...bobby stole a car
george jumped
through
the open back window
we tied robbie up
left him on some ones porch
were surprized when
the spainish people carried
him into the house
(so much for robbie)
we egged chamburg's parents
put a box on a porch
with john inside
rang the doorbell and
ran
across the street to hide behind a car
john jumped out
the lady screamed
the husband yelled
john ran
came back the next night
attached a long cord to
the empty box
rang the doorbell....

hang on st. Christopher

the moon
        was never fuller
and we all enjoyed
a little madness for
awhile

"Daddy," the little girl has her hands folded and is looking up at her father. "When will it stop? I want to get on."

"Soon, darling," her father assures her.

"I don't think it'll ever stop." The little girl says.

"Sweetie it'll stop." Daddy takes her gently by the hand, gently squeezes. "See it's stopping now."


When the carousel slows down but has not quite stopped, Kathleen steps onto the platform and grabs the brass support pole. The momentum of the machine grabs her with a **** onto the ride and into a white horse with big blue eyes. Dropping her cigarette, she takes hold of the pole that goes through the center of the horse. She struggles to put her foot into the stirrup, finds it, and throws her leg over the horse. The carousel music begins to play. The ride trembles and starts with a jolt.

A man is staring at Kathleen. Sitting on the pony has made her short skirt ride well up on her shapely legs, but she is too drunk to care. When the man comes over, she hands him her ticket.

The ticket man goes over to the little girl and her daddy who are sitting in a gold chariot pulled by two red horses.

The little girl looks at her father, and says, "Ooooh, daddy, I love this."

The man smiles back and strokes his daughter's hair.


The heat makes the dizziness that Kathleen is feeling grow worse and as the ride picks up speed, she begins to see two of everything. There are two rows of pinball machines, eight flashing signs, and too many prize machines. The red , blue, and green lights from the ride signs blend together like when a car drives at night down a wet street. She feels the impulse to *****.

"Can we go on again?" The little girl asks.

"But honey the ride isn't over yet."

Kathleen finds that if she concentrates on other things the dizziness and the nausea become less severe. She tries to perceive the images as a montage like the elements that make up a painting or life. When she does this, and as she becomes accustom to the movement of the machine, the floating , spinning objects come together. The circling ride creates a cooling breeze and the blurring of lights becomes a beautiful waterfall.

The horses in front are always becoming the horses in the back and the horses in back are always turning into the horses in front. All horses gallop ahead. Settling back into the saddle, she follows them riding her white pony towards the receding waterfall.

You can lose all sense of the clock and who you are and that is alright with Kathleen. That is the way she feels. She has left something behind her. She does not know what, but whatever it is, the merry-go- round will chase it away.

She leans forward to embrace the ride.

Then just as suddenly as it started, the ride is slowing down. The music stops playing.

First she feels the heat and then the sickness in her stomach as the dizziness returns. Kathleen climbs down off the pony. She goes careening backwards and then she lunges for balance falling forward. The merry-go-round trembles, starts with a **** , and rights her. Slowly, it picks up speed bringing her to the exit of the building. Kathleen stumbles down off the platform and goes through the  exit door careening into a railing and almost falling into Wesley Lake.

All the terrible things that people did to her comes crawling back to her like the sounds of an animal dying in its hidden place.

She takes a few steps to the curb, hears the carousel music and knows the ride is beginning again. Kathleen sits down on the sidewalk curb and it all comes out choking her, taking her breath away. Alienation and loneliness. She lies down.

The mockingbird is singing from the world of scattered thoughts and empty lots. The images shoot off into a dark landscape, exploding, illuminating, then growing dim and dimmer, light and warmth fading into cold and darkness.

the x wife calls
tells me the children miss me.
her voice
a mirror of broken glass
fragments falling into
the touch of sadness
from her fingers
the soft laughter
of her eyes like a candle
in the night

tonight
twilight comes to play
whispering in my night
quick as life
I hear the sadness
quick as life
I can hear the regret

I 've wounded you

I can only be
what I was
meant to be

I am the candle without the wick

excuse me, i tell her, i've got to go.

She has make up on and her face looks pretty. Kathleen blows out the match and looks up.

"Hello Kate," Jack says and sits down.

"My name isn't Kate. It's Kathleen." The bourbon makes Kathleen feel confident. "Hello, Dell," She says mockingly. "You know Sue worships your ***. She just loves to call you, Dell. She thinks Dell is such a **** name." Kathleen takes a last drag on her cigarette and rubs it out in the ash tray. What should I call you?"

