her seductive voice
and a forbidden love


the black and white photo:

2 men smiling

gaberdine coats and hobnailed boots

the delighted dance in their eyes
the intriguing puzzle

finely woven into their subtle smiles
of wind and lightning and snow

they have heard
the goddess of the sky
and she beckons,
COME

her beauty, cold and captivating
snow and vanishing hopes
and into the silence of no turning back

for king and country
climb high or die


the black and white photo

2 men
smiling


2 men smiling
about something
few men
will ever know

2 men disappearing in the clouds.

i read the poems
(perhaps not poems)
maybe, perhaps?

they are crying their hearts out
reaching

for that feeling
innate
and pristine

a howl for love

sadness

faith and joy

those tortured *******
their words trumpet,

"I am here!"

all too human
and i will not read you
anymore
this nascent melody
of us tortured souls.

on the silent city street
when the bar closed
that's where I met her
she was crazy

and wanted to dance on rooftops,
at sunrise
she took me to the cemetery
pointed to the graves of children
the box turtle crawling
toward the 3 crosses

full moon

we climbed the water tower
her eyes dark as coal
looked inside of me
and she began unbuttoning her blouse,
" just tell me you love me,"
(and we howled with the wolves)

2 troubled spirits

she wanted to be held
"and tell me you love me,"

she wanted to be held

but not
the way I held her

she's in my dreams

waiting for me

and no matter how you play your cards
misfits and wanderers
are lost and never found.

the edge keeps getting
harder to find
keep my ledge clean
brush away this uneasy
disparate ride

spin your thread
that delicate strand
wish me good luck

and i'm not a dancer
but if you ask,
fate or fortune?
smiling,
dancing madly backwards
I'll ride the razor ribbon wire
into the wall of shadows

and until the tug of destiny
and before the ringing of bells
keep me close to your heart.

her beauty born
of feathers and wax
she flew to close to the sun
and with her palm
holding stardust

her love gave her
a bouquet of goodbyes

never love sorrow
Sarah
the ledge only grows smaller

Broken Heart

butterfly
under the glass

Pure Heart

into my arms you can run

you know it needed something
but you don't realize it
until months later...

if it had
had a dog and a child

it would be perfect...

"I picked up Bella
our Maltese
and took little Johnny
by his tiny hand

as the ambulance drove off."

flannel shirt and torn blue jeans
she always held her cards close
to her fragile heart
her wild heart

(a heart not for me)

and she fades into a cold wind
whitens into snowflakes
and wild infatuation

i'm faded

the torn page
from a list of lovers
broken and sad

my love is moonlight and mare's tails

the night's stars
shot full of lost tomorrows

wounded blackbird on a telephone wire
in a bright and hollow sky
searched for the lost cord.
his heart has betrayed him
and no longer will he fly.

there's something beautiful
about tall buildings
and a dark street,
the vacant restaurants and stores

the drive-throughs
on their way to work
don't see it
don't feel you
don't hear your voice of desperation
or the screech from the garbage trucks
brakes

there's something beautiful
on the corner
of Dewitt and Springwood Ave

where there were dances
at the bingo hall,
the fist fights outside

and angels
with their eyes
whispered,
come hither,
and giggled softly

and with voices
like rain
and with a touch of regret
sang all the sad songs

I hear

the ghosts of Springwood and Dewitt
wailing
in search of hope or a prayer

or perhaps it's just the police
or an ambulance

there's something beautiful
about you,
dark avenue
of crossroads
where the hanged men are dump

and shotgun in my hands
i'm going to run down
that avenue of dead dreams

the revolution is at hand

sometimes you perceive things
as they
aren't

and some will look at the ground
and never have to look up

and some will stand in the sand,
and not be held by fingers twisted with fate,
gaze up at the stars
with wonder

some only look down
to watch their dreams fall
to the ground


and then there was

Cathy Brown

I wrote
"I love you"
on a napkin
got caught in the rain
on the way to her apartment
and when I gave it to her
and she unfolded it
there was a beautiful flower

I never told her I love you
never had too

the light in her eyes
the twinkle of stars...


