moving inland far away from
the coast temptation doth bring
deeper in land the head seems consumed by everything

nearing the coast it's the heart that sings

though inland, my love, you will find me

away from the bogs or the shoals o' herring

holding you at bay with *****

keeping me next to me

wanting tomorrow to be the better day

my mind, an island for tromping shores
different from desert sands
when the tide of your concern reprimands

on this island the shells
are smaller and there are no dollars,  
the sea, a shrunken plastic expanse of
syringes and lip balm containers,
soft fluid-filled bodies turned into
sopping brown-bag skeletons,

revenges
of modern life.

there is a rivulet further up shore

do you feel it?

follow the inlet wind

near a candescent pond

there is a house

open the door

if you fall in

a home can be found.

i wish i could love you like a
radio hairdo

i wish i could have one

in a similar style

i wish i could hold you

out of my sight

like a radio hairdo
a total joy

i wish
we could go on like this

like light waiting for destruction

we could go on

staying apart liek

this  

like a radio hairdo

but in a similar style

for real.

you can sing with us

but do you know the songs?

you can drum with us but

is the circle broken?

where is smiling crow

where is steals horses

where is william strong bow?

he is with billy the long nose

[no, he really has a big nose (and a short fuse)]

there is one,
some say she kills the song,
but she is at each gathering

never misses a beat,
she loves to sing

sneaking up on us like a
grey hawk,
she swoops down,
missing her prey,

she'll be back,
watch-out!

the circle is bigger or smaller,
we decide,

everyone wants to
be close to the host,
to be the lead
to drum in the inner circle

how can we be so many?

we need to take turns

those who are close to the center know,

listen to them when they speak,

they don't tell.

i had this poem in my head

and no, it's never coming back

i have this image in my mind

and it has disappeared forever

i have this feeling

but it just won't go

i have this feeling

it doesn't leave

its a feeling like you have left,

i see you leave,

you are walking away

you walk down the stairs to the train

a siren sounds,

people pass,

a taxi honks

you are gone.

i am sick

i drank too much

i imagine dying

alone writing this poem

wondering if

someone will know

what i mean.


i know where you live,

i have your phone number

i send you emails

still i don't see you.

i call you, you answer, i ask,

can we meet any closer

than how i'm feeling right now?

too interested
in what is being put into my mouth
to listen to hard knocks

too  muted to deaden my tone

soft walls are what I need

I could put up textured paper
with simple tacks

from floor to ceiling

but would that help?

Hollo!

has gone to ground

urinating on the floor

dug in by fear

I should have broke from under my covers
and run riot at the scent of death by now

I once read, a hound that lacks
drive is apt to dwell

not stuck in a house,
putting up pictures

or breaking in blankets

not waning and whimpering like I'm doing now

here's a scene,
you are young
I am old,
we walk to the park,
light sparkles on a dithering pond
undecided
we try and waltz
through an interpreter
we watch each other
and
laugh

The good verb “conn”

supersedes nounsies that say much the same

they leave their mark
and their stain.


organelles are found in living cells

but bacteria is barely surviving -

gasping, respire, respiring

god will swallow death as sure as sheol

still,

the microbes must thrive

one sloppy, the other ill


a slender hand of steel

excites it,

like the splendor of redwood mounted on peach

a cleavage emerges  (causing a **** to swell)

increasing her capacity for desire

a seeker of truth now bound for duluth?

caught in an ice floe
preoccupied by the last degree

pulling shoals
of distance below,

the south pole is now our goal,

we land on land beyond sea

and space

where a wise man plays fool
to a young girl's angel face  -  

     as an aside: he likes her
     but she is not attracted to men or goys,

scattering the cremains
of
a nobody's boy
(a boy we tried to revive many a time)

into a river where the river never ends

he remains  

sinking into darkness,

adrift in a pit
of lips of labrum

down the chosen depths

of the frozen abyss of Tehom