"How about, Darling?"

She looks up from the whiskey glass she is fondling in her slim hands. "Hello, Jack, Darling." Her soft, deep voice whispers accenting his name and the word, Darlin.

Kathleen crosses her legs and the black dress rides up to the middle of her thigh.

Jack glances at the milky white flesh between the blue ***** hose and the hem of her dress. She is drunk, but Dell does not care. He leans forward. "Do you wanna dance?"

"But no one else is dancing."

"Well, we could go to the beach and walk along the sand."

"It's 20 degrees out there." She takes the glass and swallows the last of the whiskey. "We'll freeze."

"I'll keep you warm."

In the other room the kitchen door swings open as Paul Keater and Bob O'Malley come rushing out, talking, laughing and rubbing their noses.

"Come let's dance." says Kathleen.

Jack stands up and takes her hand. She rises and as he draws her close her ******* flatten out against his chest. Jack feels her heart thumping.

Across the smoke filled crowded room, the bride is cutting the wedding cake. "That's a beautiful wedding gown." Kathleen tells Jack as he moves her around the ***** floor in and out of the circles of light cast by the overhead lamps. " Theresa looks beautiful."

"So do you." Jack holds her tighter.

"Do you really think so?" Kathleen is flattered. She is perpetually surprised if some one thinks she is pretty.

"I do," He says with sincerity.

She rests her head on Delleto's shoulder. The man with the bruised face disturbs Kathleen.

Most men like to talk about themselves. They have a need to tell what they own or what they can do well. They need to impress and when Kathleen is with one of her men he genuinely awes her.

Lifting her head off of his shoulder, "Does your face hurt?"

"Only when I laugh or cry," he says as he moves Kathleen in and out of the circles of light.

"Jack Delleto has anyone ever told you, your a strange man?"

"Just my mother."

"Did you win?"

"What does it matter? Sometimes tryin is more important. Not giving up. "

"you lost."

"Yeah."

" Kate, what's important to you?"

Kathleen raises her head off of his shoulder to look up at him. "I don't want to depend on welfare and other people and I want to send my son to college. But most of all I want a home." She rests her cheek against his. I lived in foster homes all my life and I always knew one day I'd have to leave.

"Do you know the difference between a house and a home."

Jack thinks for a moment, "No, I' don't."

And her voice is a roaring whisper in his ear.

"LOVE."

The song comes to an end. Kathleen takes a cigarette from the pack on the table and puts it to her lips.

Jack strikes a match and the light flickers in her eyes. "Maybe, sometimes you'll tell me about your home."

"Do you want me too?" She leans forward and puts the cigarette to the flame. The flame flickering in her eyes.

"Yeah." Jack blows out the match.

she wanders into my soul
so effortless
sweet and easy
like sunshine
on a sunday afternoon

she feels the raindrops falling
can see the silence calling
and steals the love
from my heart

divides my soul into equal parts
and kicks the pieces
into a hole
that she has dug
just for me

with her eyes.

i pull the cord
a sputter and a spit

he
she
it
tells me,
let the grass grow under
your feet
pick no
weeds
let the leaves lie where
they fall
put a lounge chair
on the front lawn
sunbathe naked
(***** the neighbors)
throw the empty
beer cans
into the street
and when the cops come.
laugh.

pick a mountain
any mountain

climb up through
the ice and snow
and when
you get to the top
of the mountain

keep climbing

she sees it in the laughter of children
feels the vibrations of a song
hears it in the silence of the darkest night.
always a blue sky
a sunny day
the sails of her ship
billowing in a west wind

she is a shotgun and a prayer
would like 3 cats
a dog
the cabin in the woods with cable tv

she dreams of the open field where
the white horse always waits
ready to make the run
to a meadow high in the distance


daughter

I'm searching for intelligent life
not in outer space but here on earth.
I turn over a rock
and find congress, the president,
a couple used car salesman
and a worm.

the choice is obvious.

she walks prospect avenue in the rain.
dead eyes, sore feet
the flowers have wilted into
the shadows of acceptance.

she finds the corner
and the last light lit,
wants a match for her cigarette.

a ****** that has found her god.
a needle and a bed of thorns.


the beep from a car's horn,
so a customer waits,
swings open a rusty gate.

and when that door

slams

shut

the prisoner of light asks,

"where have all the flowers gone?

give me a ledge on a mountain
18 inches wide
quite a lot of room to pray.

when the sun rises
the flowers of the field weep:
let me love your eyes,
your lips, your compassion.
let me lie next to you.

let me walk the high wire
of  loving you.

