Elan that lifts me above the clouds
into pure space, timeless, yea eternal
Breath transmuted into words
                Transmuted back to breath
        in one hundred two hundred years
nearly Immortal, Sappho's 26 centuries
of cadenced breathing -- beyond time, clocks, empires, bodies, cars,
chariots, rocket ships skyscrapers, Nation empires
brass walls, polished marble, Inca Artwork
of the mind -- but where's it come from?
Inspiration?  The muses drawing breath for you?  God?
Nah, don't believe it, you'll get entangled in Heaven or Hell --
Guilt power, that makes the heart beat wake all night
flooding mind with space, echoing through future cities, Megalopolis or
Cretan village, Zeus' birth cave Lassithi Plains -- Otsego County
        farmhouse, Kansas front porch?
Buddha's a help, promises ordinary mind no nirvana --
coffee, alcohol, *******, mushrooms, marijuana, laughing gas?
Nope, too heavy for this lightness lifts the brain into blue sky
at May dawn when birds start singing on East 12th street --
Where does it come from, where does it go forever?

                                                May 1996

A gangly youth with his dangling
Truths
Star Spangled
Flagpole
In the far corner

Summer nudists'
Cabins'
Cafeteria

Ladies not biting
Their webs
To his fly

Now noticing the nudist
Silver Theme
As daddy foxy
Ladies
are not goyles

Most nudists are old
And have let go
Fat shaming jokes
Turns into a game
Yo mama
so....

Cougar sells
Her Jaguar / Grand Prix
She so cougar
She's an expensive lease

For summer nights
Crap shot
Tossing
Fun
waste of time,

A gangly youth
Will spill
The truth
His danglings
Dip and spit
Viscous
Losing your ******
you
Star spangled
Flagpole

Can only tell
The honest erecting
The hard evidence
UFO sightings
Full
proof

It's in the pudding
Truth is ecstasy
Speaking deep inside
The gangly kid now
A wrangling man
Lassos a harem in his pants

His dangling truths did just fine

Gangly youth drunk off
Silken wines divine
Moist of kiss
Passion blooms
of touch

Honestly, the truth is

Quivering love
My Inner howl
Feel the earth move

Under my feet
Truth is

'will

always run to you...

Having tripped over your
head, moving hands over
white plates in real time.
Gone cross eyed staring
at the tip of your nose
meditating madness.
Insightful as a cardboard
box repeatedly stabbed
by a pen for light-letting,
pinhead portals of a brain's
final oxegenation.
More trading balance with
less, a genderless news
anchor signing off the air.

morning
    karma
       luck
        day
         job
         try
       wife
      heart
  evening
      effort
      work
      night
  ­       bye

none
of
which
are
good
any
more

- p. winter

All I have is a photograph
and a blank page with your name,
our lives have clearly changed,
but my heart still feels the same.

So I write down a few scattered lines,
and add a chord or two,
just trying to make new memories of you.

I'll play this song beneath the stars,
watch it dance into the sky.
If on the wind my words do fly,
then you'll hear my lullaby.

Will you look above and think of me
as a shooting star breaks through,
maybe words will make wishes come true.

Now I have a brand new page
with a picture, poem, and song.
I know it's been so long,
but my love's still standing strong.

If a picture paints a thousand words
then this poem will never do,
but I want to make new memories with you.

You packed for a picnic
Or a day in the sun
Now it’s time to pack it back
Whenever you are done.
Nobody cares what kind
Of drinks or junk you buy.
They care about the beauty
Of land and sea and sky.

You packed it in
So you pack it back.
Bring along with you
An extra ******* sack.
Care for our environment
As if it were your own.
We all live on this planet
You are not here alone.

Look around at where we live
What you can do to conserve
The wonders in nature.
Don’t throw us all a curve.
Pack back out what you bring in;
The right thing to do.
We are responsible adults
Not here to clean for you.

You packed it in
So you pack it back.
Bring along with you
An extra ******* sack.
Leave like you want to see it,
Think of more than just you.
Care for our environment
It’s the right thing to do.

Destroyed city scapes lifted from concrete prisons,
old white men in traditional Native-American headdress,
a broken sky with holes dropping satan-spawn...

Flowers turning to sickly people,
their petals becoming their bodies,
their stems becoming their eyes,
their pollen becoming polluting coughs.

Eyes crying infected blood,
teeth dripping sour milk,
stomachs shouting for more bread crust,
hands becoming stubs,
unable to grasp the meaning of life.

Noses expelling gastric juices,
legs becoming hairy arms,
hairy arms becoming the nostrils,
does becoming pointed talons,
clawing away at the filaments,
of flesh and bone.

There is always method
to my madness.