sunrise on the river
a million stars
2 fishing poles
and my brother

she always posted my bail and
never asked what I d done
and she paid the back rent
twice
always had dinner for me

she loaned me money
and I never paid her back

and when I was gone

for 2 or 3 days
she didn't ask where I'd been

she broke my nose
with a non-stick frying pan

she broke my heart with a letter

she s the best I ever had

Honey,
if you read this:
i'm in the county jail,
call the bail bonds man
I need you more than ever

YOUR THE BEST I EVER HAD!

comes across the hill

a bluebird singing
the red ribbon in her hair

in the pale moonlight
hold me

softly In the pale moonlight
                                                       ­ 
sweet summer breeze
a fire in her heart

gentle summer breeze
and the ribbon comes undone

there is a love
that waits  in pale moonlight

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

no shinning light

ambulances and cop cars and nightmares
concrete and ashes 

streets too dead for dreaming

the abandon buildings
like tombstones waiting


as night edges prison walls
in the vanishing landscape

we were kings of the neon sky


and when the bars close
through puddles of lost tomorrows
running every red light
on main street

in a sun turned black as night


we were the kings of the neon sky

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

born in the artic snow
she chromed
her heart
in steel

flames could
not
touch that heart

always a half a step ahead
sure
a few stumbles
but never a fall

and moonlight is just
a heartache in disquise

till one day
leaning out a car window
a scar upon his cheek
and the luck of the draw

was the jack of hearts

and the queen of diamonds
had
never met
anyone
quite like

the jack

of hearts,

black-haired blue-eyed
her beauty inspired
stupid men
to commit foolish acts

and as he smiled
the queen of diamonds
thought she had

the jack of hearts,

blue sky shimmering
in her eyes

jack became
the brightness
of her day

and the jack of hearts
saw a flame
flickering in her eyes
that he had never seen
in any women's eyes
before ...
                
               act. 2

... a strange destiny
was unraveling
and one long poker hand
was over
and the snowflakes came
down like ashes
under the street light

and then
the jack of hearts
walked away

a pale spirit fleeing
a graveyard
into the wall of night

and the queen of diamonds
cried

the sea into sky

with eyes
like twilight
waiting

to eat away the day

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.

magic depends upon believing

and in the dingy hotel room
the ***** in a red dress
the poet and the pen

*** without love

manuscripts that no publisher will read

she removes her earrings
puts them on the bible
on the night stand

and he throws her down
on the ink stained mattress like
a bouquet of dead roses

he beats her

tenderness
is the old woman
in the alley
covering herself with garbage
to keep warm

tenderness is the wolf and the lamb

he rips off her red dress
and he climbs up the mountain
through the ice and snow

tenderness is the wolf kissing the lamb

but
if we can find
magic
between warm thighs
that lock us in
tightly
tenderly
like our mother's arms
keeping us from death
if we can laugh
walking along that thin wire
where shadow and life marry
where the lions wait
in the witchwood of our dreams
where angels sing and dogs howl
if we can smile
at children playing  
and sometimes cry,
if we feel the warmth
from someone elses hand

then I say.

pump.

deep and fast
between empty eyes
that can hold
no wonder any longer,
climb up through the
ice and snow
and never be found,
and when you get to the top
of that mountain
keep climbing

magic depends upon believing

kent state

jackson state

waco texas

ruby ridge

"live free or die"

children waving
from the back
of a school bus window.

the flowers bloom.

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

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.

the sky is on fire
at sunset

(and you want to know
why i'm sitting
on the roof

the sky is on fire

and I only dream of you

and in Tibet
the monks write their prayers
on rice paper
and climb to a high mountain top
and fling their prayers
into the wind
where they will float
to heaven
and be answered

the clouds:
violet,
pale yellows,
and pink

and you want to know
what i'm doing
sitting up on the roof

so standing
I take the toilet paper
from my shirt pocket

and the wind knows
and skyward it goes)

the sky is on fire at sunset

and my quiet heart beats only for you

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

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.