I was watching an old movie
and the make up artist
was

Cathy Brown

while I dipped
my ******* in the holy water
of madness???
why not write a poem
I loved the name so

the touch from her fingers
kept me sane

some dreams never vanish...

do you believe this **** I wrote
sometimes I need
to not
get serious

I love you Cathy Brown.

i was watching
Shane's funeral

beautiful
and deservingly so

and i wondered
who would come to my funeral???

(debt collectors
police
2 x-wives
DEA)
(surely
i'm heading to purgatory)

perhaps she'll come
the woman who wants to be a mortician
i meant her at the liquor store

i answered her ad
in the A.P. press,
it read, as follows:

Female, a young 60
likes UFO stories
and exorcisms
loves to watch autopsies,
has a potato chip
that looks like D. Trump!
(not for sale)
will be in front of BY-WAY Liquor store
7 a.m. Tuesday. Gladys.

and one thing
led to another
SO,
here i am
and the the smoke
from the camp
fire's
burning my eyes
i'm on my 18th can
of miller light
Gladys and me
are looking for
UFO s

never in my life
have I ever thought of it
but beneath my skin
is a skull

I feel the bone outline of my brow
the contour of my crooked nose
the catliage in my ear

horrible creatures they are
those vultures
my father ****** at 54
long in the ground

and feeling the bones
of my nose

sunrise is not guaranteed

wind and rain
stars and the sea
the lonely one
who left us here

created
those 8 mother ******
vultures
feasting on a dead deer

the griffons know the failure
of bones and flesh

and ice is forming
on the tips of my guardian angel's
wings
but the Nightingale sometimes
still sings
to me of you in dreams

and we'll meet again
at the end of time

and walk across the sun

my love.

i had the windows open

the heat

and of all the nights
not to be able to fall asleep

and the neighbors had their
bedroom window open, too

some songs you never forget

and he played the same song
over and over
like ocean waves cresting,
falling onto the sands of time
and never lost in memory

yeah, the fireman
had a wife and child

some songs stay with you

touch you some place
to deep to descern

some corner of your mind
holds it tightly, angrily,
hidden away in that dark corner
of never forget

i don't know who sang it
or the title
but i learned every line
that late august night

it ended with

"Lord it'sad to be alone
help me through this night"

and the fireman turned off the stereo

no muffled sound
no flicker of light
just the shot


"Lord it's sad to be alone
help me through this night..."

some songs play over and over

... on and on...

the far edge of your love
rushes into me
like small increments of sugar
stirred into my coffee cup

it is the edge of things
i most desire

golden and violet clouds
settling just above the sea at sunset

the dive into the deep
green sea
and then the slow rise to sun

the far edge of your love rushes to me
like smoldering embers
waiting to be the fire once more

it is the edge of you i most desire
like the end of a ridge looking down
into the clouds below

the far edge of your love
rushes into me
and it is the edge of your love i desire
the perfume of pale blue flowers
the elusive summer captured in your smile
and l'appel du vide

her sneakers wrapped around a telephone wire

"tall stone monoliths and crumbled walls
hell is not a physical place
it is a spiritual realm

and this city of locked hearts
a prison of sorts
without barb wire," Kate tells me,

"and the high wire walkers
and the dice tossers
and the lonely ones...
all in search of the lost song."

"I want to sing songs
and dance far from this desolate stage,"
I'm telling Kate,
"I envision myself a tragic figure."

a tender smile and,
"who, Hamlet, Walter White?

we're walking down sunset avenue
occasionally passing other failed animals.
silent howling and teeth hidden in our
lost hearts
those parts too delicate to display
except in anger, rage, and want.

and my love touches in me places
I don't want to feel
and I love her like the mad hatter
loves alice.

it's summer.

we smoke a joint
and we're walking on the boardwalk.
we past the arcade
and a song is playing
and as we walk
down past the coffee shop
a different song is playing
further, another song.

