Amorous sparrow
Does a tree branch song 'n dance,
Female weighs option.

Gout tongued,
Mind numb,
Van Gogh eared,
Vanity blind,
Tooo many I's,
Not enough eyes.
Angst lip deep
In this guano cave
That vibrates
With unrequited
LUV cantos .

guilt is a homing pigeon,
with a miraculous sense of direction.

Skyward streak of light,
Sun glints off satellite,
Marionette play.

How amiss
could Eros' arrow that would pierce two hearts with love -
to the 'morrow?

Leading sounds of spring
Are now preceding the season.
Scattered platoons of yardmen
clunk aluminum ladders
that thunk debris littered roof gutters,
bang a size range of galvanized nails
into an exterior catalogue of materials
needing attentive appending.
The leaf blowers, the leaf blowers
exhausting NASCAR level roars
attempting to push back
last fall/winter into their calendared slots.
And the first nice day Harleys
rumble distantly along the gorge road below.

Have you noticed the old pagan gods
are in fashion this year?
It's like that hemline thing,
a rising economy
raises all skirts.

Hear the hounds
I among them,
hillock,
brook,
hedge.
You've out foxed us,
but I live in hope
to get you yet!

This Pribilof of squirming words!
Washed by a raging sea of blues,
Thousands of big eye pups alone,
Face monitors in glowing light,
Hunt and peck their bleeding hearts,
Until this seething e-mound is awash in dread.
Oh god Thesaurus you do reign, rain,
You have no mercy for those well read.
Will someone please surcease your Siren call.
A blade, a knife, and a dagger too,
Anything to sever their pluck harp cords
that fret a morass of woe-been-done-wrong torment.

Her brain,
miswired
in the way a microphone
feeds it's amp's audio gain,
infinitely looping
loopiness,
with ever madding annoyance
until madness has only itself
to entertain.

logs 'n lime mortar,
the cabin hearth - dry stack stone,
screen porch - mountain view.

His name was Earl,
but everyone in town called him "The bicycle man."
He was hip before hippies were tie dyed,
a  bohemian of sorts, a loner, a quiet man.
Lived out at the edge of town in a self made house,
some would call it a shack.
Ole Earl use to scare me a bit
with his gray beard, deep set gray eyes,
low deep voice and the clothes he weared,
But I learned a life lession from that man.
He said, looking up, "See these here spokes,"
pointing to the spinning wheel of my three geared bike,
"they's all got to be in off set tension or else the rim will be warped."
I've noticed over the years that rule applies to a lot more things than wheels.

I'm a bit of an agnostic,
sounds a little weasely I know,
But god in addressing you
should i be using a cap G
or lower case g?
As a compromise for this conversation
let's agree
you get a small g and i get small i.
If you've been monitoring events down here
you know we have some not small problems,
and one of those problems you could easily solve by making an appearance.
Nothing apocryphal,
maybe a United Nation speech
to seven billion hearts 'n minds,
and as proof its really you,
you could cause peace to reign,
cure hunger,
call off heart disease and cancer,
for a statistically significantly period,
let's say three years.
What's in it for you?
How about that capital "G"?

I saw the best behinds of my generation destroyed by muffins,
strudel hydrolyzed aphids dragging themselves through Chicano streets at dawn for tickets to fix,
bagel headed tipsters yearning for flagrant connection to the sorry dim sum macarena nights ...

*apologies to Allen Ginsberg

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

Hungry eyes are servants to the mind,
and the mind a hollow belly to a caverned beast,
and the beast goat horns the shoulders,
forward, forward in arched knots,
vainly shielding the heart,
and the heart squeezing its tortured eardrums
so as to silence the wailed coveting, the coveting, the coveting...

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

Tenacious ice spike,
A Sun lit jewel at noon,
drip, drip, drip, drip, pool.

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.

I
feel
that
you
felt
down
today,
but
consider
that everyone
can not be an upper.

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.

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?

If I lived in Hawaii
I'd wear a glass skirt,
Panhandle tourists,
or lie on the beach
and get lai-ed by pretty girls.

If I saw your handwriting
would I know
whether you were taught
cursive by nuns
or a teacher
on the public's payroll?
Does your hand calligraphically flow,
from a favorite Mount Blanc pen,
or do you print
using a ******'s pencil
made by the millions
by Chinamen?

There is a light dusting of snow,
and now a light dusting of exhaled me.
The mountain views are spiritual here,
I know you would think the same,
if only I knew the magic spell
to transform my constant thoughts of you
into standing trees,
you would be the lovely forest at my sleeve.