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

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)

unchained spirit

simple beauty

a flower

(as it was meant to be)

the bees are sharing their dreams
with me

and I want to know what
it feels like to rob a bank,
to run naked through the moonlit garden,
compose a sonata,
stare up into trees
then pause to listen to blue birds singing,

the bees are sharing their dreams with me, today

and I want to run with the bulls
in Pamplona

I want to remember

time insane
when untamed dreams
ran wild
in the dim light
of a room without windows

desperado,
purple eyeshadow and lips

dancing through misty memory,
she comes

quiet midnight settling in her eyes
bare foot waif, never kind...

the thief of my dreams

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

you run along the ledges
walk the wire
have a touch of larceny
in your heart

and  I love it
like a ****** who
pretends to love you
every time
and you believe it

madness is like pouring rain
on the wet street
at night
reflecting through headlights
making a never ending waterfall
hot and white that s
dancing madly backwards
when you crank the Harley
and fly
over the cliffs of perception
into endless night
or star dust
or
into clarity
lore or god realized  

this world has gone insane
and this is where mad men belong

madmen belong in your arms

the slow slide
down from the stars above. love,

it leaves so fast,
grows so quickly cold.

she had looked into the shark's dead eyes
and found the friend
that waits in silent shadows

that draw the dying
inside themselves and into

the lone, solitary ring
of the cold church bells song.

Sylvia stared with dead eyes
and rode the white horse of death into the fire.

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

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

bicycle by your side
hands tied
arms and legs askew
faceless man
who are you?

what did you do?
who weeps for you?
who loves you?
children, any?
father?
son?
who put the gun to the head
of the faceless man of BUCHA?

lying in the ruins of the street
what horrible creatures did you see
in that last, darkening light
of BUCHA?

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.

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.

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.

if a person is famous
they name a bridge after you or
a street

at least a rest stop
on the turnpike

greatness

however

is a different matter ...


melodious percussion

the guitar player
in dark sunglasses
wearing a fedora hat
the brim pulled down

the vocalist
with a voice
like rain


you find greatness
in the strangest of places

a pint of bourbon
a poem

or

at
a strip mall on rt. 9

an old man discovers a ghost in the closet

but in the mirror a young boy smiles.

I.

she lives in one of the crummy rooms
down the hall
in the building
where the rats run and tumble
through its terrible walls
like children at play

she has intimate conversations

with saints
and pigeons
and the daffodils in the park
and the rats in the walls
and late at night
with her dead daughter

her boots echo down the hall
she's going to clean the gutters of trash
and feed the cats
I watch from my window
the cats come running from the abandoned church
hundreds come running
the kids call her cat queen
i call her savior

II.


I still hear those boot steps
when the air turns cold
and lakes freeze
and her ghost tells me
people die the way they live
and through the looking glass
down the rabbit hole
we'll all go


III.


there in this concrete
in that crummy room
was the thief that hunts my dreams

but you were something gentle and kind
a brightness in the projects

a caring heart
a loving soul
in this city where there were few

it is a cold january night.

I walk into the bar.

it is "Beach Night", and
ed maloney has trucked in
3 hundred pounds
of sand...
2 drunks are
trying to build
sand castles.

the bartender 's girl friend
is howling to
"the werewolves of London."

the bartender bob has
a mouth full
of tequila
and a lit pack of matches,
he sprays the tequila
setting a pack of napkins
on fire.

crazy george is swinging
from the wagon wheel
light fixture.

ed Maloney yells
something
but jumps
grabbing
the other side of the
wagon wheel light
and the wagon wheel light fixture
and crazy George
and ed Maloney
come crashing down
into a pile.

it is the one bar
that
ed couldn't be
thrown out of.

he owned it.

ed had stolen
thousands of dollars
from the company he work
for.

(the rumor was the company
was the
CIA)

the company
couldn't figure out how
he did it
so they paid him
100 thousand dollars
to tell them
how he did it.

"how did you do it?"
I asked.

"ghosting the darkling"
is all he said.

he always said ghosting the darkling
whether it was the company,
the bar,

life.

That's what he
called it,

GHOSTING THE DARKLING...

                         *    **
The brush stroke of a genius is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are
Absolutely True...