"never tangled or twisted,
how do you do it?"
I asked her.

a serene smile
and Kate says,
"my life is quicksand
struggle you die
relax you float,
you survive."

her blue eyes
bright
my reluctant Cinderella laughs softly
and another song is playing
and i move closer to my heart.

the 5 of us in that Ford Galaxy
cigarette smoke and beer,
rarely ate,
we consumed anything we could read
Soul on Ice
Three Pillars of Zen
The Alpine Christ...
and listening to Pat Benetar
back then
kept me sane
and back then
we all grew beards
and back then
all dreams came true.
we were pretending to be poets:
a photocopy machine,
some staples,
and free... RIVERS of the SUN.
the next Blake,
Poe,
Jeffers.
intellectuals overthink
every thing,
logic
reason
be ******
keep the stuff simple
don't write anything
that people
wouldn't understand

paper, pen in hand
and I m riding that old car
into Rivers of the Sun

the 5 of us
beer and cigarette smoke.

i haven't ever been as free,
and all dreams came true.

he had
the *******
tatooed on his cheek
above the scar,
whispers when he talks,
and people listen...

the edges worn
on the black and white photo
he fondles in his hands...

he walks passed the tombstones
collecting the bouquets of flowers,
gardenias, some violets, and finally red roses
kneels
places them gently on her grave

she was the prettiest cop
that ever arrested him...

passed the ******* tattoo
above the scar
one longing tear
forever falling...

"Kate left pieces of me
here and there
in her house
around town
in city streetlights
disappearing down empty
dark roads, " i'm trying
to explain it to Maria.
"understand?"

her comforting smile,
and then she says,
"and so we huddle together in huge cities
yet, still alone."

"one punch can change a fight
but i've been kicked in the teeth."

Maria nods her head,
"loves been a little bit ******* you."

"yeah. and I swore i wasn't going down
this time."

"you shouldn't bet
when all you do is lose," she tells me,
crosses her long legs."

"have i played the game too long?"

"you paid her with promises."

" Camus saw life as meaningless,
didn't need hope."

"and you do."

"she left me in the cold fire.
see me through this night.

can I sleep on your floor?"

some people are already dead
and don't feel the magic
of moonlight and a car and a 6 pack
music on the radio
and an arm around someone
you think you love
and sometimes when the moon is full
I can hear your footsteps
coming down the back porch steps
of your house
and the memories of you
come running to that moment
when our hearts were young
and if I am attentive
to these echoes from my heart
I can hold you in my arms
for the briefest of moments

"A" has all the men
40 and up
in love with her

"M" is most likely
a nun

"C" is in the CIA,
or the witness protection program
perhaps a quantum physicist

( you all know
the people
who who I'm talking about)

for all the forlorn
lovers,
who've been spurned,
I share the advice
my mom gave me
"you'll find someone else"
and so, please
don't write you are
*******
angry
or sad,
tell me you
want to ****
the son of a...*****
write about something
else...

(...you can never
go wrong
writing a poem
about
***

men,
make all the women
have big *****)

and for the paranoid poets
just because you are
paranoid
it doesn't mean that
people are not
following you, so,
BEWARE

we have a separate life
here
we exist on comments
we live
on the internet,

we:
the psychotic
the lonely,
lovers
and perverts
and dreamers,
some poets
some mystics
some saints,
most of us, tortured souls
trying to find solace
in the words we write,
and to leave a piece of us
and not fade away
like a shooting star
into the nothingness
of thin air

sunlight bends
as it passes through the water of the pond
and graceful and bright
are the blue and yellow flowers
that bloom above tree line
so beautiful
and i thought what a shame
no one is here to see the beauty
of the flower
but light bends as it passes through water
and sometimes something
can look one way
and can be something else

a stranger to seconds and hours and years
the simple flower,
Just Is.
(the musicians idea of love
perhaps)

and in the sky
shape shifting clouds,
teardrops making figure eights,
the hundreds of starlings
heading to crash into
the ground
pulling up at that last moment.

