I couldn't make up
          my mind today,
        so
    instead of asking for a perm,
           I ordered an imaginary tat
                      that wraps around
           my arm
      extolling
your
        character
                and
                    virtue.

Old men tell stories to recruit the young                                                            ­  
and they listen
'round
that dancing fire,
tales of heroes
that do god's bidding
with swords and holy shield words,
smiting infidels that would, if not stopped,
they're told, "violate our women",
but these very women know all too well
that the morrow will be a land of sorrow,
mounded high with soulless bodies too numerous to tally.

Relaxed,
content,
all the the knots
have lost themselves looking for loose ends,
I fear the muse
will feel her job is done,
and that would mean the end of me as well.

You gave the maid the night off.
You called to say the way was clear.
Your chamber was in adoration light
with tall taper candles, each one lit.
You told me clothing was not optional,
Each of us helped the other to our god given gifts.
You looked up at me and I down at you
What happened next is between me and you.

The simple pleasure of purchasing shoes
that fit like a crown made for your toes,
reminds me of the Philippine First Lady,
Emelda Marcos and her closet of clogs
Some folks are unhappy with their cornucopia filled
and other are content if they get one gild.

If ennui were pie,
we had a good slice of it
in the wee dark
waiting for the last
homing pigeons to arrive
with the latest PR from Jupiter
and how it's the planetary Hoover,
except on occasions
it misses a flot,
and a helluva lot of dinosaurs are vaporized.

While birthdays are a matter of record,
for most of us conception day
is mired in mist,
but if one is a triskaidekaphobic
though sadly born on the 13th,
why not celebrate your inceptionation
on any old date and week.

Is it stalking to drive by a summoned apparition?
Imagining you in the back yard
playing with your old dog,
or walking through the apple orchard
reading a book of my love poems,
or my lifting a phantom shovel to dig you out from under that last storm.

I think of you
at the oddest times,
and the strangest places,
as if I were an air show pilot
with the stick pulled back
and the rudders set in place,
and within that ******, roar, and airframe shake
I notice that in my chest there beats a heart that aches.

I was late,
I missed you,
I waited under the lamp light,
watching my shadow
look up and down the street,
listening,
                 but
                       the
                              barely
                                         audible
                                                        footsteps
                                                  ­                         were yesterday's.

Soon spring will grass,
high snow melt,
creeks and brooks begin to swell,
birds not seen in months
will find the fittest mates,
what then --
will our feet be treading mud,
or be toe to toe beneath the sheets?

Of all the body's
in and outie places
the daffiest part
has got to be
the umbilicus,
how sillycus
to have the mother straw
embedded so very far
from the face's ******* lippicus.

Time and distance has conspired
to make our love brave concertina wire,
while this may be an over statement of our case,
nonetheless, you and I have the wounds to prove it.

To be naked in Eden,
you and I both kneeling before that one apple
with all the creatures of the wild our witness,
I would call upon god for reason
that it is but natural law and right
to devour that which separate the two of us.

Should passion be such
that it drains the sea
then I will find inland lakes
to give to thee.

Should devotion be such
that it exceeds times day
then I will find the extra hour
to give to thee

Should poetry be such
that you need to breathe
then I will lute 'n lyre
and sing to thee.

This spin 'n gyre
has mixed us,
your words and mine,
my morning thoughts of you
and your night thoughts of me.
This poetry centrifuge thing
must surely stop,
or the two of us
will be forever dizzy.

Would you favor me?
Lounge in the chaise by the window
that tapers light inward,
so when you lie back,
without your clothing,
your face, shoulders, arms, nippled *******, belly, and *****
are bathed in natural and trailing light
defining your exquisite form
while shadowing your manifold into eternal mystery.

Is it wanton?
That my eye should drift
upon thy cleavage
while we speak
in Notes of Cliff,
when I pull you down
upon my broad bed
where we studiously study rapture
in the very hour before our test.

What secrets do your lips possess
that in kissing mine
your heart does true confess
that I am *** divine.

once every moon
from thy flesh hilt
my sword draws blood

and

once every moon
my rank renews
as thy lord of the garter

To see art
                    and shed a tear

To view a vista
                              that brings on despair

To meet a woman
                                   and be moved beyond repair.

