wouldn’t it be great to learn Greek
she says
quickly riffling
through the phrasebook
with a thumb and her tongue out
while I try to discover what
‘to speak’ is in Dutch

everyone uses English
you know I say
spluttering ‘ik spreek, jij spreek,
hij spreek’,
trying to nail the pronunciation
like the book tells me to
‘ick sprake, yigh sprake, hi sprake’

but they might appreciate
tourists knowing a bit in Crete
like ‘efcharistó’
or ‘ti ypérochi méra’ she mutters
but it all, literally,
sounds Greek to me
and we can’t visit everywhere

besides, she wants warm weather
but I’d be fine in, say, Sweden,
‘Där är den närmaste Ikea?’
or in Iceland, but I can’t
pronounce anything
the way the phrasebook
wants me to

so Greece is probably best,
and anyway,
she’s too busy
informing me that
‘monókeros’ means unicorn
and it’s 575 quid each
if we book now

a gullible **** in the watermelon patch
expecting to tower and live life among the others -
with hope of musical days , curious , a bit embarrassed -
lit up in late morning Sun
quickly shaded , protected by the burgeoning populace -
of kindred spirits he assumed were friends , befuddled -
with their ultimate height and fruition , something which -
he wanted so bad
but the "wanted" overtook his sky , leaving him -
quite maligned , uncreative and ready to die , returned to the fertile -
Earth as a lesson for the 'labeled' in the month of May ,
a parable of our short lives , minority days among 'the -
chosen' , disenfranchised from the all powerful Vine*  ..

Like a lion made of paper mâché
Caught up in an earthquake
They think I look so brave
But I fall apart on shaky days

I know you'll be waiting, still wild as a fire,
At the pearly gates
Still cracking jokes and swinging bats
So very nineteen ninety-eight
Pinching **** from underwear drawers
Of the patron ****** saints
And teaching all the angels
How to pull your favorite pranks

Pull out that flask from your white robe
This one's for you, my favorite ghost,
You always said Hell was at the end of your road
But I think that we both know

For once, you're looking down on me

She tried the fiery reds
like love, hearts
and the end of cigarettes
Like the sun rising on a brand new day
But she's tried too much
and they've become a cold, sad grey

Like an elephant
who remembers acquaintances from the past
revisiting their graves
like an old iconoclast

She once tried all of the blues
Tight ripped jeans and salty rivers
for a lover, their eyes the same hue
She even tried to swim out into the ocean spray
But she's tried too much
and they've become a bleak, empty grey

Like the clouds of a storm
on the Fourth of July
******* the joy from
explosions in the sky

She confided at times in the colors brown
The pitch of her own eyes, of sand
and her old hometown
She tried to sculpt her feelings in clay
But she's tried too much
and they've become a dry, calloused grey

Like stones of a castle
built to keep others out
She's locked away in her tower
with a head full of doubt

I hear that, these days, she dabbles in black
Like emptiness, nightmares,
and crooked witch hats
Not unlike the swan in the ballet
But at least this is one color
that will never turn grey

Flurries of call and response , electric guitar notes
travel over these Oak floors , escaping through an open window
bound for a star , my grandson could quite possibly receive
the songs coda from an extraterrestrial musician yet unknown
I pray for alien language to be music , I've so much to tell ,
, so much hurt to describe , so much passion and understanding
stored in my souls living well
If we could communicate love through a fretboard vocabulary
I would wail