(that's my story,
anyway...)

they drink flat beer
while standing in the rain
waiting for 30 to1 shots
to come in

they meet at airport terminals
waiting for different flights
promising to meet again
next summer

they leave the mad house sane
and carry bibles in the ghetto
and run for president
to change things
for the better
for a change

they are poor black children
in a toy store
on a white
very white
Christmas eve

they

the wind blows them away

150 elk

tall grass

cool mountain breeze

open window

a cold breeze

a dusty box and a poem in a book


50 years his ashes blown by the winds

who remembers norman morrison?

the children who write with chalk
on the sidewalks
don't

nor the ****** 
who walk 42nd street in the rain

manamarra and westmoreland

he s not
one of their nightmares
any longer and

jerry rubin has too much on his mind:
college speaking dates
stocks and bonds

his shadow
long scrubbed from
the steps of the pentagon


norman kissed his wife and daughter
good bye

doused himself with gasoline
and set himself on fire
on the steps of the pentagon

he cried out in pain

like a mother screams
giving birth

like a baby cries being born and

when the sun rises

all the flowers

of the field

weep
who remembers?

and
when she left
hemingwey

ernest put the barrel
of a shotgun
in his mouth

big toe
in the trigger ...

line and color
at the tip
of his brush
van gogh
knew her intimately...

ravel
felt her with his heart
and composed
the piano concerto for
the left hand...

and his dead hands
and with his dead hands
still clutching a book of poems by Keats
shelly slept with her
on the sands of Italy...

the wolf and the elk
blood and bone

a savage
animal
she is
when taken
for granted

the night
jumps from
the wall

and...

she walks
8th avenue
in the rain
and snow

beauty always
has her price
(usually 20 and up
depending on
what you want)

some
float
up

slowly

the wind taking his hair
the wind blowing through him
skin and bone
the wind whistling through his teeth

some ride into the abyss

some are bounded
to cling to the earth,
rock and soil

some hang on to the edge

some ride the wild wind
into the Abyss

some see the river and fish

some rise up
when the lonely one asks for the them

does the abyss wait for you,
or did an angel come for you, brother

and if the earth is but a grain of sand
in the vastness of all the grains of sand
on all the beaches of an unfolding soul
drifting into the ripples of time,

I need to know, Lord?

the box

my brother on the dining room table.
ashes and memories.

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 with angels whispering in our ears
all we knew was love.

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.

george collects baby doll heads

my guestion to george,

do you cut the baby doll heads
off the dolls?

fallow moon
lifeless moon
on the rise
over the ocean

we take off our clothes
to dance in moonlight pale

and i lay my shirt
and pants
and her blouse
and skirt
across the sand
and hold her hands
as she flows down
like water

her legs spreading,
an ace high
straight flush
fanned  across
life's gambling  table

and then
the ebb and flow
like the ocean

deep and faster
dancing
to the rhythm of the earth

primordial beasts
we are
organic and carbon
howling at the moon

fallow moon
heartless moon

there s a death that waits
in the pale moon light

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

the diver pulled
the body from the lake
his limp arms
kept falling off the stretcher
a tall black boy
about 7 or 8 years old
motionless and staring
through me and the others
through the green treetops
and the painted sky
through his mother’s tears

the ambulance slowly
drove away
and  we went back to our games
and joey and I made a house
out of a big
cardboard box
and everything I said
was so funny
to joey
and when joey said
anything
I laughed
and all we could do
was run and laugh
until joey’s mom
called him for dinner
and he left

the sky turned dark
darker than i had ever seen it
and i climbed into our
cardboard house
lit a candle
the rain hit the cardboard roof hard
the wind blew
and the candle flickered
out

summer was over



                        
                        
       ­               

                      
,

the pram gliding across the lake

water lilies in bloom

summer

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

the nights grow long
in summer
in sauk rapids
minnesota

an empty pocket book
put on a corner on main street  
she was standing across the street

watching
laughing
smirking

and this is how I met Sarah

a storm of unshed tears
in the stillness of her eyes
but that smile sweet
sweet smile
and you know
you re her only one

and after 4 weeks
in sauk rapids
we knew each others secrets

the midges danced
above the field of wheat
"just say that you love me," she says.
and she began unbuttoning her red flannel shirt
and after
we climbed the town water tower naked
and howled with the wolves

captured in that moment
of sunlight fading
she taught me
all I'd ever need to know...


...I see you sitting beneath the dog wood tree,
whispering leaves
falling all around you
and you are humming softly

the chiming of church bells is calling

we ll meet again at the end of time
my love
and walk across the sun

staring out the window,
I remember you as you were

a bird always in flight

a fist full of tomorrows
held in the palm of your hand

staring out the window at the pouring rain
the warmth of your hand
pinions of a dove's wing
your hand in mine

I will not see the shadow
under your smile


gathering all the light in the room
like a flower in the sun

I remember you as you were

the bow
touches
the strings
of the violin

one note,
one song.