i'm bored

i'm bored, she says,
tossing a book at me
from across the room.
i pick it up and look
at the title. I'm
Bored Too, is what
it says. i need a
life, she yells out,
a new life, i need
to have more fun,
go out, go dancing,
put on a new dress
and go to paris
on a whim, maybe
i should replace you
too, get a hot cabana
boy with washboard
abs, she says, staring
at me and pointing
her finger. then the
door bell rings.
honey, i say, can you
get that. it's pizza
man, the money's on
the table, near the door.

some women

before discovering
normal, in the past
i've been attracted
to some strange
women, or they've
been attracted to me.
cat ranchers,
hoarders, collectors
of knick knacks.
tap dancers.
women who could snap
a cigarette out
of your mouth with
a bullwhip from twenty
paces or stop you
in your tracks with
just the look in their
eyes. then i thought
it through, that maybe
there was something
about me that
brought them near.
i try not to think
too much about that
though, it's a very
scary thought.

nothing

i'm in search
of an immortal line,
something i can
etch in stone
and put on a
monument. a perfect
string of words
that people will
quote and memorize,
carry it with them
until the day
they die. something
smart and forever,
that will change
lives, alter the
course of human
events. save souls.
but it's been
a long day,
and i'm sitting here
eating a klondike
bar and i got nothing.

no advice

sometimes endings
are just beginnings
i want to say to him
when he tells me the
news about divorce,
but you can't go
there, not yet.
there are no words
to say, no advice
worth giving at
this stage. it has
to soak in, like a
cold wet blanket.
you have to shiver
and grieve whatever
loss there is, before
you move on.
this will all pass,
you want to say,
but still you can't,
it's best to just
be there and listen.

wine away

as the foot
hits the bottle
then the glass
and the wine
goes up into
the air onto
the white carpet,
in a red splash,
onto the couch,
the pillows, all
in slow motion
and we gasp,
i see in that
instant the
value of a good
wine remover
under the sink
waiting to
be used. amazing
how what seemed
ruined and at
it's end can
be saved.

blabby

she gave me a
nice cold slap
of the silent
treatment the other
day. and no
the silence wasn't
golden. deserved,
yes, but also very
instrumental
in getting
the point across.
i've used that
tact before, in
fact. unleashing
quiet, retreating
to that man
cave when things
weren't quite
right and i needed
some time to figure
it all out. but i'm
blabby now, very
blabby. sometimes
too blabby, like
right at this moment
when you want
this diatribe to end.
i have a tendency
to say alot of stupid
things sprinkled
between the occassional
gem. oh well. i'll
try to do better.
bear with me. okay,
i'm stopping....

in the past

in the past or
on any give day
or lonely night
i used to throw
the net over the
side of the boat
and pull it up
when it got heavy
and full. i'd
throw the whole
mess of flopping
crazy fish onto
the deck and sort
through them, one
by one. it was
tedious work.
heartbreaking at
times. and sometimes
they'd put up a fight,
or snap, or wiggle
out of your hands
and slide back into
the sea. and i
realized that this
was not the way to
do it. so i dove
and went under
to meet just one.
eye to eye.

the hand

i like the strong
hand she holds,
all queens, ace high.
it will be tough
to beat. she's
confident with her
bet and tosses in
most of what she
has, which makes
all the others fold,
but little does
she know though
that i'm holding four
fat kings and the ace
of hearts to top her.
i'm pushing all my
chips to the middle.
there is no bluff,
no tell, no need to draw
another card. i call.

not really a poem

it's a very small
window. this life.
the brevity of it
all is astonishing.
decide quickly what's
important, what makes
you sad or worry,
then make all of
it, as quickly as
possible, right.
find the joy, a
passion, find love.
find peace
and contentment in
whatever place you
land. don't crowd
the room with angry
souls. don't let
their unhappiness infect
you. don't waste your
time and energy on
what can't be fixed,
move on, don't stay
where you are not wanted,
or being used,
or chase what can't
be caught. be happy
in the moment. be
happy with who you
are, not with what
you have. chase
away that darkness
with light and through
all of it be thankful.

