Doubt I’m the one to ask
For what to say to your kid.
Waiting to be a kid no more.
A hard spot, for both of us.  
Far from advice, not only wrong,  
but ignored before forgotten.
They’ll find their own truths
The heritage of
Years and tears.
Only friends only friends
Only they
Don’t mind what’s said.
With flesh and bone  
worth  
so ****** much more
Than gold.
To get by, you’ve got
To try  
things you’re told.
And hear  
how many times that
The ice you’re walking on
Is this ****** thin.
Should you decide sometime
To give in and look
back, maybe what I say  
will be mostly true.  There is
more luck needed than
ever ever you get.

Imagine me,
my hair combed
back like a row
of raked hay.
Imagine me,
smiling like
I knew some
secret seen only
by the trees.
Imagine me,
feeling so limber
I could reach the sky
from here.
Imagine me,
heel against the
wall, foot lifted
like a stork
so satisfied and
hard to
wait for what will
happen next
in the day.
Imagine me,
heart so big
when walking by,
the road would
turn to gold.
Imagine me, soul solid,
swinging to a tune
gliding
on the dance
floor.

Thanks don’t buy bread
Sorry ain’t going to
get me high.  Let my
friends alone you want
Me off your sidewalk.
My heart is black as
your espresso.
I want to rise above
the Metro’s airflow. You
can eat your
ticket to a business
class.
I need a soak
The river doesn’t
need oil from
your pleasure boat.
Hell might be
Colder than
my **** on the
ground this
winter.  Wrap
Yourself in velvet
inside the walnut
coffin.  It might
smooth
the  bumps along
the asphalt  heading
to the cemetery.

You can see him now.
Or anytime for a while.
I may not care about
anyone including myself.
But, I remember him earning
two bits an hour
and before christmas
some more.
Sweeping the shop
once the barber
was paid and the
customer trudged
through the
falling snow.
I can see him now
you said.
I wonder if the thin
pull over, once white,
its weave, full, but wrung
on the
porch wash tub between
wood rollers until loose
at the collar and grey
in its color.
I can see his face
without knowing how
it feels in the locked
glass case at the
postal office, staring
out, no reward offered.
I can see you too.
It is beyond even a
single tear, so many
already dried like his
shirt that hung, until
he woke, a white flag,
Oh I mean gray
giving up in one
way but, in another,
running from
the misdemeanors or
whatever they rate them.
On some numbered
road until he is
ripped away like the
piece of clothing
dry on the line.
And on the straw
bed, until released
from laboring,
supervised only in
his body but not
his mind.

It kept burning.
one candle that
held the wish.
maybe to keep
the others from
the dark.
A shrug unapparent
to most,
for the gift
with your name
on it.
Maybe to build
humility.
A heart may
hold me along
with another.
One
anxious child
amongst the smiling waves
on the gangplank
shudders, color of
the white life saver.
Maybe it hangs like
decoration not
to bob in the cold
ocean.

I think all will  
again be well when
the garden begun
before unforcasted
change have you
Back again to then
connect
The dreams of your
Father and talents
of the family.
I think that the
direction can be changed
releasing in
centrifugal loss  
that not needed,
to become more  
like Saturn, in
a ring about the planet.
I think you will,
once the swirling air
settles, know  
why you were called
then, for no more
than one clear minute.
And that moment
Is maybe more but
no less than
nights, than mornings
and in between,
spent in the
eye of the hurricane,
grasping for an
answer to  
hold on to.

You can shake free
Get away from
Someone's wrong
reality
You can go your
Way
Don’t care about what
They say
You’re gonna get there
You’re gonna get better

Take that walk up
It’s not that much
but only yours.
It’s your chair and
Your air, give it
Your touch, why
Rush, you’re
Gonna get there
You’re gonna get better

Take that brush, take
That light, make the
Life you’ve thought
About. Crumple the
paper, pitch the verse
Try again, so its you,
And No-one else
You’re gonna get there
You’re gonna get better.

It’s a revelation or
Maybe simple
Information.  You
Work, you think,
You strum, the night
Comes quick and
Tomorrow you’ll
Learn another trick.
You’re gonna get there
You’re gonna get better.

With the blinds
half open, the office
is cool, in the after
noon.  
There is
little money now,
less than even last
year.  
At least the
fair is opening.
A day, a night
with twirled
candy.
I’ll drive,
no I will.
The conversation
has not changed
since last year.
I wonder why
the flag’s
half high
where
the school’ll
be empty
for a month
or more.  
I hope the
aproned gal
will serve
the lunch just
the same as
last year.

Just in case, you know
what I mean, before
I die, I want
to live in a beautiful
place. Just in case.

Before I can do
no more, you know
what I mean.  I want
to explain myself
through my acts.  Just
in case.  