and a flower 
Just Is

so walk with me through splintered sunlight
on a sunday morning
my arm around you

attentive to the echoes of our hearts
and we'll be the starling
and the flower
for the briefest of moments

walk with me through splintered sunlight

"let's face it,"
the professor of filosophy
realized
during his doctorate dessertation,
"LOOK,
Thoreau
had
had enough of Waldon pond.
when asked, why did you leave Waldon Pond?
Thoreau shrugged and said,
"**** it."

what do you hear
little angel?

moans from the well of hope
scattered and beneath
the blocks of stone?

(but not for you,
sweet kitten)

so run past the iniquity of man
past the dead who dwell
in the hearts of the living
past compassion silenced

run
run
run

like the fire in your heart
past soldiers marching
run as if midnight and darkness
are your lover
run past the grinding of tank wheels
past misfortune

be not a sin offering
O, my angel

make your midnight run
and tell no one
of the sadness and sorrow
of Gaza

(shed no tears for mankind)

O, lost angel of Gaza

i sat in the rocking chair
in front of the window
expecting a long night.

"a broken nose and a broken heart,"
i whisper.

"and 2 black eyes,"
the moon tells me.

"she gives that smile,"
i tell the moon,
"i don't know
what it is
that little upturn
in the corners
of her mouth
no
maybe,
no
that isn't all of it,
a part,
maybe,
and her dark eyes
bright
like a streak of lightening
across a thunder clouded sky
beautiful and dangerous
and in a second,
gone and"

"funny,
what a man is willing
to die for, "interrupts the moon,
pauses
and then," love
is when the damsel
shoots
the werewolf
with a  silver bullet
holds his hairy paw
and looks into his
wolf eyes
and as the wolfman slowly
is turning human
the man
returns that love
you can see it in his blue eyes.
now,
that's, TRUE LOVE."

i put a cold can of beer
on a book of Neruda
love poems
a sacrilege
i know
so i kneel down
and pray
she will read this poem
i'm writing
and it will take her
to some
distant flowered field
but...

the poem never finished.
the letter never sent.
so i'm talking to the moon.

heavy rain from a darkening sky
and buildings  fall

no one knows what will be left
running down the nowhere
where dreams die
on a metal tray
at the hospital morgue

trouser leg pushed up
the search for black ink
and a child's name
begins

perhaps the arm
the hip

the back?

and the children plead,
lie to me,
tell me,
i won't die,
today

and the silent screams
are left in an eternity of why?

foul and bitter hearts
will prevail
on both sides,
this is the poetry of death

why do the most talented poets
**** themselves:
Anne Sexton,
Sylvia Plath,
Dylan Thomas

it's better
to be a sheltered poet
and follow the Robert Bly formulas
a few weeks on the New York Times
best sellers list
then the college circuit
and come up with something

controversial

like

Iron John

but not, too
controversial

there is far less peril
as a minor poet
stick with J. Lohr Los Osos Vino
and ***

make the poems personal,
ruthless honesty

a plus

occasionally

something from the heart
something like a watercolor
in the rain
beautiful for a few brief
and fleeting moments

always the wolf
no subject matter
forbidden

and if perchance
you are jailed by the pen
don't **** yourself
too soon

linger in the darkness
step inside the Bell Jar
and write

i asked her to dance.

