a
dope. and i'd
have to agree, it
wasn't the movie
to pick for a
romantic night on
the couch, and the
popcorn had too
much butter and
the wine was warm.
but we made it
through, as
the rain outside
in the woods
poured down and
winds picked up
breaking limbs
and moving things
unseen. she said,
let's watch an
action film next
time.

leave that for tomorrow.
leave the dishes
in the sink. don't
worry about the wine
or locking the door
or putting the cat
out. leave all the
lights on if you want
to. and those clothes
you are slowly removing,
leave them as a trail
to where you'll be.
i'll be right up,
i'm right behind if
you decide to stay
and don't leave.

i am

stranded. i have no
where to go. the trains
have stopped. the roads
are flooded, trees are
down. all the lights
are flashing red.
everyone is nervously
staring and clicking
into their phones for
an answer, for a way out.
a way to work, or home.
the water is rising,
it's ankle deep and cold.
soon, it will be time
to swim, or float, or
move to higher ground.

she wants
what she wants.
and gets it
most of the time,
queen bees
have a way
of doing that.
but she does
it with a smile,
a laugh, a flash
of her sensual
side, and there's
nothing wrong
with that.

transparency

let's put a light
on it, put the light
of day on what we are
dealing with right
here. turn on the
overhead, break out
the flashlight, point
the highbeam in
this direction.
no need to keep
in the dark what
everyone already
knows. what possible
thing could go wrong
when the truth
is revealed. when
the curtain is pulled
back to see you
quivering at the
controls.

a shout out

i haven't given up,
at least not completely
on the idea of prayer.
i admit to going there
when the chips are down,
when light has dimmed,
and the heart has sunk
to an all time low, but
sometimes you'd like to
see or feel a sign that
someone is listening.
just a whisper, a tap
on the shoulder, a dream,
a burning bush will do
too. but some kind of shout
out to get me back on
track, to get me through,
would certainly be nice.

throwing stones

in the air you
see the stone
thrown from a distance
removed from the
hand that held
it tight and
tossed with
a curse towards
the window where you
sit behind the glass
on a couch relaxing
with a can of beer,
the game on, the
dog in your lap.
is the stone aimed
at you for what
you have become, or
is it just kids
being crazy, throwing
stones, having random
and mindless fun.

lost in the mail

i lick the stamp.
i fold the paper,
i seal the envelope
with your name
on the front. i drop
it in the box. i walk
home. i wait. i wait.
and eventually in
a week or two,
sometimes less, it
comes back. so i do
it again and again.
hoping that one day.
what is over between
us won't be true.

taking a break

there is a pause
in the end of the
world as we know it.
it's a slow night
here, on earth.
nothing truly bad,
or catastrophic has
occurred for nearly
twenty four hours.
all of the religious
and non religious
fanatics have taken
a breather. thank God
they were too tired
to kill today. we
appreciate that.

up early

i get up early
and don't walk
the dog. the dog
is gone, but i
grab his leash
just the same.
i make coffee,
i toast a bagel.
i scramble up
and egg or two
just for you,
just the way
you like them.
but you aren't
here either. but
i'm up, and what
else is there
to do.

tax decuctible charity organization

give, give.
and give more.
your blood,
your money,
alms to the needy
alms to the sick
and invalid,
the poor. give,
like the ocean
producing waves
one after another
with no end
in sight. give.
give, so that
we all can breathe
freely and live
guilt free
and sleep straight
through the night.

keep sailing

let's row together.
it's easier that way.
do we really need
a destination, a place
to go and finally hit
dry land. why can't
we just stay out
and enjoy the wind,
the stars at night,
the smell and pull
of the open sea. let's
row together, we
have all the time
there is, just you
and me away from
the treacherous shore,
away from the sharp
rocks that can sink us.