the dance

she loves to
dance, to swing,
to shag, to do
the two step,
she's out there
all night as
the boys line up.
they don't give
a damn about
dancing. they just
like the way
she looks in a
dress and moves
about the floor
with her blue
eyes flashing,
and they're mostly
thinking about
later when
all this foolishness
is over and she
could do a
different kind
of dance.

dinner

you see
the silver
slice
of fin rise
from a grey
wave and it
circles, not
sure yet
what will
be it's prey.
it doesn't
matter, there
is no menu
from which
to choose,
there is
only what's
in the water
this bright
summer day.

everyday

she twists
and turns
off the high
dive. fearless
and falling
quickly to
the deepest
part of the pool.
focused, tumbling
in tight motion,
before slicing
into the cool
still water
with hardly
a splash. she does
this everyday,
and never, ever,
looks back.

yellow moon

there's a moon
rising yellow right
above that cloud
of dark trees, and
if you stand right
here, and don't
move, you'll see
what i can see. it's
memory will persuade
you to come again
and again, to find
another moon, on
another night, and
it has no real
meaning, but it shows
you that in the
moment, in the brevity
of life, that things
can slow down, stand
still, and be just right.

the black and white cat

in the summer of
seventy one, with
my friend perry herbert
we hitch hiked to
ocean city maryland.
we had twenty dollars
between us, a few
nickel bags of poor
weed and our sleeping
bags which held a
bathing suit and a
toothbrush and zig
zag rolling papers.
the three hour trip
took eight hours.
our hair and youth
did not encourage
cars to stop,
and if they did
they were tourists
from france or spain
or someone who needed
cash for gas. we
had no problem meeting
girls despite our
shaggy dog appearances,
but would be run off
by their fathers
when we tried to see
them later, at
their family hotels.
at night we'd go to
the dunes, away from
the houses, the cheap
motels and find someplace
to camp for the night.
and in the morning
the cops would wake us
up with megaphones
from their squad cars
parked along the
highway. one morning
before that happened,
i awoke and
found a beautiful
black and white cat
in my sleeping bag,
curled up beside me.
she was purring,
dreaming, as happy and
free as she could be,
so much like us.

boardwalk elvis

there used to be
a man on the boardwalk
in ocean city, years
ago, before the high
rises went up, and it
was still a small town,
who stood on his
head and sang elvis
songs, and blew on
his harmonica. you
ain't nothing but
a hound dog, seem
to be his favorite,
his black soft hat was
there beside him,
collecting coins and
dollar bills. he was
also blind and wore
black sunglasses
like roy orbison. one
day we were staying
in a room at the same
hotel he was, and we
saw him walking down
the hall with his cane
tapping gently along
the rug, the walls,
until he got to his
door, which he opened,
went in, and turned
the light on.

on ice

i'm sitting
in a tub
filled with
ice cubes
and cold water.
that's right.
you got it.
i'm chilling.
in about
an hour my
lips will
be blue,
and i'll be
shaking like a
waring blender,
my heart rate
will slow down
to the point of
blacking out,
but at least
my knees
won't hurt
anymore.

tea time

she wants to know
where i've been,
what have i been doing
and with whom.
who put that lipstick
there, whose curling
iron is on the
bathroom floor, why
is there so much
yogurt and bottled
water and cheese in
your refrigerator.
hummus? when did you
start eating hummus.
what's up with the white
wine bottles in the
trash. that one high
heel, who left it here
and where's the other.
who walks away and
leaves wearing one high
heel. what kind of a
woman does that, she
says, shaking her head.
she's driving me
crazy with these
questions, my mother. i
can't invite her over
for tea anymore.