"so,"  she smiles, "dance with me,

sometimes
I feel like
I'm almost gone

and i want you
to hold me,
she says,
hold me tighter

I want you to feel
my heart beating
and tell me
you'll never
let me go.

will you think of me?"
she asks, smiles,
always?"


rain is the night's
beating heart
icy heart,
wind and rain
and a memory
birds are winging west

tired and broken
the ribbon in her hair
footsteps echo
going down the hall

and i could tell by
her smile
she's not coming back

fumbling
shards of broken heart
fall through cupped fingers    

here comes the night.

daughter of Icarus
searching for a distant light
or maybe you've heard
the distant voice
of Harry Crosby

his Black Sun
calling you
into the Minotaur's labyrinth
on a long
lonely
night

waxen heart
wings on fire
meet your man
at Chik- fel- A

cross that line
past the edge
how high can you fly
and never reach the sky?

I returned
a book at the library,
"Soul on Ice"

"it smells
like beer," Emily,
the librarian said, smiled.
so I asked her for a date

St. George Orthodox Church
was having a festival.
I took Emily

must have
drank a pint
or more of ouzo

i thought it was a Greek custom
and i began
smashing plates on the floor
but the Father said
the church uses the plates
for meals

and I said,
"I guess no one
will have to wash dishes."

so we left

"your too
drunk to drive
on the street," Emily warned.
so I drove over the curb onto
my neighbor's yard
circled his house
2 times

I saw him
looking out his window
and he didn't look surprised
at all
just shook his head
turned off the light

then the red flashing
lights of the cop cars
coming

so we left

I had drank a 6 pack
on the way to the library
shoved the empty cans
under the seat
I went to put on the brakes
and
a can rolled out
under the brake
and I could
not stop
Emily,  SCREAMED
I went through a red light but
we made to her house
anyway

(7 year old Igor
Emily's son
bit a chunk
out of my eyebrow)

bought a scratch off at WaWa
won 300 dollars
we went to the horse races

i told Emily to pick a horse
any horse
and i'd put all 300 dollars on it
she picked a 40 to one shot

PERFECT INSANITY

i was feeling lucky...
and...

the rowdy, disorderly, and wicked
at the Black Heart Bar
chatting like neighbors
in the evening...


"...and the toilet don't flush
and the corner boys are singing
and the window don't shut"

"so move,
do you have family?"

"no
dead
all dead
all *******
anyway. "...


...L.A. Woman
comes on the jukebox
and soon the bartender's
grandma begins
singing along

the woman across the bar
is shaking her head
and the guy in the corner

is tapping his fingers on the bar

and the barmaid is smiling

and reborn are the memories
that save us for a few hours
and for the length of a song
we are not the ghosts
we have become

we are the lotus flower
rising from dark, muddy waters

we are going to fish

we carried our backpacks
fishing equipment
into the cabin

the cabin wasn't
Thoreau's cabin at Waldon pond

then came the storm
lightening
thunder
torrential rain
and

and then
the lights went out

there we were

******

eating potato chips
and drinking beer in the dark

"quick
put all the beer in the freezer,"
my brother says

we put on our headlamps
sat in the dark
discussed
the care and handling of fish
how the hybrid strippers
don't have the beautiful stripes...
we played cards
I read "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance"
by candle light
til 3 a.m.

rain
thunder
and lightening
for 4 days

and living the way Man was meant to live

and so
he cracked him in the head
with the pool cue
now,
it's your  game,
he said to the man

and walked out of the bar
song birds were singing
and  he delighted
in dark shadows overtaking empty streets
in the distance
a dog did howl,
found that fascinating
the barking of a dog distant and growling

he bought a lottery ticket
got the numbers from
the obituary page
of the asbury park press
never checked the numbers
never wanted
too

on longs peak
he made it to broadway
when the hail came down
and the ledge
was coated with ice
and the view
down to chasm lake
was obscure
it tickled a lonely spot
in his imagination
and the ledge was where
he always wanted to be
he had figured it all out
the in s and out
of never giving a ****
the cards we are dealt
at birth
are marked


one day i saw his
picture
on the obituary page


and he had the BIGGEST smile

during a quiet, warm twilight
with angels whispering
in our ears

we ran around the dogwood tree
and collected lightening bugs
in a glass jar
that lit up our dark night
our small world