When I walk towards the dog his eyes follow my every step.
Eyes  blue like hard candy. Lips curled above white fangs
smile at me with a smirk of someone who has awakened
from a bad dream.

I think I hear him sigh and as I kneel beside him, his cold eyes catch some light from the pulsateing drum bar sign.
"What do you see?" I ask. "What can you feel?"

Inside the bar I order a shot of bourbon and as I put the bourbon to my lips I see the dog standing on a barstool next to the fireplace. His lips are contorted tightly above its teeth and his eyes pulsate red light. After staring in disbelief the impossibility of situation dies. His eyes flash quickly several times. He knows me .

I order 2 shots of bourbon and walk over to were the mutt was sitting. He is not there and I'm beginning to wonder if I have imagined the dog when I feel something ice cold rubbing against my leg,  I look down. The mutt winks at me. I crouch down to put the glass of whiskey in front of him. Then I touch my glass to his.

"I've learned to moan without making a sound. " I tell my friend as his stiff tongue stubbornly licks up the bourbon.

He slowly turns his big, ****** head towards me. "Out of the lowest the highest reaches his peak,"  his hoarse voice whispers. Causiously I stroke his head. He growls but it is not too menacing. It becomes more like a contented humming. The faster I caress the louder the droning becomes. His eyes dilate and I become mesmerized watching them grow from a warm yellow radiance to a terrifying hot white.

And with a vicious snap the dog sinks his teeth into my hand.

I **** my hand loose. Quickly I stand up and punt kick the little ******* into the fireplace. My wounds are deep but bloodless. A cold numbness  travels up my arm, into my chest, and down to my toes.

And just when I 've lost all feeling. I begin to burn. The fire is burning me from the inside out, so no one knows how I feel.
Instead, I stare at the dog in the fire place as steam rises from his head. His eyes flash at me three or four times.

I give him the finger.

When I walk into the poolroom, I put quarter on the table. It is a crowded room of tired faces unable to radiate any light of their own.

"The fire has consumed me. The true believer of snow and sad faces, I am a shell."

I am confused, frightened. I hear the words as if they are my thoughts. But then across the room hidden in a dark corner I discern the silhouette of the mutt. His eyes are shut but I can faintly see his subtle smile.

It's my game so pretending as if nothing has happened I select a pool stick. A tall man in a leather jacket comes over and tells me it is his game.

we argue.

And the dog's voice groans, "No matter what you dream it'll end in ashes or ice. Hit him with the pool cue." The next thing I know I'm slamming the pool stick into the man's face. Blood rushes from his wound. People rush from the shadows. Hands grab me. Punch and kick me. I'm dragged to the door and tossed into the gutter.

Semiconscious, sometimes dreaming, I roll over and face the dog.
From the shadows someone comes behind me, I try to roll over to see the voice but cannot.

"What does this world consist of?" The voice whispers into my ear. "Empty lots, a dead dog, and visions of the night."

make a run to  st patrick's
put a dollar in the church box
light a votive candle

dreams stay with you
like a lovers voice calling
from across a crowded street

or an old friend that never leaves

in the darkest night
every bar stool is a wish
every robin sings a prayer
every drop of water sells a dream.

a pond or a puddle
add a thousand tears
spill a river into an ocean

in an outstretched hand I put a dollar.
he shoves it into his pocket.

the drop of water

when 2 birds standing on
2 different high tension wires kiss
love is short.

you wanted me to tattoo your name on my back.
"but who would see?" I asked.
"you just don't get it, " you screamed,
"you don't ever get it."
and you smashed a glass
on the worn rug.

it was a velvet rug
with a picture of elvis
painted across it
meant to be hung on the wall
and when the wind parted the curtains
the shards sparkled like stars...

...they say the human heart
weighs 3/4 quarters of a pound
and scientists have found
in a tomb in egypt
the heart of cleopatra
shriveled like leather.
bitterness
can preserve a heart for eternity...

...but it's closing time at the bar
and outside in the cold, cold snow,
outside in the snow
my darling
one last time
i'll **** your name.

