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i love poetry
death or the watch
stops ticking

which ever comes

in the south,
the drawl is just one
of many a
sad love song


a trickery,
it’s a
rhythm rustler,
rhythm hustler,
a vipers innocuous,
a woman’s poem
poisonous spoken

this fool northern boy,
lay on the grass,
at her feet,
cause he loves listening
to the drip drip,
of the warming venom
seeping in to his cold,
codified northern veins
and his fooling ways
i’m the man who’s gonna wake up next to you

slipping away, a non-starter, her leg crosses over mine,
a right sided shakedown shackle, adhesion flesh as
tough as old yellowed scotch tape sticking stuck

no escaping, a known 6:00am risk when you sleep with
a pre-advertised holy roller, twist and turner woman,
making you into an unofficial woe-man (too)

left hand grabs the lamenting instrument, the beat up iPad,
to record your enslavement, a distraction from the bladder’s
faint morn winking at you with a Cheshire grin, muffling a
chuckle, at a predicament wonderful familiar, but unresolvable

this situation, a category of life’s small measure of annoyances,
invokes the wordy title, and a write-down list of pluses and minuses,
which I’ll spare which o’witch be the longer list

poems are where you find them, under your nose,
looking out a city bus window, but sometimes like flypaper,
they just come unasked and stick to you, the separating of the skin,
like a too tight bandaid, ain’t worth the pain and freedom gained

later, share this missive and her suggestion, she will prepare an
NDA (a non-disclosure agreement)  or adopt other strategies like
pushing me out of the bed without warning when i am typing ,
to witch and to wit, reply,
another poem commissioned, and

perhaps, name change too, needed,
making love in the morning

been awhile, since kept my named promise,
but here I am writing about planting, love making,
one of which I’ve got a small amount of almost expired experience
that still asks to be shared & sharing, whom am I to say nooooo

late August, and the hush all over the place,
in the sad notes of chilling & distilling the seasons fantasy,
summer will be forever here, escape to the sea sunroom visionary,
the ceiling fan whirring low and slow, should the heat increase,
onerous march of dimes times suspended here, almost,
hoping the heat will increase, and those negative
dropped acorn hints, early falling leaves, crumbs of nooooo

when we make love in the afternoon

will pour a little sugar on you honey, it will be a viscous wall
to hold back change, sticking everything in its place, “as is”
just as it exists at this precise second, wearing manly summer pink,
every day and no one thinks it strange, everything’s green
though rain is forbidden here like in Camelot + the sound of noooo

more is swallowed up in ooooohs and ahs, and if making love
in the morning, afternoon and all evening is what it takes to
stop time, to seize this day as a permanent forever day,
no sacrifice to great, no none, no nope, yes to nooooo...
August 24, 2019
for & with you
there is no new, only renewal:
the space between brain and mind

the harder shell a skulking humanizing container,
the neuronic heart cells,
brain stem and heart bloodstream
deny the newness of no new claim

the tower of ourselves built on the babble
of old images and read readings,
songs in seconds recognized by just the first two notes,
the point is this when do you become a grownup,
when new is but renewal, with a hint, a pinch,
of a new insight maybe recognized

now, how will you know me new when your eyes
search the iron bank cellar, where,
by voice deep, by fuzzy photographs, what tissues will connect
when the new sight knows me from too many old poems/songs?

!when the babies gather round for lifting up, sky scratching,
when the old man grand father, carries three upon his back,
a nonpareil horsey ride,
when the doorbell rings
I’m older than now, you’ll say,
read your wild mercury back pages,
taking the grays of our mutually curly
Medusa locks as a renewal gift offering
that will someday
match mine!
for any greek god or goddess you may happen to know
arrested and defeated,,
my fated causality,
by mine own hand done in,
'twas the death I ordained,
when to the addiction of ego,
I did, did I,
surrender and concede
Nov. 2017
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)

is my reciprocal

her waist is my happy place

her neck is my doorway

the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses

unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy

for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house

for ever(y) mirror is pre-positioned,
accidentally angled just so, lol,
her image transported from living room to dining alcove
all the way to the kitchen’s bleacher seats

she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m swelling and

eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity

she smiles and says  
“good morning bad boy”

maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing

she is 1/me
she is won over me
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