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Both of us go through life
drenched by the liquid sky
captured by the insane dancing
startled and repelled by the maddening sound
we hear but can't recall,
as if we dreamed it
and forgot
the noise we call
sensation and lust.

We are too busy with all of these
to step back from
the flickering delusions
projected on the scrim.

Winds or deadly calm?

They speak of certain winds that drive people crazy - Hermann Hesse wrote about the Fohn, a wind in his adopted land of Switzerland; the Saharan nomads hunker down when the blue sirocco blows across the molten sands; the hot, dry Santa Ana in California have driven whole cities insane, and made it rain frogs.

But I think the August doldrums are worse...the dead calm of the middle of August that just sits on your sweltering soul and dares you to do something - do ANYTHING! Just as long as it’s fun and crazy!

Make the choice: act or die.

It is nothing I'd hoped for

Here's a sample of the words I can't bear
Michigan, Ann Arbor, Kalamazoo
I never asked you to stay around here
I simply wanted to love you

England, rowboats, Bailey the dog
I avoid Central Park, I can’t stand
The catch in my heart, my mind in a fog
As lovers walk by hand in hand

Talking, that’s all I ever asked
A single step away from the edge
Instead I received the back of your hand
And your gun-toting boyfriend’s sarcasm

Lies that have been told about me

Had I infinite monkeys
Clacking away at
Infinite typewriters...

This is my worst nightmare
Imagined, come true
In the bright daylight.

The one secret question
I don’t know whether
The soothing can answer

It’s as if someone
Stole furtive glances
Into the dark attic

Or went to my bedroom
Every night of my life
To record my whispers

Stray thoughts of ending
Or visions of failure
Can’t touch this regret

She tallies her losses
In songs that I’ve stolen
What was I thinking?

Goodnight my sweet song

goodnight my sweet song

it was heaven to sit so near

your beauty and your grace

as the tunes were played

and the sacred praises recited

and offered to the distant gods

but your voice was the psalm

that i listened for and heard

rising and falling, as the sea, as

a wind that comes at midnight, or

some far away song in the forest

that tells me a tale of longing

and awakens me with a dream

of strategies and desires

and paw prints in black

left on my windowsill

Seeing what isn't there

I believe that sometimes the best – maybe the only way you can see what your universe looks like is to peer into the darkness and figure out the shape of what isn’t there.

Another way I think of this is that among the many faults, shortcomings, sins, and omissions that make up my makeup, I think, are sprinkled some attributes that I can only define by what I am not.

I was reminded of this by the acceptance that I can’t hate even those who have hurt me most. Believe me, I have tried…it seems that other people are often sustained by the anger and hate they feel for those who have done them wrong - I want, so often, to feel that certainty and self-assertion. I want to just not give a shit. I am sure it would make me feel better.

Let's not begin to parse the words or palaver over personal shades of meaning...let's just lay aside doubt and accept for the moment that some of those who we love and who love us also hate others, too.

Maybe it is just that I can't sustain the certainty that seems necessary to hate another - even those who deserves my hatred because of the things they've done to me.

I’m not tooting my own horn, or wallowing in passive-aggressive self-aggrandizement; I’m wondering if this isn’t a fatal and self-destructive flaw in my make-up.

But it is one of those things I know about myself only by perceiving an absence – by recognizing the shape of something that isn't there.

Quarantine - A Poem

Quarantine

The wind blew straight and strong and cold
When I found a skull near the baseball field
Behind the Catholic boys’ school gym

I don’t usually touch animal bones – it’s
A fear of disease I learned young
My parents were very clear about this

But I picked it up anyway and turned it over
I wasn’t even sure, at first, what I had
Maybe it was trash, something plastic

I stood there looking carefully at the skull
And as I did, I heard no cheering
The sounds of the game faded away

I don’t know what animal it came from
There wasn’t much left to it, just enough
A rodent, maybe a squirrel, I’m not sure

I looked closely, with childish intensity
The small teeth, the snout, the eye sockets
Where the jaw had been joined to the skull

I wanted to show someone, to show it off
Instead I glanced around, and threw it away
Wiping my hands over and over on my shirt

100 Words About my Ass

I slid from under the sheet and walked around the bed – headed for the kitchen. I asked her if she wanted anything. Glancing up from her book she started to say “no,” then she stopped short. I knew she hadn’t been caught by my full frontal: I wasn’t very impressive at that moment – besides, mostly I’m nothing to write home about naked. Except, I’ve been told, for my ass. I knew she was watching my ass as I walked away. Guys aren’t supposed to be proud of our asses, but the thought she was staring at mine got my attention.

It Doesn't Get Much Better Than This

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100 Words on Love

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And then you say –

Hush, darling, come
Hurry to my hidden house
I’ll dazzle you with magic spells
Chants and incantations
I’ll give you kisses that are
Made of winter wind and fire
Passions deep and caresses
Fished up from the sea

I’ll promise you that I alone
Can save your life tonight
Just as you and you alone
Can save me from tomorrow.

Ache for me, bleed for me
Slash me like a sharpened razor
Curse me for my cruelty, but
Dare me to come closer
Accuse me and betray me
Pounce on me like a tiger
Give me all you have to give
And I will be forgiven

Then, please, release me
From my obligations
Dreaming that I still sleep
There in your blessed bed