that tiny flickering
mortal fire

living lamps
floating
flashing
in a glass jar

and the angels whispering in our ears
and all we knew was love

high buildings
prisons without barbed wire

down the street from the funeral home
across from the burnt down church
shadows scatter
like crazy crows
through streets that need no names

on the corner
illuminated by a streetlight
a heart is being spray painted on the wall
of an abandon building
a boy with a doubtful future
has a heart that is beating

we all start out that way
we start out innocent
we start out pure

i've had a few,
genuine and untainted

i've had a few PURE MOMENTS

when **** goes down
i imagine one of those
PURE MOMENTS

maybe you've had one?
maybe a few?

the boy is having one
and he doesn't
know it

it's only when
the **** goes down
that you need one
when **** goes down
and you are pacing around
the 4 corners
of that darkening room
you need one

i open the window

the boy turns
looks up at me
and smiles
and crystal clear like water in a brook

A PURE MOMENT

high along a ledge
out of the shadows she comes

the mournful yipping
a longing howl for another
and deep in the forest
of cliffs and need
she is listening
too
shining eyes searching
waiting for the other
to return her plea

my lady of shadows
longs to lie beside her lover

i am here,
she is saying,
i am lonely
and i need your love

a dark cloud swallows the moon

somewhere above the cliff
above her
among the grasses and willow trees
an intoning prayer
a beseeching howl

comes running through my window

sometimes,
i think i knew you
all my life

and holding the phone in my hand,
maybe, i'll call

or maybe i'll hear
your soft knock at my door
and your sweet
voice
singing along to a song

walt whitman whispers to me
from the nightstand
and i take your letter
from between
your 2 most loved poems
to unfold your words
and unfold the memories
and unfold your love;
while the cat you drew
on page 34
smiles at me

(and, i smile, too)

i knew you
before i loved you
your almond shaped eyes
and the contour of your lips
when you smile

i dreamed of you
before i loved you

and the sun comes running
through my window

and there's a black bird on a telephone wire cawing
and my cat's staring into the fire

where did we go wrong?

he wanted his  masterpieces
to hang in churches
throughout the world,
the clarity,
the emotions,
the details.
ah, Raphael

the symphonic poems of Franz List
his strophes and antistropes
linger in the ears
for centuries

the depraved bukowski
collecting numerous rejection slips
hated the rules
created his own rules

and 64,000 years ago
in caves,
the vibrant colors,
the fearsome predators,
the herds racing,
the sense of motion
that still moves us,
and deep in that cave
the stenciled human hands
a woman's hands

and i'm every dog
that ****** on every mailbox and tree
to let the other dogs know I've been here

been to Wawa
bought a drink
had to ask for a straw
the powers that be
passed a law
that requires plastic straws are
kept behind the counter

now

I m home
sitting in my easy chair
putting on my st. francis socks
shotgun across my lap

first, they took
our plastic bags
(the *******)
what's nexted?
seatbelts for pets???

the darkening  room
and  I'm staring
at the glow-in-the dark Jesus
fondling my
plastic straw

they will have to pry
this straw
From my
cold
dead hands

"live free or die"

the doomed are the blessed
free of the worry of fate
or misfortune

the doomed dance
in bars
when no music is playing

the doomed are...
never lonely
and everyone is more beautiful
the eyes smile
the legs are long
(almost always a waitress)

the doomed
know what they want
*** and love and mystery
the pleasure of the morning after kiss     

they know dying
isn't any way to be living

humanity is doomed
I'm doomed
we're all doomed

aren't YOU?