Just in case,
I want to zero out
the mistakes.  If they
will be re-lived,
you know what I mean,

Just in case, I want
to have a wish, like
finishing what won’t
be otherwise done.

I don’t know what
it is and shouldn’t.
Still, just in case,
you know what I mean,
I want
to take communion,
before I die.

Before I die
I want to unclear
my thoughts.
You know what
I mean, with a
fine cocktail,
a breeze on
the terrace,
A sun that
rises and sets
without telling
what comes next.

It isn’t anything more
than you know.

It is not
questions with
unwanted answers.

No, it is not wanting
to be in love,
not here in this place
and not in paris
either.

Unlike the past,
the future is clear.
Unlike
being in love, you are
someone
you once wanted to be.

Seeing you through
a sealed window,
holding a ticket
to a true one.  
I stay on the ground,
looking  
without
sorrow from rented
rooms
waiting for
the next waves
across
the boardwalk and
sand
and not wondering
how
a heart will break
tomorrow.

I don’t know how
many years it would
have been.  For you
to put me In my place.
You know, from a
corner around which
you just don’t see.
I don’t know how anyone
might be so complacent.
You know to take for
granted that what was
said was lost or you know
overlooked by
someone like me who
cannot hear.
I don’t know how many
re-runs it would be
to eventually find  
someone
better, much more
creative than grasping.
You know, less shallow,
less noise to announce
the pleasantly perfect day.

To have you waiting
In the getaway car
I’d break the bank.

To have the daughter
Of the air pose
On the boulder below
I’d dive from the cliff
just for you to see.

And with only one
president in my
pocket I take
a risky bet
to pay
your gin tab,
as it lays
upon the
wood bar counter.

You’d always ask to
show you something
When there’s nothing
else to see
except to
guide the bankers
to my grave, singing
a closer walk with
me.

Whatever I’ve
learned from you
has been like
a breeze in
the linen drape,
It starts, and when
It’s done,
I both
know and don’t
know what it
ends up meaning.

I know that shape
It is you, no other

I like that hat
If your eyes are under

I see that light
Now all is right

I hear that voice
Please be my chorus

With your step
There goes my breath

I feel that touch
Ne’er be enough

When you smile
I’m in your jail

I know what’s bliss
In but one kiss.

Since it is true
I’d not written.
though may be
you know
how reminders
telling paper and
ink of the letter,
go missing.
I won’t say
There’s no other
Word for love
Cause it must not
be part of the
air
between you and
someone who
might
also be there.
There was
Never a scribble
whatever my will
hoping you’d
see me,
as though we
were,
lovers still.
True to a
holiday dream
where
we are forever
at
our table to stay.
Still
with no other
word for love
there is nothing
left for my letter
to say.

A beautiful calm
seated
on a board,
above the sun
glistened water,
That rarity for you,
a moment of peace
only rejected by the
twist of the wedding band.
With so many desiring,
or lost, the boy dies,
thorns
of a black rose
gripped in the palm.
So many
without fortune,
seeing only loss.
You in the door frame,
when you were
not nearly to the end
of the mirrored maze.
Not having or maybe
not knowing any plan.
Except for now,
the gift of
less, not more, saving
myself from myself.
Not in your leaving.
But in your return...
With *******
would be saint Christopher’s
forewarning
from the front garden.
please stay
far away from the
uncertain road.

You are blue and
I am gray
In the smoke that
curls from the fire.
I don’t know how
To move again after a
Lie.  
You are the green
And I am the red
In the tree that
Rises to heaven
Celebrating peaceful
Souls saved without
Knowing their redemption.
You are the white
And I am the black
In the words that
Become a way to
Give love away.
You are the beginning
And I am the end
You saw the invisible
And you knew
What could not
Could never
Could ever
End with a
a life
sealed by the
loss of a
stolen love letter.

I seem to want
what’s impossible
Not wishing to
go to the sand
but have the beach
come to me.
I don’t seem to
want what is possible.
That you’ll be
happy In the life
of another.
I seem to see what
is not visible.
Reading your lips
despite hearing
and being less
than for-ever-ness.
Time, the sense
most personal,
it started in
your arms
and ended with
leaving them.

The blues have had me
Without doubt and
Yours are yours and
Nothing I know about
Nothing I know about

There’s been pain
In my heart, without doubt
yours is yours
and nothing I know about
nothing I know about

I’ve feared the wait
on the court steps
No doubt
Your fears are yours
and nothing I know about.
Nothing I know about

I’ll stand alone when judged
As in my dreaded dreams
No doubt.
Your nights
are yours
And nothing
I know about.
Nothing I know about

I’ve turned my
back without mercy
No doubt
Your loneliness
says that.
And what is yours
Is mine, so indelible
is the exile
And something I
know about.
Something I know about

Thieves and lovers
Lovers and thieves
Stealing silver and
Promises
What peril,
ignored.
They linger
Too long
coerced
by the need.
It’s a trap
Without fail.
Ticking through
time so
So true is
that jail.
Lovers and thieves
Thieves and lovers
not happy,
the loss of a
half crown.
Obsessed with
what’s left.
Thieves and lovers
Lovers and thieves
In jealousy
and envy
it’s what I have sown.
Not a treasure
filled chest.
Instead with the
whispers and tricks
I’m spending
the dark night in
sleep without rest.