I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
run with you in the evening along the shore, Exceptin a kind of dream; and you, if you dreamt a moment, too see me there.

so leave awhile the paw-marks along the front door
where I used to scratch and go out or in, and you'd soon open' and you'd soon open; leave on the kichen floor
the marks of my drinking -pan

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
on the warm stone, nor at the foot of your bed;
no all the night through I lie alone.
but your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
outside your window where the firelight so often plays, and where you sit to read--and I fear grieving for me--
every night your lamplight lies on my play.

you, man, and woman live so long, it's hard
to think of you ever dying
a little dog would get tired of living so long.
I hope that then you are lying

under the ground like me your lives will appear
as good and joyful as mine.
no, dear, thtat's to much hope: you are not cared for
as I  have been.
and never have known the passionate undivided
fidelities that I knew.

your minds are perhaps to active, to many sided...
but to me were true.

you were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well' and was well loved. deep love endures
to the end and far past the end. if this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

darkness wraps around me
inside a sonnet
singing, echoeing across the lake
i hear it ,too
inside a moan, sweet and sad
from
eons ago
primordial      
communication
we are one.

tattooed arm holds a cell phone to her ear,
leans over a garbage can
but like a firefly caught in a spiders web
she still glows,
" hi, linda loveless,"
she tells someone,
buys 6 pack and a lottery ticket.
doubtful pleasure
for sure
but we all have our slot
on the roulette wheel,
red or black,
win or lose,
and sometimes
double zero

aborted babies in jars.

who might they have become?

perhaps another paul cezanne.
maybe a worker at burger king,
or perhaps the next muhammad ali
heavy weight champion of the world.

could be an axe ******
or worse
a politician or a lawyer.

maybe the next ernest hemingway.

the bitter taste of burnt dreams
lost in a prison of expectation.

screams of  the heart.

thoughts drop like ashes from a cigarette

anchored to the earth.
where the willows wait without wonder
the cows and me

though their not cows but steers
one day heading to the slaughter house
and  endless sleep.

they stare at me

a reflection in the mirror of time.

we share this knowledge of
not knowing when.

I'll try to be on time when my end comes.

            *   *   **

my daughter wants
to know
what happens when we die

well, i tell her, "we become
the trees
grass and flowers." and

she says,
"Maybe i'll become a flower."

my daughter and her friend
scream and laugh
watching a scary movie.

i listen to them.

a moment of heaven
reverberating
through the universe
of our brief lives.

a moment when the struggle of life is forgotten.

"hello kate ," Jack delleto says and sits down.

"my name isn't kate. it's Kathleen.'" hello Dell. "sue thinks Dell is such a **** name. " what should I call you?"

"how about darling?'

she looks up from the whiskey glass "hello, Jack, DARLIN." her soft deep voice whispers.

Kathleen crosses her legs and the black dress rides up to the middle of her thigh.

Jack glances at the milky white flesh. she is drunk and Dell does not care. he leans forward, ''do you wanna dance ?

"but no one else is dancing."

"Well, we could go to the beach and take a walk on the sand.

"It's twenty degrees outside." she swallows the last of the whiskey. "we'll freeze."

"i' ll keep you warm."

"all right let's  dance."

"jack stands up and takes her by the hand. she rises and jack holds her close to him. jack feels her heart thumbing.

she rests her head on his shoulder. "what matters most to you?"

"not giving up."

"what's important to you?" he asks.

Kate lifts her head off his shoulder and looks into his eyes. "I don't want to be on welfare, and I want to be able to send my son to college." she rests her cheek against his. "I lived in foster care homes all my life and I always knew one day I'd have to leave. do you know the difference between a house and a home?"

Her voice is a roaring whisper in his ear. "love."


the song comes to an end. kate takes a cigarette from the pack.
jack strikes a match and the light flickers in her eyes. "maybe someday you'll have a home."

"do you want me to?" she leans forward and puts the cigarette to the flame.
    
"Yes."

Kate blows out the match.

"I don't write poetry any more,"
she said
and threw down the shot of wild turkey.

she was beautiful once.
now, her eyes trapped  
and frightened.

her lips moved
but it was the rain that spoke to me.

she glorified in self destruction
like an actress in a greek tragedy  
or a boxer past his prime

dark violets, gardenas, and red roses
she sits behind a tombstone
picking flowers
waiting.

in a rather expensive restaurant
6 people are seated at a table next to us
drunk and bored
fat and old.

"hey blondie," the blue haired thrice divorce widow asks jen,
"how's that hamburger taste?"
blue hair pops an oyster from its grey shell as manny laughs
but his sagging eyelids can't see daylight.