blame it on the moon
shame on Eve

we are the catbird in the bushes buying time
a moment of sunlight fading in the grass

her feet touched lightly
as she walked across the carpet
almost floating
and her voice was
like all the sad songs
sung by romeo s
from under street corner
shadows

claire had soft eyes
gentle blue eyes
dancing
that hid her wicked smile
and sharp teeth  

and his lover could touch places
too painful inside of him
and whenever she cried
he cried
too

he loved her
like the mad hatter
loves alice

yes
he loves her so

and claire had a pit bull/mastif mix
130 pounds
gentle and sweet
so she had him fixed
and then kept him in a cage

she had beautiful blue eyes
and when she smiled
her eyes grew wide
like a cat staring into a canary's cage

and when a body is finally found
in the east river
the coroner
grabs the body by the collar bone
so that what once was a man
dosen't come apart
in his hands

she had
soft
and gentle eyes
and her blue eyes
put an imaginary dog collar on jim
and she is dancing on his tombstone...

kenny composed songs
and sonnets to an angel
that lives down his street

a woman he has never spoken to

3:13 p.m.

skinny as a reed
4 foot eleven
kenny laveg
did some acid
that turned him invisable
being invisable
he had no need for clothes
kenny walked the 2 miles
to heightmuller's house

now,
heightmuller
had a growing disorder
6' 5 in the 8th grade
250 pounds

kenny was not impressed

so,
laveg
who is now invisable
strolls up cold stone steps
crashes through
the glass front door
where heightmuller
lives

kenny is chasing heightmuller
around and around
the kitchen
and heightmuller
jumps on top of
the refrigerator
screaming for his mom
and kenny rips
rips the door
off of
the refrigerator

and kenny laveg stares
at heightmuller
for a long
long moment
winks
and says,
"you don't **** with superman"...

...kenny stole
a 5 ton garbage truck
the day he got out of jail

you showed me how to think crazy
and be free

kenny laveg
sharp-edged and fearless
the patron saint
of us tortured souls and dreamers

the night is still
the snowflakes spiral down
in a slow waltz

she dreams of me dead

yes
I going to make
a few changes
in my life

i'm going to
run
run
run
and

i'm going to steal
a white horse
thunder in her hooves
and lanterns for eyes
and a heart of sand
and gallop
past the glue sniffers and junkies
through 9 to 5 prison
through the steel and concrete maze
past the grass needs cutting
the garden fence
and rotting cherry tomatoes
past the paying of overdue bills
the chicken deep fried

O, that wild horse!

we will make that run
like 2 shadows chased by light
and into the drift of stars
we'll fly

Oh, that beautiful horse!

no more sad songs

some people feel free
sitting in a tree with shotgun
killing a deer
a marriage
or themselves
some people think they are free
staring into the black sun


my love looks at me with ghost eyes
and dreams a shallow grave

on a mountain crest
my body chopped

and mixed with grain

no headstone

she dreams of me dead
                                                        
"roll over, dear,"
i whisper,
"please, turn off the light."

nothing is any good
you know
unless you
share it
so Tom has brought back the bar:

the Elvis impersonator
who almost
played las vegas,
the hair dresser
come future race
car driver,
a sufi
and a seer.

the seer
tells me she hit a cat
the cat was still alive
so she ran it over
again and again,
"and that's when god
talked to me."

"was that before or after
you ran over the cat
the second time?"
i asked.

"She talks to me every day,"
the angry divorced seer
tells me.

is god talking, now?

now, elvis
joins in,
"what if camus and nietche
met. what would they think
about the cat?"

"nah, who cares,"
the race car driver-
hair dresser,
says, snorts another line,
"what if they
started
a rock
and roll
band."

the Sufi wonders,
"who would play
what?"

"nietche on drums!" tom interjects
with a smile.

"yes,
and camus,
a gibson semi hollow."

"vocals???"

"god!" exclaims the seer.

"right on," i say, everyone smiles
and the seer is looking better and better
after every beer.

sometimes the dead
travel the road
to nowhere
with a smile


and i've got to get
up at 7a.m.
i'm a college
educated
toy store clerk

it's closing time at the circus

sometimes
the hangman isn't
hanging
and the night
jumps from the wall
and whispers,
"cut the deck."