wait

once the field
has been cleared
and tilled and
the seed is in
the ground, there
is not much that
you can do, but
wait, and be patient.
wait for rain,
wait for sunlight,
wait for the first
sight of something
green breaking
ground, then weed
and keep the bugs
at bay and be
ready, when she is.

goldfish

having a few extra
dollars in my pocket
i purchased a gold
fish the other day
and it's brought
me great pleasure.
it's the only pet
i can handle at
the moment. he
doesn't bark when
the doorbell rings,
or when the mailman
slides mail into
the slot. he doesn't
shed, or need his
nails clipped, or
yearly shots.
no teeth cleaning
is necessary because
he has no teeth.
i don't need to carry
plastic bags with me
to pick up after
him when i take him
for a walk, because
there is no walk,
he has no legs,
and can't be out of
that bowl of water for
very long anyway. it's
a fish thing.
i love my little new
friend, so gold and
bright and happy
in his clear small
world of wetness. i am
trying to think of
an appropriate name
for him. but wait, in
the time it's taken
to write this down,
i see that he has gone
belly up. he's afloat
at the top. oh my.
that was quick. what
happened? a broken
heart perhaps.
maybe i should get
two the next time.

closets

in a whirl wind
of fury i cleaned
out five closets
full of clothes.
six bags full.
why i had so many
green shirts i'll
never know, and
khakis and loafers
with tassels full
of dust. ties i
haven't worn since
the 80's. all of
it green bagged
and ready for the
curb. belts and
hats, scarves some
things that weren't
even mine, but i
kept them hanging
in the closet
just the same, as
if they were.

the woods

it's through the deep
woods that gets
you there, there is
no other way but
through the unmarked
path, cutting into
bramble, the vines,
the swamp of unseen
traps. you don't
need a compass,
or the stars, or
a map to get you
home. your heart
will do all that, just
as it always has,
and always will.

catching rays

beneath the sun.
on the long
beach. feeling
the warmth of
the heat, that
fingertip breeze
off the ocean
that rolls up
you, starting at
your feet, it's
so bad for you,
the sun, the rays,
but oh how
wonderful and
invigorating
it can be, even
now.

what is it

it's always easy
in the beginnning.
fresh love, fresh
flowers, the promise
built on tenderness
and kisses. it's
before any clouds
appear, or roll of
thunder.
the storm will prove
it's worth, if it
is to survive for
another day, or month,
or if it's just
a summer fling,
a passing memory
to be folded like
a flower into
the pages of your
life and be done.

beyond me

in the clearing
where the sun has
dried and lifted
the wet grass
of morning which
followed night,
a flock of birds
have found
a place to rest, to
eat, to do all the
things that make
them birds, before
they fly away
to another place
beyond me.

a new bridge

i like this new
bridge. it's strong
and sturdy. the wind
will make it sway,
but it won't go
down into the deep
sleeve of river
that rolls below it.
i like the steel,
the shine of it,
the long smooth
cables that hold
it up. i like the way
it looks in the sun
from a distance,
rising high. i feel
safe crossing this
bridge, take my hand
and come with me, let's
get to the other side.

running

i took up running
the other day. just
a half a mile though.
i'm not sure how many
k's that might be.
the metric system
still confuses me.
i'm working towards
a full mile, but the
starbucks is only a
half a mile away,
some fraction of a K,
and so i logically
stop there for coffee
and a scone and to
talk with fred, my
barrista. he likes
to run too, but he
goes much longer.
sometimes he goes
as far as 26.2 miles
and gets a t-shirt.
he's always entering
a 10 k, or a 5 k,
or a 3.2 k and gets
even more t-shirts
and sometimes a very
nice hat. i tell him
they have t-shirts
and hats up at wall
mart. just a mere 1.2
miles away and he
laughs and laughs.

words

those in charge,
the censors want
a few words out.
the f word, the g
d word, the m f
word and a few
others. c s is
another one. and
c and d and we
must not forget
b and b. the guns
though are okay.
the bullets,
the blood, and
even the occasional
knife fight is fine.
but keep the
language under
control. words
will harm the soul.