I light a cheap cigar and blow smoke their way.
someone coughs and I smile.

they plan funeral arrangements.
discuss burial vs cremation.
manny wants to be cremated
while blue hair wants to be buried.
they argue.

and when a waitress comes to pick up 6 empty shells
left on the white china plate
I turn to them and smile again.
they are envious
because
we are young.

later: much, much later
in the crack in the ceiling of time
seated at a table
i pluck an oyster
and leave an empty shell.

dances me madly backwards
through the mirror of your eyes.
born to walk through fire,
your footprints linger
high on the mountain ledge,
the drop exhilarating 
and final.
dance me outside into van Gogh's "starry night"
lay my head gently
on the leaves of tomorrow.
memories slipping, fading into the hurricane
of what once was.
i feel your breathing
and your heart beating faster.
in a whisper
love is gone.

she walks from the alley
over wet lottery tickets, chesterfield butts
and empty gypsy rose wine bottles.
but truth lies in forgetfulness and
even the stars bleed dust.

I smile to greet her.

I smile as she lifts my throat to heaven.
I smile even as the razor skates across my neck...

and she's following you too...sucker...

the BIG! dream

blue checkered jacket
the cloth faded.
kneeling onto yesterday
holding on to tomorrow
her leathery tan hands cup
a wrinkled  tired face.
the white tasseled hair and the bulbous nose.
hope has left her eyes,
the light has turn to rain.
beneath a torn brown skirt
short varicose  bowed legs
forever journey to no place.
everything she owns in a big paper bag.

She has no home.

he sits on the bar stool beside her
                            too skinny
                            his flat wrinkled forehead
                            lifts brown bushy eyebrows
                            but he does not speak to her

                            she is blonde of course
                            perhaps 23
                            also skinny
                            a flat chested go go dancer
                            from new york city
                            el passo
                            bakersfield
                   ­         miamichicagomontreal
                            denver…­

                            she is with someone else

                             he thought she was his
                             but now

                             as a friend
                             she would like to buy him a shot

                             tired eyes narrow                            
                             he  stares at her as if he
                             has never lost a job
                                                                      ­                                     
                             as if no woman
                             brunette red head or blonde that he has loved
                             whose name he has tattooed onto his arm
                             has ever left him
                             as if the mail man, the priest, and his mom
                             are spitting into his stupid face
                             as if god has kicked him in the nuts
                             as if his dog has bit his hand as if
                    
                             this could never have happened to him

He holds her like
a hand of cards
Throws her down
like the jack of diamonds
That wipes the smile
from her heart.
he pushes the pillow from the bed
rising
Slowly
he struts away
puts on rumpled clothes
over yellow underwear,
throws on his cowboy hat,
grabs a beer...
heads out the door

through the window
a breeze  blows
the door shut.

meow,
the cat says.

in the east the moon is full.
one of those huge harvest moons
and I think I can almost see some craters
and I imagine like a
little boy
that hiding in the shadows of the moon
I can see a cream colored horse.

when I look down
there she stands chewing
bubble gum
about 16
with pensive brown eyes
and as they lift
she smiles.

no, i tell her, no thanks.

i follow the snow down main street
stop and turn.
a car has pulled up to her
the door swings open and
as she slides into the yellow cadillac
her skirt tugs tightly around her firm ***
and all the space between earth
and moon
is hers.
                                  
the door slams shut.
the cadillac heads east
                                  
she rides the horse of cream
 into shadows

and only the bubble gum is real.

the trees whispering
in the wind

hooves thundering across the meadow.

on my arm
your touch is a warm breeze

in your eyes
I see the horses running

I felt like an old newspaper
blowing across a deserted street
predicted my life.
I had on the same faded blue jeans
and 10 dollars in my pocket
and faded eyes
and holes in my sneakers.
and sometimes
I still cast a shadow
standing in sunlight

the snow...
all the street intoxicated by it.

a passing car's head light
disturbs the intelligence of her eyes.
"in sleepless dreams, I know you,"
she tells me.

and like the snow blowing across the deserted street,
a smile spreads across her face
and as her green eyes slowly lift

I look into them
and see van gogh
sitting in a lonely field
of twisted cypress trees
forever blue, mysterious
and possessed.

then, as a street light comes on,
her slim white hand
(whitened by eternal snows) reaches

and into that deeper dark we walk

in the distance the lonely tooting of a taxi horn.

children waving
from the back
of a school bus window.

the flowers bloom.

run the halfway house.
the winos will be showered,
fed,
and then led
back
into infinite night.
they talk quietly to one another,
waiting,
and by the time
I have finished my 3rd cup of coffee
some of them are in the park
drunk already...