"chance," I asked,
"danger and risk?"

"COLD DESIRE..."

she had it tattooed
on her ***

"COLD DESIRE"

we shared a quart of beer.
the dust of time in her greying hair.
she had a wooden leg
and a glass eye
a blue bottomless eye

and she had that, smile
like razor blades and dice
and
sometimes
the hangman
isn't hanging

thundering clouds
and no rain
she looked me in the eye
her good eye
(maybe not
it was a dark tomb
and the night
was blue
or maybe her good eye was blue???)
anyway
she kick me with her wooden leg
I hit her with a right
hand and her
glass eye flew
rolled along
the floor
towards a mouse
hole

a hole in one!

and i
yelled,
ROLL OVER

COLD DESIRE

I wrap my arms around you

hold me tighter
I say
hold me till the flowers bloom
and the leaves appear on the trees

hold me
when the wind rustles the leaves
and the turtles sun themselves
on branches in the brook

hold me closer during a distant thunder
walk me through flowers and forest
take the hat from my head
and run your fingers through my hair

i belong among the wildflowers
and when the rain comes down like tears
hold me close to your heart
far from fields of blood and distant wars

molly
the waitress
at Town diner

wants to be a model
or a nun,
tells me she's a poet

we're sitting on
a couch in her apartment.
molly takes a poem from
a foot high stack
on the end table,
hands me a poem,
"FIRST BRA," by Molly C.
it's about buying
her first bra at 12.
"i was big.
i needed a bra at 11,"
she smiles.

now
she doesn't wear bras.

she tells me
rod mckuen
is the most read
poet
in America.

"what about walt,
plath,
hughes?" i asked.

"no
no,"
she says,
"mckuen is the MOST
popular poet
in American history,
no,
really
the greatest American poet."

molly loves rod mckuen.

i love molly.

"if the public loves
rod mckuen,"
i tell her,
you've got a shot.
you could be the  female version
of rod mckuen."

molly smiles
takes me by the hand
and leads
me up the stairs
to the loft.

she takes the ribbon
from her hair.

i lay her down
on the bed

and bang the hell
out of
the next
most read
American poet

I know I dreamed of you

so shoot me
bury me in an unmarked grave

and in a 1,000 years
archeologists will dig me up
only to discover
a dusty pitcher of margaritas
still cold

the ashes
of a half smoke cuban cigar

and the picture of you.

a shadeless lamp
lit her face

" i'll teach you how to dream,"
she told me in her room

broken and beautiful
she was 32
red hair
she had freckles
on her *******
and lost eyes
desperate grey
eyes
like a coming storm
offered heartache held in the palm of her hand

her name i can't remember
it was a kind of whiskey
she loved whiskey

she said it again
"i'll teach you how to dream"

but i had surrendered
many times
many years ago
somewhere along
the road
to nowhere

and she passed out during the act
and the rabbit
was dancing in the ditch
and
so i finished

"don't you get it," i whispered
through her snoring

"we were faded
broken

a long
long

time ago"

walking out trailor
the saddest place on earth
is sante fe at sunrise

she searched for pleasure
ran through all the stop signs
and red lights
and lovers

danced in rain and thunder

a true believer in fate

and in a landscape devoid of whispering trees
i felt her heat

there's peace in madness
freedom in illusions

!laughter and love and neon lights
the visions and strange dreams...sarah

beneath the lids
your eyes grow fixed
on the edge of the dark
on the brink of the void
perhaps finding that elusive peace

(in the cold chrome handles of your coffin
i search for meaning)

if you go down forgotten streets
where the lights push the nightmares aside

and travel down
some forgotten dreams
to hear the melody
and are drawn in
by the strumming of guitar strings

and there on the stage
a heart walking a wire
with a sad smile of thunder and rain
that rolls you like tumbling dice

and if you believe in love at first glance
and listen with a young heart
you'll hear the wind and stardust
that she's chasing in her song