Glasses clink
the piano dies

and the bartender
begins his sweeping

who am I
who are you

maybe
someone

who hates long goodbyes
and probably prefers

we just shake hands
and go?

Or one to pick
with myself

of how I wish
I'd done this

or that
and what I could've did

or what I should've did
but be grateful

for plain blessings

like how we don't get
the opportunities

in life
for those kinds of do-overs

because the biggest fear
is getting the smaller piece of bone

all over again

Head to toe
wall to wall

Jazz, blues
rock and roll

bouncing
up and down

on weak springs on
a saggy couch

15 minutes of fame
I'm lucky at ten or seven

and that's
with the squirting flower

Cue the ticking
and then the ringing

as the metal trinket
vibrates

on the table
the  counter

eggs are done

or must we
put down the pen

as that  puts an end
to the test

and it's the pressure
the stress

of a time crunch
or crisis

that never fails us
when we swing

for the fences
swoosh for the stars

mixing and tripping
over our metaphors

in our relentless
pursuit of success

Of high value
but yet the most flimsy
or breakable

and in some cases
shatters in pieces
and scatters across the floor

was this truly legit
or just an impulse buy
in the checkout line

at the front
counter
in the Hallmark store

something like love
so precious and we still
kick it to the curb

or manhandle
and shove it roughly
out the door

For once
pale light is warm

the whistling wind
gentle

and even though
the air is cold

and the snow swirls
piling high along the curb


strings of lights
on shuttered storefronts

twinkle

and for 48 hours
all was never lost

The moon is full
but your lips
were much fuller

as your reflection
rippled
in the amber

it's half past midnight
and all I can do
is stare at an empty glass

and ask
what the hell was  I
thinking

poem
lyrics
or just a screed

we rant
we rave
we rage against the machine

dandelions
daffodils
pear blossoms

and they say
to get gray
you must facilitate

the mostly holy
union
of bull and cow

Raindrops
some skinny
others

chubby

spiraling down the glass
in rivulets
with an occasional gust

of wind

that will
sometimes blow them
sideways

I would say lots of wind
but if I'm being honest
it's just

occasional

and you know
what they say
not about wind

but of country songs
about how every one of them
is about your life

at any given time

I didn't believe it then
but  now I can say this
with extreme clarity

Father
I know this
to be true

The air brakes
and rumble of a bus

pulling out
of town

and the buzzing
fly

of what would've been
if we had just stayed put

and is there progress
or  forward motion

when
there's lament

Yellow green and blue
made by metal shavings

flower and bloom
in the pyre

as sparks rise
dancing

and whirling
in the dark

and melted chocolate
marshmallows

sandwiched between
graham crackers

for smores
are something sweet

to go with the pieces
and shards

of memories
from oh so long ago

there was a tear
forming in the corner
of your eye

and I knew
I had to say something
because it was the only thing
that could save us

and then there were
those windmills
refrigerator white
and otherworldly

scattered

on what was supposed
to be our Illano Esctado
or as they say
staked plain

those **** windmills
I swear they'll be
the death of you
and me

but what you really
don't comprehend

was that you left
when we were on the mend

yes the wine is cheap
but apparently though

our love
was much cheaper than that

It's not about the mark
journey

story
or the song

it's those other things
on the list

buy some pears
carrots and milk

do the windows
get the car fixed

vacuum the floors
dust out the corners

and the cobwebs
off the eves

because
it's all about leaving

cupboards well stocked
and the place

cleaner
than you found it

Fields
of golden wheat

and a summer evening
on the porch

where two lovers
hands and fingers

hover each other
like moths around a flame

I've seen those paintings
of which you describe

the ones that you can just
walk right into and be a part of

you are that picture
for me

To say you had claws
is an understatement

your cat talons
like little saws

could have cut away
a forest

and

the snaking scar
you made so long ago

still  runs down
my arm

and gives me devilish
inspiration

which is why
it's called

Old Scratch

We TALK
and we WALK

through a GARDEN


not of stone
daffodils

or red roses
but of

GLASS glass
of all  MANIPULATIONS

and because of this
FLOWERS  trees and other

natural things
no longer satisfy

what I want is now
much

HIGHER
PLEASE believe me when I say

it is much
HIGHER

outside is gray
and silent

with just a hint
of breeze

mixed with a faint
rumble

and my nose
is

ITCHY

In the moment
after the sparks

pops
and flashes

where tendrils of smoke
drift

off into the ink
that is squarely night

and she assembles
a new Hoover  hand vacuum

that's not my grandmother's
or even my mother's

hand vacuum

it's futuristic body
resembles

a robot from a Fifties
sci-fi thriller and

while the hour is late
and as shadows dance on the water

I think

what a difference
a year makes

or a decade
and most of all

a century

Red
Black
move
jump
KING

nothing to it

you are making this way too hard

but it is hard
for a square peg

in an ocean  
of round holes

Still resonant on my
hollowed-out soul

do you think we paid too much
for this apartment

she asked
all those years ago

Such as life
we have

many irons
in the fire

some glowing
and some

not yet red hot
and like a household

appliance
we mix

or blend
our metaphors

because of

so much information
passing through

our minds
like pets

that have passed through
our lives

and most
importantly

people

Actually
a beautiful gleaming thing

with wheels
that rides out of town

mostly
under gray skies

sometimes thunderous
with a hard rain falling

A hand painted
still life

of the Munger Moss Motel
Lebanon Missouri

red doors in a neat row
with vintage cars

parked out front

off to the side
is the turquoise slide

that plummeted guests
into the baby blue

of the pool

flip it over
and there are turkey tracks

on the back
where the ink is smudged

in spots

with
only the brevity

MISS YOU!