...eyes burning like a locomotives furnace,
eyes flutter,
a half spin,
the man kneels and then falls.
others just stand
and stare
as if already under the mortician's
knowing smile.

and yet,
some will rise
from bright mists at dawn,
cherubic and dew covered
survivors of the night's storm.
grim miracles
who will share a bottle with a friend
and then laugh
at the selective kindness of good men.

between the burning furnace and
the chill of the night
hungry strangers are waiting.

a new day begins.
all is quiet.

the bus station is empty
except for a homeless bag lady,
a mother and her child.

the janitor sweeps yesterday's dreams
from the worn floor.

the mother moves to a corner.
her son a shadow always at her side.
sad eyes needs someplace to go.

the bag lady moves to the corner.
she says something to the woman and her son.
I can not hear but
the mother smiles and the boy laughs
and they appear happy
long after the bag lady
has gone to talk to the lonely janitor.

she touches his shoulder.
he turns, nods and smiles.
and she is Jesus
creating small miracles
and harming no one.

in the shush of the brooms sweep,
the sun rises.
the birds are singing.
she moves into the flow of her heaven

an old man discovers a ghost in the closet

but in the mirror a young boy smiles.

the bow
touches
the strings
of the violin

one note,
one song.

through an open window
when a bulb burns out
a sliver of moonlight turns
tiny eyes red
and on little feet
the dimmest of dreams
from a corner
comes crawling.

when the night comes
through eyes closed
the room turns inside out.
the heart pounds away the seconds.
the edge moves closer
and the clock smiles.


when the night comes...

on the corner below my window
shadows whispering gather.
broken clouds
rolling dice that will never fall...

and on my knees
praying into the void
the toilet don't flush,
the toaster won't pop...
i grab the smoking toaster
and throw it out the window
the corner boys look up
the corner boys
are rushing up the stairs

me and the rat
waiting for the cops to come,
me and the rat
when the night won't leave
at 3 a.m.
eating donuts.

i'm falling into walls that appear to be rising above me

corporation against company,
train rider against commuter,
the animal's instinct is to destroy
and somewhere between a beer and 2 hotdogs,
cigar smoke and chatter,
joe got hit,
his legs bent,
and his *** hit the canvas.
...and somehow through the roar of a 1000 voices
I can see and hear
the ref
counting
chanting into joe's wondrous brown eyes
"1,2,3...
"oh ****," joe laughs a bit bemused
perched on top his vertebrae of stairs,
"oh ****,"
and the he climbs back down those bones
into a quiet night...
there is distance were a building once stood
and the field that was the farm
that made way for a factory
is a field again
where no wheat will grow.

I kick the ground trying to unearth
the ashes of joe's fire
but the angry earth just bleeds dust...

...and down at marty's grill
the shadows lean forward
and with one quick stare
drink up the dreamer and his dream...

when I leave
I watch a boy with a baseball bat
beat a dog.

bundle the darkness in a tea bag,
hot water
and then rain.
the mailman comes.
a dog barks.
the house on the edge
rushes in.

pick one:

a. the flowers bloom,
set sail,
dream.

b. the candle burns down,
the flowers are wilting.

calm and chaos
through the eye of the needle
a shirt needs mending.

another day begins

just ask any waitress
in the diner
still sane.

ask a businessman
locked behind a desk.

ask a cop in jail for theft
or custer
or van gogh

or a child in harlem
foodless and cold.

ask the grey day
evaporated by the sun

just ask.


we all want to burn,
to dance and sidestep
through are own private hells

to hang
upon
a church bell
high above a cathedral
in notre dame
laughing,
in love with the finality of fire.

the fire
is a man with shotgun
standing in a savings and loan

the fire
is a 16 year old girl
in a
short
short
dress
with oh
so
long legs

the fire cries like snow geese
warm
so warm
into this cold winter's night.

this life we love
is but a hawk on fire
flying
flaming
into the sun of our existence...

we want what we fear,
i want the sun


i am burning.

when 2 birds standing on
2 different high tension wires kiss
love is short.

You wanted me to tattoo your name on my back.
"but who would see?" I asked.
"you just don't get," you screamed,
"you don't ever get it."
and you smashed a glass
on the worn rug.

It was a velvet rug
with a picture of elvis
painted across it
meant to be hung on the wall
and when the wind
parted the curtains
the shards sparkled like stars.

They say the human heart
weighs 3/4's of a pound
and scientists have found
in a tomb in Egypt
the heart of Cleopatra
shriveled like leather.
bitterness
can preserve a heart for eternity....

....but it's closing time at the bar
and outside in the cold, cold snow
outside in the snow
my darling
one last time
I'll **** your name.