Instantly smitten,
With the new  bar-tendress,
Surprisingly appareled in comeliness.
He drags me here,
And buys the round,
When my sasquatch friend shows up in town.
" Women love you,
Take advantage before old age hits
" Before you get old like me,
And your just a creep that tips.
I dont know about that,
I have to hit the head,
Upon returning, try to start up a conversation,
And I dont know where it went,
She assumed a doting, kindergarten tone,
Asked me if I had a tinfoil hat,
Or if I had been probed,
Upon leaving, I asked him what the dang was that?
As he guns his convertible before the yellow light ends,
" I told her you were abducted by aliens."

I have long been acquainted, with the propaganda of the dead,
A crow alights a chiseled stone,
On a leaning ledge,
I wish to leave it alone,
I let my husky lead me to the forest edge.
As if it knew I would evade,
I stumble over a marker grave,
I sigh, for on it was an electrode,
One that I recently tried to replace,
On a steam boiler,
At my older friend's decrepit place,
Who died upstairs,
As I worked in the basement below,
" My father died in this bed,
And that is how I will go."

                        *
The day before, a black cat ran out from this neglected yard,
" Thats not good,"
While we drove in his old Buick beat-up car,
I thought only heathen lore,
Then I saw his lonely bedroom light on,
As he returned my calls no more,
And outside my home,
" Lost Cat, Named Lucky"
And a handsome reward.
                     *
Like Datura growing in this graveyard grass,
That only opens when the visiting hours have past,
My childhood was like the evening primrose,
Of this neglected ground,
That blossomed only under the moon,
With no other soul around.
And many more occurences than these,
More than Datura's delirious seeds,
My friends lonely bedroom light–
From the street,
Like white petals at night–
Wasting his electricity.
                          *
Lucky has moved into a nearby charred out house,
Like a shadow he enters in,
From a shadow he comes out,
I knew that family growing up,
When will the builder clear that lot?
Days ago a happy facade, now is not.
Datura unfurls her blossoms,
To a blackened home, on a blackened plot.
                            *
Oh Datura, a shadow now calls out to be free,
In a voice sisterly,
Is it true you give sight like no one else,
A midnight stroll, during the light of day,
Fog rises, gestures to me, then dispels,
The moon flower is in full array,
The nightclouds of your seeds,
I am benighted,
The sun has set and now I see,
I hear the attic door opening,
Out runs a young girl–
Hugging me.
Lucky stalks down the charred steps,
A bedroom light fades,
The wan moon is coming to an end,
The morn shall light upon your face,
Your flowers will unfurl again,
No longer to starry night, no longer in shadow space.

I got out the truck,
And something honked,
A rabbit in the median,
Telling me to move along,
As he ate his city flower
In a lazy recline,
As a city employee,
Planted more down the line.
I rang the doorbell,
Of a south end brown stone,
As if I caused its cornice to sprinkle,
On my head from the doorbell alone–
Just above with an acorn,
Shaggy, itchy, with a giant beer gut,
A squirrel staring at me,
As if I was on his TV as he ate his nut.
Then I, wanted a pic at the commons,
In front of the many ducks,
I hand my camera to my boss,
And all the Mallerds dive, and just show their butts.
Hmm, let's get back to work,
And look under this sink,
"Hey sailor!"
" Son of a @#$%^."
A lounging possum greets me with a wink.

The lonely winter isthmus,
Of Hough's Neck rocky shore,
Walks in great yellow trousers,
Amongst the laughing seagull uproar,
The lonely early shorebird,
Who would like a sea worm,
But spears the unlucky green crab,
Aside from his great yellow legs,
All is overcast over brown kelpy drab.
" ME-AND-MY- SKINNY-LEGS,
ME-AND-MY-SKINNY-LEGS,"
Is his sad winter song,
Amidst the dead body armor,
Of a mussel long gone.
He glances back to the smoking chimney street,
In its hungover sleep,
So lonely is the coastal town,
When the wind howls the temperature down,
And the white caps are viewed only behind kitchen glass,
" ME–AND-MY-SKINNY-LEGS,
MY-SKINNY-LEGS,"
If only the lonesome shorebird could hear,
Doing the dishes, pouring out some beer,
" ME-AND-MY BIG-****,
ME-AND-MY-BIG-****,
MY-BIG-****."

A bald faced hornets nest,
The largest I've ever seen,
Right where I need to roof,
Countless stinging needles, innumerable vaccines,
Then I saw a brawl,
When another hornet on his return,
Bumped into another going,
Then their anger burned,
It incited their whole hive,
They did not know who to mark,
And the tresspasser they couldn't tell,
They ****** their vaccines into one-another,
Black-white striped fighters from heaven fell,
I once again put up my ladder,
On this windy, hostile, high cliff side,
I stopped on a high rung,
Over many a green backyard,
Connected to distant tall spruce and pine,
And it occurred to me,
The light blue looked mighty beautiful,
The clouds looked mighty fine–
As they pinched and seasoned,
The ground with black and white.

" Blue is a darkness bordered by light." –Goethe,  Theory Of Colors


A mother slung over a man's shoulders,
In the city night rain,
She shrieks as he takes her back to her car again.
Two little girls and one little boy, on their knees,
Wide little eyes as defrost lines in the back seat.
The Allston trolley poles the only lonesome patrol,
Over head wires sway and drip on the street below.
The raindrops meander on the glass left then right,
Silver yellow from the municipal light,
The boy looks at his Gemini twin,
Crescent shadows that suddenly streak–
Wave-lengths of rain upon her cheek,
Her stencil stare as melting ice,
Inclined to the yellow city light.
He turns around and looks away,
" It's alright, she is taking you home,"
He hears him say–
His eyes like the city night–
Dark brown reflecting gray.

She will later thread herself with emerald green,
So her eyes like a grackle will have a sheen,
He will be hazel, through and through,
Unlike her, he doesnt need math,
From the city night school–
To know darkness rims the greenish-blue.

Wow! What a meadow is this,
To think, I did not look up from below,
In the woodland Manor Pits,
I hung my head down low,
In this rocky culvert water-hole.
Never did I know!
So close to the Great Blue Hill,
The crickets jumping everywhich way,
Like driving into snow,
The purple iron **** not bending at all,
" Excuse you good sir,"
From these gentlemen so tall.
Who's down there in those yellow flowers,
Sniveling their nose at me?
The snooty shrew, in the partridge pea.
Is that a Bobolink? surfing the grassy red awning,
In the bright August dawning.
With no need of a tree.
Stick my face inside a world,
Of pink pye ****,
The Bumble and the Honey dont mind me.
Let them come and register all the grass and flowers to vote,
Where shall your address be when the wind shall blow?
Have the policeman chase the laughter–
And the laughter scatter low,
Through the hare bells below the Bobolink,
In the shooting cricket snow.
Come bring your clipboard,
Chase the breeze unknown,
Would you like more blazing star?
Speak into the bee laden microphone,
Form a line!Walk abreast!
Forward march!
To find the cottontail with fixed bayonets,
It escapes through pantaloons,
Like the red admiral butterfly from the net.
Give a sermon from the pulpit of shining golden rod,
For the mysterious and unquantifiable beauty of God,
Warn against the liquorice hyssop's sting,
A Bumble bee up your shorts,
From all night bivoucking.
I would not know which– to be raptured to or from–
This meadow to the west of the great Blue in the August sun,
Never did I even know that hill was even this nigh,
Until upon crouching at the culvert brook–
I held my head up high.