miles davis blowing sad
and in the ruins of his room
among the empty beer cans

the room where the floor is tilted
like the fun house floor

he wrote his poems
on the back of over due bills

on paper plates flung out the window
like dying daffodils

on those orphaned buildings
on cookman ave


the click clack
and the sad echo
off his duct taped boots
drifting off empty stores

in the soulless town
he gave a heart

the man
axe in hand
chasing tommy down 5th avenue

too soon the night has found you

too soon you left this earth

I could cry
My whole life
For you,
But you would not stand
At my funeral
When it only rains.

If Poetry was cornered,
and about to be scorched alive
he would stand still and strong
despite the quivering fear inside.

His murderers would begin to sneer,
watching Death dangle minutes away,
and torcher him before they'd say:
"Any last words, on your last day?"

He'd swiftly swing open,
his delicate pages aflutter
as their wretched smiles
start to crack and sputter,
in shock at the boldness
of being openly sighted
and so very vulnerable
to being instantly ignited
just to save the great works
of all the world's poets,
who poured out their hearts
so purposefully in pen.

They'd see pieces of Poe,
about to exist Nevermore.
The words of Angelou,
with emotion in store.

Frost and Untaken Roads
that now all lead to Death.
Wordsworth's wisest words,
soon to take a final breath.

Eliot and The Wasteland
will find one another soon.
Not even sad Shakespeare
is going to last till' noon.

As the observing evildoers watched,
Poetry paused on a piece prepared:
"Because I Could Not Stop for Death,"
to which they remorsefully stared.

What a shame it would be,
said proud Poetry,
to let these legacies die.
the spirits of every poet
will haunt you if you try!

The mob looked at one another,
and quickly fled the scene,
leaving the ending as happy as
A Midnight Summers Dream!

Now that you have
disappeared into the
mist, now the distance
between us has become
severe, now the rain falls
on the old tin roof and the
light from the moon is honest.
Deep blue shadows swallow
the room as the warm breath
of Hope Sandoval whispers
so softly in my ears, I drift
away into a delicate world,
a world where my mind can
melt into a million lonely stars …
Clay.M

The brilliance of the
ladybug landing on
my white coffee cup
as the wind blows through
the bedroom window
I think of ee cummings
and Buffalo Bill,
Mom, Dad, and the
rest of the dead.
The computer calls to me.
But I won't answer.
It's the Sabbath, and the
rest will do us all some
good.

Don't say 'love'
when the proper word
is 'like'
meaning it does hurt

~
This forbidden city
walks on water,
keeps all the undesirables at bay,
it's always a balancing act.

Oh, blighted court
of Catherine the Great,
thy friends are having a hard time,
but horsing around, no less.

Enlightened by summer drugs,
and busting out of
their tops and castles,
thongs on thy feet,
and thongs on thy bottoms,
this zenith and this nadir
come in colorful collages,
everything else is a flash of flesh.

Sped along by
frequent bloodletting,
there's a revolution in
thy teenage mind,
a looking for the hidden
and interested motives,
but no one can live
their life on the skis.

Rulership of heart is far
from recreation,
but you raised
a smile to sin,
until all we could do was
shake our heads and laugh.
~