the map

i found the map of you
tucked safe between two
books on the shelf.
mileage and distance,
terrain and possible
weather scenarios are
all there. x marks the
spot, and i am already
on my way, but so are
others, they are in
pursuit. they know gold
when they see it, when
they taste it and bite
gently into the soft
sweet folds of the
treasure that is you.
but i have the map
and they are flailing
in dark without a clue.

the slap

i haven't seen you
in a while, where have
you been, you don't
come around here much
anymore. was it something
i said or did, or
didn't say or do,
i can't quite remember.
how long has it been,
a month, a year.
are you still upset over
some silly little
fight we had about
absolutely nothing. you
look different is
it your hair, did you
lose weight, did you
take a vacation, you
look great, you really do,
in fact i've never seen
you look better. perhaps
we should reconsider,
patch up our differences
and give it another shot.
okay, okay, i get it.
you could have just
said no, you didn't
have to slap me.

labella

your garden is beautiful.
it's warm and rich and
reflects the love you
have put into it. your
long mornings kneeling
in the dirt. kneading
the soil, nurturing
what comes up. i admire
that in you. teaching
is not for everyone,
but you embrace it
with a love of the land.

so, which is it

do you feel that,
right there. that
soft lump beneath
my rib cage.
it rolls against
my fingers when
i press just so.
it's been there
for quite some time.
i should have a
doctor or my nurse
friend emily
check it out
at some point to see
if it's serious, if
it's a good lump
or a bad lump,
and isn't all of
life like that?

wait for me

if you fall asleep
first. wait for me.
i'm on my way. i just
need to think about
a few things first, sort
through the troubles
that came today, but
i'm coming, i swear,
just wait. wait there
in your summer dress,
with your sweet sweet
smile. wait for me,
i promise this won't
take but a little while.

dance

let's dance now.
break loose and lose
ourselves in the music.
the wine will help
with that and feel
free to kiss me
when you get the urge.
put your arms around
me, and let's move
across the floor
as one, let's find
the rhythm, the beat,
it's like making love
this dance, this swaying
to the sounds from
the red hot band that
blows a mean blue horn.
let's dance, let's dance
some more.

the doorman

i am the doorman
in the red uniform.
pressed and braided
with false gold.
my black brim hat
reflects the lights
that always shine
bright and glow.
i know everything
there is to know about
all of you. when you
come and when you
go. your tips do
two things. they keep
me happy, they keep
me quiet. all of
your secrets are safe
with me. you can trust
me. i am the first
national bank of trust
and discretion.
every leak in this
building is under my
watch. every flame,
every whiff of smoke.
i see all, i know all.
i am the king of
the front door, the
protector of your
lies and deception
from morning until night.

309 dorchester st.

i lived there
once before.
in another life.
i hear the voices,
i smell the rooms,
the food and sweat,
the cats and dogs.
brothers and sisters
packed together, alone,
without direction. i
lived there once
before. a long
long time ago,
but can fall asleep
and be back there
in an instant.

there is no clock
to punch, at least
not for me, nor am i
tied to the plow,
or in an office with
a set salary, or
grade or position,
or rank. i'm a
riding the range,
and have been for
quite sometime.
i don't need much
to keep going and
don't quite understand
those that do, but
it doesn't bother me.
i like the sweat,
the dirt of the world.
i like the tumbleweed
and the cattle that
stray, the wild
ponies that need to
be broken. i'm
lucky that way, to
have little, to ride
in and out sunsets
and sunrises, each
and every day.

lovers

i bury leftovers
in the fridge never
to see the light
or heat again, never
to be warmed up and
savored as they once
were. they have gone
into the deep end,
frost bitten, snowed
under. they have
been their last meal.
i've lost the taste
for what is wrapped
and put away. the idea
at the time seemed
good, with nothing
going to waste, how
strange to think
that way.

i bite the hand
that needs me.
and she falls back
with a scream.
but it's best for
the both of us to
run in opposite
directions, there
is no good in this,
it seems.