How you transmute sorrow
into art,
I wish thou art
no more pain
then need requires
to inspire another poem of flaming fire.

Morning sounds remix

cat eating dry food,
refrigerator whir,
large jet five miles out,
cat licking water,
hot coffee sipped,
laptop fan drawing air,
cat brushing pant leg,
dry skin -- lacing fingers,
barely audible -- keyboard keys --

sounds I will funnel
          into a tin,
          place a lid,

rhythmically spice shake the tumult with one hand while
clank, clank  - syncopate - clank  syncopate -- clank, clank with a stick.

my thoughts
bread you daily
as if you were breast of chicken
and I were battered cornmeal.

Today I saw a bead of birds strung close,
each to each and two by two,
along a power line
that connected me to you.

Similes are weak
like a rusted link in a chain,
stronger with authority, the metaphor,
that hammers iron into maille.

Would that life could be this simple,
that a poet could dip his pen,
write a poem that paid his mortgage princ'ple.

From the 8th floor
I can hear an ambulance siren
wailing the boxed night,
who is inside is out of sight,
a heart attack, a street fight?
Somewhere in that labyrinth down there
is a masked doctor,
a pair of surgical gloves,
and a sharp knife.

In a clearing,
amongst the scran 'n frame
of winter's naked trees
that bow this way 'n that
to the capricious wind,
sits the screen house
all closed in with its seasonal wrap,
plastic sheeting translucent like an iced lake,
but vertical and wavy
when the breeze blows through here,
but inside the sun gathers
to collect itself in its own pleasure
and asks the question,
"Why is it so cold out there?"

===
* My best friend from Maine emailed me
a photo of his screen house in winter that
he built on his fifty acre property with a view
of the coast 8 miles away.

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the boots you'll be shinning?

Am I the rut you want your wheels in, Darlin'
Am I the Harley you want to be riding?

Am I the guy you want to hang your love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the mountain you want climbing,
Am I the trail you want to be hiking

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the buckle you'll be shinning?

Am I the boots you'll be pull'in
Am I the song you'll be sing'in

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you will take your name?

I know that I'm the guy that needs your love'in
Will you take my name?
Darlin', will you take my name?

====
* I ain't no song writer, so have at it.  
Don't be bashful, you got any advice
on improving this ballad plez post,
including take that dang ditty out and bury the **** thang.

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the boots you'll be shinning?

Am I the rut you want your wheels in, Darlin'
Am I the Harley you want to be riding?

Am I the guy you want to hang your love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the mountain you want climbing,
Am I the trail you want to be hiking

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the buckle you'll be shinning?

Am I the boots you'll be pull'in
Am I the song you'll be sing'in

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you will take your name?

I know that I'm the guy that needs your love'in
Will you take my name?
Darlin', will you take my name?

====
* I ain't no song writer, so have at it.  
Don't be bashful, you got any advice
on improving this ballad plez post,
including take that dang ditty out and bury the **** thang.

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the boots you'll be shinning?

Am I the rut you want your wheels in, Darlin'
Am I the Harley you want to be riding?

Am I the guy you want to hang your love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the mountain you want climbing,
Am I the trail you want to be hiking

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the buckle you'll be shinning?

Am I the boots you'll be pull'in
Am I the song you'll be sing'in

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you will take your name?

I know that I'm the guy that needs your love'in
Will you take my name?
Darlin', will you take my name?

====
* I ain't no song writer, so have at it.  
Don't be bashful, you got any advice
on improving this ballad plez post,
including take that dang ditty out and bury the **** thang.

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the boots you'll be shinning?

Am I the rut you want your wheels in, Darlin'
Am I the Harley you want to be riding?

Am I the guy you want to hang your love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the mountain you want climbing,
Am I the trail you want to be hiking

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you want for your last name?

Am I the belt loops for you, Darlin'
Am I the buckle you'll be shinning?

Am I the boots you'll be pull'in
Am I the song you'll be sing'in

Am I the guy you want to hang love on, Darlin'
Am I the guy you will take your name?

I know that I'm the guy that needs your love'in
Will you take my name?
Darlin', will you take my name?