the weather report

a chance of
rain tomorrow.
clouds and very
little sunlight.
they are not
even sure if
the sun will
rise. fifty fifty
the weatherman
says and winks.
it's an inside
joke, but i'm
not on the inside
and i'm worried
about the sun.
i want the sun
to rise, i have
more than a token
interest in
that. i met
someone who wants
to go the beach,
and we need
the sun, we really
do if i'm
ever going to see
that polka dotted
bikini.

dog son

i used to say
to my dog when he
would roll over
and stare at me
wanting a pat
and a scratch on
his long fat belly,
"and you call
yourself a dog."
and he would
give me that what
the hell are you
even talking about
look, then wag
his tail. the look
was not unlike
the look my son
now gives me
on a daily basis.

paris

like many people
often do,
we fell in love
in paris. our eyes
having met on top
of the eiffiel
tower. at the time
though we were both
just recently
married and on our
honeymoons. so
there was a problem
in finding time to
sneak away from
our suddenly
insignificant others
to meet in a cafe
and kiss, and
drink espresso, and
say sweet things
to one another
in very bad french.
but we managed.
we made plans for
our future together
once our divorces
were final and we
were back in the
states. we even
talked about what we
would name our
children. she loved
the name pierre if
it was a boy, i
was always fond of
violet, if it was
a girl. by the third
day of our early
morning rendezvous
we had had our
first real fight.
she was cranky from
the stress of
hiding our love,
and lying, and being
nervous about it
all and threw a
buttered baguette
at me. she got up
crying, and ran off
down the boulevard
knocking over flower
vendors, and
chocolatiers,
saying i hate you,
i hate you, i hate
you. i guess it just
wasn't meant to be.

namaste

whenever the toast
burns, i think of
you, she tells me
in an e mail. whenever
i stub my toe, or
get a paper cut,
or bite my tongue,
or bump my head on
an open drawer i
curse the day we
ever met or that
i even know you. by
the way, your
check is late again,
one more time and
i'm calling my
lawyer. have a nice
day. namaste.

the dancers

the dancers,
with glazed eyes,
like cats in
heat on the stage,
their limbs wrapped
around poles
in the hazy
dark, in a place
that smells like
beer and bad
decisions. they
are shadows
moving gamely
to the pulsing
thump of music,
with tight nylons
draped with
wrinkled bills,
high on their
heels. no one
watches for long,
expect for those
up front with
elbows on the table,
their beards
touching the
hardwood floor.
planted for an
even closer
look at what
they can't have.
and it all falls
apart momentarily
when the front
door swings open
with the starched
white light
of midafternoon
and everyone looks
in that direction
for no reason.

civic duty

she asks me what i'm
doing when she comes
home from work and
leans over her fence
to look into my yard.
i'm lying there in
the sun reading a book
on how to electrify
your fence. i put the
book down and squint
into the sun at the
top of her head.
i tell her, i'm working
on my tan. but
don't you have things
to do, those shrubs
are out of control,
that grass needs
cutting. how long
are you going to keep
that old furniture
out there in the
weather. it's a disgrace
to the neighborhood
what you've done to
your yard. leave me
alone, i tell her.
aren't you married
to someone else now.
it doesn't matter,
she says. it's my
civic duty to keep
you in line until
the end of time. by
the way, she asks,
i hope you are
using sunscreen.

let's slip

into the stream.
remove our
clothes beneath
the arc
of summer trees.
let's swim
to the middle,
to the deepest
part of love
and hold on,
and see what
gives. see if
we go under,
or make it back
to shore as one.

peace

what is it
that you want,
as you move
about the
frenzied days
and lie awake,
exhausted in
the blue night.
can you put it
into words,
can you even
form the thought
to convey what
will truly
bring you joy
and or some
version of
happiness
in this lifetime.
you know more
what it isn't,
you've had money,
and love,
and all the
things that bring
comfort, but
even that is
not enough.
what it is that
will put you
at peace
with everything
and everyone.