i'm saving up

for a rainy day.
a new car.
something fast
and sleek,
that growls when
i push the pedal.
a few days at
the beach
and nyc.
some david
yurman trinkets
for you, that
is if you behave.
my son's
college tuition,
just one more
year before
reality sets in.
a new crown
in my mouth
to replace the
one that isn't
new, an ac unit
to replace
the forty year
old one that's
still miracously
ticking and
blowing cold.
a deep new
mattress to sleep
on when it's all
said and done.

no title

as the earth
is full
after a hard
rain, so am i
in leaving you
until we meet
again. as
the clouds
are exhuasted
of all their
showers, so am
i, in leaving
you, for just a
few long hours.

tides

the slight quiet pull
of the moon shifts all
the water and blood
that we here call our
own. we are victims of
the tide, on paths
taken by slight tugs
and pushes from the
unknown. everthing is
a secret, even me and
you. staring out into
the stars will tell
that every night, every
day, nothing is as true.

save me one

i see that you
are fond of donuts.
there were twelve
in the box, and now
there is one and
a half left over.
i see the powdered
sugar on your lips,
the chocolate frosting,
everywhere, a dab
of jelly on your
little pert nose.
if i didn't love you
so much, i'd put you
on e bay and find
you another home.
despite all of that
tail wagging,
nuzzling beside me,
and never once talking
back, it wouldn't
break my heart to
be dogless once more.

arriving

at some point
surrender comes
to mind. to lay
down the arms,
raise up the white
flag and admit
that there is a
better way. there
is a road more
smooth, less
narrow, and well
lit along
the highway and
it's not about
love, although
that is a fine
destination, but
it's more about
peace and
contenment,
arriving, and
not leaving.

your cat

i wake up with
your black cat
upon me, her
paws pushing one
after the other,
kneading me as
it were, wanting
me to wake up
and hear her purr.
but it's your
cat and i don't
know what to do,
so i put my hand
on her, then
you, to see if
any of this is
real, then fall
back into the
dream from where
i came.

july

july is a yellow
dress that blows
in the warm summer
wind showing
off her legs
so long and tanned,
and perfect as
she walks along
the shore, leaving
soft imprints
in the endless sand.

set it down

that bag you carry
over your shoulder,
worn and weathered,
torn and sewn back
together, is heavy.
the trinkets of your
life and places that
you've been have
weighed you down.
love gone bad
is in there,
doubt and denial,
fear and betrayal.
all of the postcards
of pain from every
stop along the way.
you think that
everything
in there is you,
and without it you
are nothing, you
are wind, you are
thin of spirit
and left to wander.
it's not true. you
must set it down.

satisfied

jealous are the trees
that see you walk
about with careless
grace and ease,
for they must stand
still forever, with
arched backs and limbs
that reach out as
far as they can see.
but even in this state
they gather themselves
around each other in
thick green numbers,
and dance when the
winds come and wish
for nothing more,
than rain, and rich
soil and to be a
harbor for those
that fly in need.

with the wire
stretched taut
across the city
below, twenty stories
up or more, a wavering
line, coiled tight
as tight can be,
but still catching wind
and quivering, he
mounts with soft feet
and a balance pole
to get from here
to there, no other
reason, than to do it
and say he did
without falling
and dying a pointless
death.

arise

when waking,
come up for air,
rise slowly
from the deep
water, kick your
legs gently
and spread your
arms like wings
of an angel
swimming towards
the light of God.
breathe in,
breathe out.
arise this way,
and all days
will be yours.

summer rain

it washes up along
you, the banks of you,
across the soft
mounds and curves
of you, this rain,
this storm that brings
steam to the air,
and a cool kiss
to the earth, it
brings me to my knees,
beside you, and the
summer skies will
finally darken and open,
will echo with cold
thunder, and the waves
of wind, fresh off
the sea will find us
entwined on the shore,
both agreed that
this is good.