readable
in big caps with exclamation point

and I miss you
already

like I miss my brother
mother

and everything else
I can only see when

I close my eyes
at night

The color of your
ballpoint pen

I used to scrawl
on the Post-it note

Are we ok

I think
that's a fair question

don't you

eighteen wheelers
welcome

with parking
in front

forks bent
plates are chipped

the peg game's
missing a few pegs

and the eggs run
like the waitress's mascara

Usually spooled
pink fluffy

sugary stuff
it's there

in your mouth
then it dissolves

here
then we're not

parting
is never sweet sorrow

senseless
maybe

There's something about
being

functional
and nothing else

of being
able to fill a need

and nothing else

this poem like a shovel
a rake or ***

serves only to make
a garden grow

being
nothing else

It's too big
for the corner pocket

and that's no longer
a call I can make

my life now
reduced to shaking

continuously
a ******* ball

with an eight

and peering
into the deep blue

for  a suitable
dimestore prophecy

On the right day
the lake

is as calm as the most
precious glass

grinded
from the finest of sands

with only a speedboat
or two to disturb it

and the trees make a great canopy
of green

letting in just enough
sunlight

but never more
than we need

people always said
follow your dreams

but mine kept sending
me in circles

so I choose another path
one with stairs

that led me to
a much higher elevation

Salt spray blue foam
pounding surf

and warm yellow sun
as tentacles of seaweed wash to shore

the sights and sounds
of which to see and hear

when I put my ear
to a conch shell

and remember you

The muted bell
of an ice cream truck

of my youth
the red white and blue

of  a bomb pop
left on my lips

and a tear that long ago
turned to salt

s

green
with four leaves

they take over
these clovers

the lawn
and everything

in between
so I ask you please tell me

what is good
and where is the fortune

in that

Plinking ivory keys
of a black lacquer piano

on the burnt and amber
swirled rug

smack in the middle
of economy class

roasted nuts
in a pewter mug

drinks in a cold glass
cloth napkins

and cash was king

we tend to overwrite
what we intend

to overbook
and sell

an alabaster buddha
and a Navaho ***

a trumpeter swan
white like ivory soap

some chess pieces
from the franklin mint

intelligent design
no

better homes and gardens
not by a long shot

and they say

still waters run deep
but shallow

is clear sunny
and warm

The tide rolled out
as a fog rolled in

to cover the rest
of what a white sheet couldn't

such as chalk outlined
tangled legs

with patent leather
and stiletto heels

bathed by blue and red
flashing lights

as cars
like dung and soldier beetles

moved along streets
with the names

Wittier Figueroa
and San Fernando Road

Water water
everywhere?

Water
nowhere...

And nothing to drink
but liquid

as thick as molasses
and no relief...

After a  long slog
through the mud;

soon to be
cement...

Orange
with a pinch of crimson

that's the sunrise
at 8 AM

A polka dotted
Volkswagen

an impression
done in smudges

swipes

swaths

and such as life
they say

a journey
with little or no points of reference

or context

but that's what makes it
poetry

so they say

Ships
or ships in a bottle

if the latter
however  would we pass

each other in the night
perhaps

or maybe

we were meant to sidestep
completely

that worn-out
cliche

and be destined
for better things

indeed

Like a soggy mop
or a ***** brillo

and a  head squarely
in the gutter

this man is so down
in the dumps

he doesn't care
whether or not

he mixes
his metaphors

Eggs Benedict
ham on rye
with freshly squeezed

orange juice

and I'm reminded
of you
and our first breakfast

with that sizzling
bacon
we made together

Cracked and gray
with green blight on the spokes

it leans against a tree
the one where I carved you and me
into the bark

it's purpose

plain and simple

to remind us that once
we were something

for such a short
brief while

Just a speck
amongst the big blue

with swirls

and I have concerns
about messaging

and what a guy
has to do to make his mark

Magic Scripto
or India Ink


what would you
suggest

Not a ginger snap
but with a bite just as sharp

how you doing

better than I should be

for some reason
I am feeling very chill

good music in my earbuds
will do that to me

everytime

I remember that windy
February night

we sat cross-legged
on the hardwood floor

in the room of that hotel
on Michigan Avenue

popping corks
squirting cheese ****

talking in riddles
and circles

Rest respite
or a place

to call your own
home

is where your head is
when it rains

stolen no found
art and truly

one to write about
a letter from the heart

Left a year's
worth of rubber
five miles back

somewhere
in Oklahoma
and the sky is now orange

glowing like a long
freshly lit
cigarette

angel
or devil on my shoulder
God only knows

Soap flake snow
and a plastic
candy cane path

to the gingerbread house
and velvet throne
where he sat

cheeks rosy
and oh so so jolly
with a little help

from a magic flask
and it goes without saying
those were the days

risky yes
but that was most of the fun
feeling so free

riding our Christmas bikes
without helmets
pretending we were pilots

flying without charts
barnstorming
hook or by crook

or

our chinny chin chin
and by the worn-out seat
of our corduroy pants