save the day

save the day
that eased
gently into
night, then
morning, and place
it in a safe
place. put it
where it can't
be lost, not on
a shelf, or in
a box tucked
away in the attic,
don't hide it
between the dusty
pages of an old
book. put it where
it needs to be,
where it can be
seen and felt
whenever you
desire, keep it
near your heart.

the party

from the outside
looking in, i could
see that there were
balloons at the party,
pink and white, lavendar,
and a cake, of course,
there has to be a cake.
and they sang happy
birthday, while the music
played and the drinks
were poured, and everyone
clapped and kissed her,
and made her feel warm
and beautiful, and not
old at all, but content
with where and who she
was, she felt it was
a perfect day, a
wonderful party despite
my absence, and everyone
stayed late while
she opened the gifts
and cried and held them
up into the light
for all to see. she
felt blessed to have so
many good friends that
loved her. and from
the ouside looking
in, i was happy for her
too, then i turned
and walked away towards
a new life without her.

in darkness

things move within
the house, the floor
creaks, the pipes
rattle, water drips
into the drain,
a branch scratches
against the roof while
a cool wind wind
presses against
the window. i listen
to the sound of you
breathing next to me
while i lie awake,
uneasy, at three a.m.
and ponder it all.

space flight

as the rocket lifts
in a plume of white
clouds and flames,
splitting the blue
sky in two,
i see you waving
slowly from
the window. you are
wearing your space
helmet and lipstick.
i knew you wanted
to leave, i just
never knew how
desperate and how far
you'd go to do so.
i'm very impressed
with the effort.
you'll call when you
get there, won't you?

italian ice

i could stand
in line all day
for a cold cone
of italian ice
that sparkles
round and clear.
cherry flavored.
waiting my turn
with dollar in
hand, as patient
as the day is
long. stay in
the shade over
there. yes,
sweet girl. i'll
get you one too.

a new way home

i found a new
way home. it's
a path we never
took. so it holds
no memory of you.
i don't hear
your feet against
the cobblestones,
or voice singing
lightly in the
april sun. i don't
feel your hand in
mine or remember
what you looked
like on this street
that rises high
before it falls,
it takes so much
longer now to
get there,
but i've found
a new way home
without you.

departure

it's hard to say
farewell. to board
the train with bag
in hand, to find a
seat near a window
and watch you get
smaller with distance.
you are already
fading in the fog,
holding your black
umbrella in a light rain
while the wheels
pull me away from
the station. and
the kiss we shared
is not enough, or
the promise of words
of when we might
be together again,
nothing is certain
when one is on
the train leaving
and the other is
left on the platform
waving.

summer's end

like the tail end
of a marriage,
august moves slowly
with heat, the trees
heavy and tired with
a summer of leaves,
sag and bend with
the weight of trying,
they want so much
to fall, to be soaked
clean with rain,
and done. ready for
the season change
that seems so
overdue and welcome.

at the movies

more to come,
these are just
the previews,
the trailers,
the tease. go
ahead and lead,
i'll follow.
let's find a
seat dead center,
in the back row
where we can
stretch our legs,
whisper and fold
our hands into
one another
and steal a
kiss in the
flickering
light of film.
don't forget
the popcorn,
with butter.
the junior mints.

wind song

i like the way
the wind moves
within you,
the way your
body sways with
the music of
your soul hearing
what you hear,
knowing what
you know.
i like the way
you lean against
me, not just in
the dark of
night, but in
the day as well.

the dinner

it's a fine
meal she brings
to the table.
my mouth waters
before i even
see it. i can
smell it from
here. hear the
clinking of silver
ware and glasses,
her heels,
clicking against
the kitchen floor,
it takes two
hands for her
to carry it all
in. she doesn't
want any help,
she wants to show
you what love
is, not say it.

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.