road trip

we decide
on a whim
to go to mars,
to pack our
bags, put the
cats and dogs
in the kennel
and just go.
it may take
a few months.
so turn off the
water, the heat,
douse the lights,
pay some bills
and reset the
voice mail
and e mail
connections
to tell them all
we'll be gone
for awhile.
i don't know
what to do
with the plants.
maybe put them
out back and let
them survive
on their wits
like we are
doing. notify
the post office,
and paper to
cease delivery.
bring shorts
and sandals, i
hear it's
warm there.

the flow

the night
is a lazy
river with
you beside
me, a slow,
soft journey
downstream
to the sea.
no need
to row, or
set the sails,
we just need
to hold on
to one
another
and go with
the flow.

the cook

i like the way
you stir the pot
over the stove,
in your white
apron, leaning
in to lick
the spoon.
the steam rising
in your face.
strands of hair
curled along
your cheeks.
your lips blowing
gently on the
heat. i can't
wait for this meal.

fatique sets in

i can't do this
anymore she told
me the other day
while lying in bed.
i am the statue
of liberty of internet
dating. give me
your tired your poor,
etc., she said.
oh, i said in response.
so why don't you stop.
i'm looking for my
next cell mate, i mean
soul mate she said. i
want to be in love,
or at least find
someone fun that i can
have sex with and
leaves early in
the morning so that
i don't have to talk
to him about his ex
wife and how strapped
he is paying alimony
and child support.
we're setting the bar high,
aren't we, i told her.
she shrugged. i'm
getting old. look at
the roots in my hair,
i wear sunglasses all
the time to hide my
wrinkles. i don't
want to hear another
person's life story.
i'm up to here with
all of that dating
chit chat, being
interviewed by an
endless parade of
balding penquins with
twitches and sausage
fingers. yikes, i
said, is it really
that bad. no, she
said and smiled,
kissing me on the
cheek. i did meet you
afterall.

the headlilne news

there seems to
be very little surprise
these days
when the mighty
fall and the small
stand up and rise.
it's that kind of
world now. what isn't
is, what's to come
has gone. uncertainty
reigns free, not
faith or wisdom,
experience and truth.
the whole world
is on a sheet of
thin ice, and the ice
has cracked and some
have already slipped
into the dark cold
depths of despair.
oh well, i'm hungry
where should we eat
tonight? chinese?

turning over a new leaf

i told my life
coach, jimmy,
that i wanted
my money back.
things were not
working out the
way he told me
they would, and
i have done
everything he
insisted that i
do. i'm
even flossing
now after every
meal, no matter
where i am,
and have come
close to
recycling
my empty gin
bottles and
men's magazines,
i can't
do every thing.
he says that i
have to try harder.
to set goals,
have boundaries,
treat others
as i want to be
treated. no
more white lies,
no more chat rooms
and forays into
places that i
shouldn't be. he
even wants me
to stop with
the late night
snacking. what
the hell. pffft.
jimmy. he's living
on borrowed time.

i'm flying in fro

fate

there are moments,
split seconds of
time that often
can define so much
of one's life. a
wrong turn here,
a broken shoelace
there, that stalls
you from what awaits
on the open road,
whether good or bad.
we don't know.
but we want to feel
some hand of fate,
or call it God
that is moving it
all about like
chess pieces on
a board. i don't
know for sure and
question those that
say they do.

i smell what you're cooking

do you smell that
coming from the kitchen,
that's me cooking.
right. and you didn't
know that i could also
cook in that room too.
well, here's a headline
for you, we're not
going out to dinner
tonight, no mike's
american, no pizza,
no chow mein from
hunan west. no sloppy
joes, or half smokes
off the spinning grill
from seven eleven.
hang up the phone, tell
morton's to cancel
those reservations, i've
got it going on right
here, right here in
the kitchen. pots and
pans, spatulas. and
in case your wondering,
that's a cheese grater
right there. i even have
an electric beater with
nine, count em, nine
speeds. salt and pepper?
no problem. so tell me
and don't be shy, how
exactly do you want
those eggs?