====
* I ain't no song writer, so have at it.  
Don't be bashful, you got any advice
on improving this ballad plez post,
including take that dang ditty out and bury the **** thang.

What do you say
when you have nothing to add
and silence doesn't seem quiet enough,

and the light through the window
dances on dust,

What do you say,
what do you say

when your bones are feeling like rust,
and your mind has two feet in the clay?

What do you say,
what do you say,
what do you say,

when taking the measure of each of your days
and there are many not stacking up?

What do you say,
What do you say?

===
* I ain't no song writer, so have at it.  
Don't be bashful, you got any advice
on improving this ballad plez post,
including take that dang ditty out and bury the **** thang.

If I had but one unqualified wish
I'd wish for N more,
and, of course, my dear,
I would split the lot with you.
Now the question,
would your first wish
make me your handsome prince,
an apple picker in the orchard of your eye,
or would you use one to magic wand  
a village stud to come and clear your snowy drive?

As lovers we've learned
that you are the immovable object,
and I the irrepressible force,
though our ****** subduction truly terrifies the natives,
and has spun much aboriginal lore,
they credit us with Monsooning the weather,
but looking back, my dear, see the adorable mountains we've made.

I'm your on call lover,
made to order.
I bring your heart to flutter,
your place, my place,
It doesn't matter.

I look to you to be a courtesan,
and not just in the bedroom arts,
there is great depth in this craft and calling,
how to conduct the delicate tête à tête,
stirring envy without rancor,
there is politics to master,
who is in and who is out,
and whose nose grows longer with every joust 'n bout,
the arts, must of course be mastered,
music, poetry, and painting
you must teach yourself beyond the basics
while leaving it to those that profess it their profession,
and there is the necessity of fashion
in polite manners, dress, and current bob 'n coif
so all eyes will rise when down the stairs you descend,
and then there's men,
study me, my dear, and to them, "amen."

When the night takes you
into it's dark and mysterious embrace,
and you travel ever downward
through chambers that have never seen
the sun's glowing face,
and faceless archangels carry you
bedeviled place to place,
and you tango, allegretto
with Dante in his chamber space,
and you wake breathless
with an ashen face,
It's my desire to be pillow side
kiss your forehead,
hold you close, reassure you,
that once again you're now safe.

When I read your poems
I feel that I've slipped into your mind,
where all the mysteries lie
of which you speak
As if you've parted silken sheets.

You and smile
are synonymous.
When I think of you
a nimbus crown appears 'round my head,
How can this be,
when we've never met?
Oh, baby, baby,
let's take a ***** and bury "yet"?

I send you a white dove, my love,
in bits 'n bytes, not very romantic,
though when carefully reconstructed
a key to liberate thy chastity, I'm unrepentant.

Let my words be fingers
to take the tension from your neck,
to ease your shoulders from the day just spent,
with hands and arms to embrace your waist,
and trace the contour of your hips,
and continue thus along your thighs,
with your hands meeting mine,
divine, we will make this hour,

In the privacy of your lavorium,
in the glowing candles,
in the sensually scented air,
in the rising moisture,
in the warm embrace of your bath,
in these pleasures,
I am.

Take these words
and pleasure thyself,
I will be your moan.

Upon all things holy,
you are my altar,
before thee I bend.

I pray,
I pray that prayers are heard,
I pray that prayers are heard
though I expect, nor want an act or answer,

I pray for myself,
I pray for myself to be a better instrument
to navigate beyond myself

to explore the vastness of creation,
to scout, at least in thought

beyond the planets,
beyond the galaxy,
beyond the milky way

to entertain even thoughts beyond the universe itself,

and I pray to know the small
that lies within and outside my walls,

I pray to be worthy of self love,
so I can love you purely,
this I pray.

The distant train whistles,
the lap ***** purrs,
in low light, before me
my fingers dance like two spiders
typing,
"Good night, dear."

Within the night Ravel's Bolero,
within that arcuate tremble,
within that instant passion fuse,
within that instantaneous release
release of self.
relief,
No I, no I, no i,
The bliss, the bliss, that is now us, and that lacuna moment.

Spaces,
Angular oasis,
Fracture framed,
And rectilinear,
Mitered,
Metered,
Measured
And
Meticulous.