If there be one gift to give
and but one time to receive it,
would it be my promise,
and would that time be now?

If this world has a haven
would it not be more orderly
to demarcate such ordinally,
in place of east & west.
Take Vermont,
one can't crow fly
one Haven to the next
without flying an hour south!

You and I could be lichen.
You'd be algae
and I fungus.
E plural unis.
I would envelop you,
not to smoother,
but to romance, house, protect.
You would photosynthisize the sun
filling our pantry shelves.
Oh, what fun we could have
if we were a lichen.

If you brush my words with butter,
and put them on a roasting rack,
or better yet, why not spit them,
and string them on a brassier's stake,
you'll always get a tasty serving of
"I love you" warmly presented upon your plate.

===

* No greeting cards were printed subsequent to the composition of the above lyrics, but the poet is open to negotiating first print rights with one or more eco friendly greeting card publishers.  Product must contain at least 50% post consumer fiber.  Native labor input would be a plus.

if you like this poem
send a dollar
to my Paypal account.

Paypal is a trademark
owned by Paypal.
A cash cow,
mooing dung piles of lazy loot
tucked away in thousands of accounts
like stormed tossed buccaneer's ate.

if you were born before me,
and i before you,
then today we would be,
the way we will be,
the day after tomorrow.

I had a terrible dream
that I was Ethan Frome
and you lived in Vermont
and it was cold as hell
but you were hot, hot.
You were married and I was not,
or was it I that was married?
"Knock, knock"
"Open up it's the sheriff,
there's been a terrible accident."
"Knock, Knock"

I heard one ole boy,
back in the hills,
chopped a Chrysler Aspen
And married it to a 60's Rambler,
He worshiped that hack,
called it his Asp Ram

I've not heard your voice,
though your written words
vibrate my central chord.

I know not the color of your hair,
nor seen it drape my pillow,
though I'd love to see it there

I know this clearing
where the berries burgeon,
but blind to covetous birds,
though one still hears their sweet rill.
They, the berries, are ripe with sun kiss.
We'll make a day of it.
I'll bring a wine basket, a blanket -
You say,  "I'll find the pails?"
If all goes well,
we'll have little time for them.
Let's be off, my dear.

I'll be Butch Cassidy;
you be the Sundance Kid.
We'll jump together?!!

I long for
the
shortest line
be  
    tween
                the me of me -and- the you of you.

I long for you to be my grape
and I your seed,
or I bee,
and you my honey?

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."

Imagine starting over again,
Imagine a clean slate!
Imagine the possibilities,
Imagine the dread.
Imagine all your sins forgiven,
Imagine having *** tonight,
Yet tomorrow still  a ******.
If you can imagine this
Then you have too much imagination.

The week is weak,
and the morning weaker still,
and you, my dear now slumber in,
while I tossed and turned all night,
upon an imagined pyre of our in flagrante delicto.

I heard you were serving cookies.
We both know i'm a ginger snap.
Know you have a thing for coconut,
but by no means are you a ****.
I was thinking Dutch Bokkenpootjes,
but when transcribed to Goat Feet - just won't due.
Ice cookie would bring ill fame,
Meringue too light,
Lemon curd too sour,
Oat meal too hardy,
I'm thinking chocolate reflecting your darker moods.
I think I have it!
Mint liqueur double chocolate.
Now, do I have your permission to eat you up?

The interval,
sliced, metered, warped,
occilating space time,
the field where we strut
our stuff
for an impermanent
registrar.

Should you ever need
a dust jacket blurb
I'll genulexitize, "ise" if you're British,
your opus work
(sans the redundancy).

I'm shopping for a good death.
I have an unknown, but finite amount of time.
But I've yet to sort and list what a good death may be.
Precipitously quick, and unexpected would be nice.
Clear head pain management would be a god send,
Saying personalized goodbyes to family and friends
Ranks high.
I've read that 100 billion humans have thanotopically bridged that divide.
I pray that when the time comes
I end in the ranks of the top ten.

I'm struggling here,
this is the Muse's night off,
and I so wanted to gift wrap
a few heart stop words
while writing you.

I'm thinking of a week
you and I
on a sugar beach
where every thing is sand, or sways, or blue
except you and I
making love on an oceanside lanai
where the only thing we are denied
is a phone call from home or office.

I'm told it's vile
to pick one's teeth,
but a lodged sesame seed,
caraway, or a tad of compressed nugent,
is another matter,
yet I must confess,
barring an audience before the queen,
I've been known in polite company
to search my inner coat
for a hidden piece of faux whale bone
and merrily go at it.

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

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