She stopped at the light
outside the Double Drop D in Cortez
and looked me over

I was day dreaming about a girl
with finger cymbals
between shows

Her top was down
and I could hear Neil Young
singing Cinnamon Girl
on the radio

...*i could be happy
the rest of my life..

Back where I used to roam
beyond the mulberry hills
running from sudden black storms,
torrential August monsoons
soaked thoroughly through

Oh, to be a motherless child of the hills, again
quick to dance away the depths of lonely
always looking to the sea for distraction
and possibility

After a storm, I listened for life
how the hilly flowers shined, alive with bees
the birds and buzz all about the field
in a world, that was everything real to me
and made all the difference, in knowing
what it was to be free

While glints of gold skimmed the horizon
I'd dry my shoes in the last hour of the sun
dreaming to live right there, where I belonged
dreading the long dragging back home

it is a small thing
like sand in my shoe
this grief that wears
away my soul

but it is there always
in small moments
of wanting
in words lost to the
unhearing ear
in laughter that echos
thin in empty air

i still see you everywhere
but you are a year gone
from here...

your scent fades upon
your clothes....
your voice dims within
my mind.....
but your kindness remains
forever stitched within
my heart...
and your smile, before
my eyes,

it is a small thing
this grief within
my soul...
like sand in my shoes
both pleasant and wearing

nor very cool to feel for every ***** or beggar or
low-life
there are just a multitude of them to cry over

it doesn't pay me a ******* cent
walking to town to watch the whorish
wave down traffic

angry is a bit of what I gnaw on
the gum of **** that makes me gag
almost or puke or wanna ****

any mother who allows their child,
yes we all, even the low cast out **** bottom
basement ******* for a dime ****** ***** got one

lets her child become this , **** her  **** yes
******* the *******,
******* the dripping *****

that walked away tucking their ***** of brains
back into their shorts onto the streets , oh what hustlers what
cruel ******* idiots

even them, even those ***** donor dead souls,
it is too much to feel for,
etc....

The pollywog swims
To the edge of the basin;
Soon it shall have legs.

A bass leaps from pond,
But is not amphibian,
It lives in water.

The worm feeds on green
Foliage sprouting  from soil,
Unaware of flight.

A drop of dew clings
On the underside of a
Leaf splayed like a hand.

A burgundy beam
Of sun burns the soldier ants;
The queen does not grieve.

Feet disturb some twigs;
The crackling sound rapports
All throughout the woods.

Silence gives a heed
To the bird which gathers
Brown straw for its nest.

The lilting song of
A loon rises through the murk;
A sliver of moon glows.

(Apologies to T.S. Eliot)*

I
The scorching noonday settles down,
The scent of Coppertone on naked backs.
At the beach.
The lukewarm beer and paper sacks
Of gritty snacks
Packed early when the day began
Are now declined by sunburnt throngs
Who toss the refuse toward the can
But miss,
Delighting eager gulls that plunge
Headlong
To dive in screeching glee for treats
Not caring that the eats
Are full of grunge.
They feast in bliss
On rye and Swiss.  
Soon, hungry, blistered bathers stiffly stand
Now mindful of the quantity of sand
Inside their shorts and thongs.

And then the stiff walk to the pier
To find a shower and cold beer.

I gave you a blue stone
You said it was green
It was special to me
You laid it aside
Now I miss the stone
But you have forgotten about it.

I brought you a jar of peppers
Some special mustard
Imported ham
You had already eaten dinner
A week later, the ham was spoiled
You never opened the peppers and mustard.

I brought you a handful of straw,
Buttercream-colored like a baby's hair
Soft, spun from past loves and hope,
Wine pressed in my heart by my own hands.

You gave me a room, unfurnished,
A garden, dead and brown,
A well, neglected and brackish.

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY’S BONNET AT CHURCH

Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho’ faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunned by saunt an’ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady!
*** somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.

Swith, in some beggar’s haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi’ ither kindred, jumpin cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn or bane ne’er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there, ye’re out o’ sight,
Below the fatt’rels, snug an’ tight;
Na faith ye yet! ye’ll no be right
Till ye’ve got on it,
The vera tapmost, towering height
O’ Miss’s bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an’ grey as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I’d gie ye sic a hearty dose o’t,
*** dress your droddum!

I *** na been surprised to spy
You on an auld wife’s flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On’s wyliecoat;
But Miss’s fine Lunardi!—fie!
How daur ye do’t?

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An’ set your beauties a’ abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie’s makin!
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!

O, *** some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It *** frae monie a blunder free us
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait *** lea’e us,
And ev’n Devotion!