From an open window,
I wanted
Warm air
to cling as
another skin
carried by sun
awakening me
each morning
Ready to swim.
in your same suit
The same old thing.
You making art
And me hoping for
a word
with a ring.
Time won’t be
banked, moving
on un-reined
to become
the same
old thing.
Not remembering
whether you don’t want
this or
don’t know
that you do.
Moving ahead,
a mind grinding its
way through
as it must to
find water below
thick ice without
an augur for spring.
It is for some, a beginning
and others ending
what was and would be
the same
old thing.

I ask myself
though there is no answer,
I know.
Of what will bring
me solace.
Not the camellia that
comes with snow
I could not suffer
winter too.
The peony though
brave to risk the spring
misplaced here
with its good fortune.
The rose, no, no,
You, un-temperamental,
know no pretense of
a diva.
I need to spare the scotch
Or else be sentimental.
Surely the yellow, then
brown,
I wish for their plain
happiness.
And the good they
left in place.
It must be
the sunflower,
their stems in
van gogh’s vase.

No matter how difficult
it should be to lose you in
the muddle of thoughts
and images, tourmaline,
so very blue, in
a diamond and
gold band, guides
you back to me.
Though the swiftness of
a kiss you gave may be
out of reach,
being chased
as though it was
dust racing away
in a windblast.
In the puzzle that years
produces, I want you
again poised
before the keys
wishing the oracle
followed
the lines in my palm
and promised you’d play
A song of love
but only you and I
would hear.

If I were lucky
I’d have a creek
that’s full of fishes
and every kind of arrowhead
like a coming true
of all my birthday wishes.
If I were lucky
you bet I’d always be up late
at a good ol’ western movie
sharing really buttered popcorn
with my
favorite schoolmate.
If I were lucky
I’d give my brother all my work
and shoot the winning shot
Never mind
if I was tired,
I’d skateboard
on the curb ‘til night.
If I were lucky, so lucky
I could dream
the dreams I’ve had.
I’d know my neighbors
and they’d know me .
Thinking of all there is
to do is plenty
to keep me glad.

If she’d known
that what would
become was someone
not willing to be
alone, now wanting to
be left alone.
She never would have
married me.  
Had all been right
not that
anyone else’s happiness
is in my hands or
even understandable
to me.
She never should
have married me.
Not that somehow
claims aren’t made
That children show
how history
ran the right way.
And what were touched
would have
likely been
simply bartered, a
gain or loss
unpondered.

each generation should
have a monarch.
I would press my
white shirt with
sharp creases and on
one dark navy knee,
ask for purpose
through forgiveness.
each generation must
have one life
given wisdom unadorned
by desire, uninterested in
dialogue.  I would lift
my light gray felt hat,
and hold it to the side.
I would take
that blessing or
listen without recourse
to the sentence.
there must be prophet
somewhere, not in
hear-say, divine or not.
I would prepare
for days or weeks
or more, the sinews
of a chest less flesh
than bone.
in knowing in that
audience was the
offer to atone.

You will fall
in love again.
A quiet poet
who sees you
through the curtain,
dressed in plum
and rose.
You will fall
in love again.
A man like audubon.
An artist who can
quiet the fluttering
bird but not
take its life away.
You will fall
in love and be
much wiser now
and know that
creation is the
only ambition.
A younger man
than you but
an older one
than me.
Fall in love again.
So the music that
you've missed
he'll play,
awakening you
at dawn
happy and glorious
again.

Let's walk to
the movies
and leave
in the middle.
Let's run to
the park,
completely unlocked.
Without past,
without future.
You are dressed
in a gown.
The music's
like silver.
We know how
it ends.
We're in love
when it's over.

through a rectangular window
the coldest light of winter.
the whiteness imprisoned
any other color in
the spectrum.
the crusted snow caves way
to jail your steps
unnecessarily.

through the leaded glass window
bare shouldered in the vineyard.
the mulberry light of august.
as though the future
was before us.
A dervishly swirling summer
decants your love
unquestioningly.

through the smoky amber glazing
a storm outside is building.
useless wind lacks clemency.
no wonder love's half-life is blazing.
the broken leaves
sought refuge.
their ashes flutter
helplessly.

through the scope's clear lens
the iridescent ice is breaking.
the world is undiscovered
once again.
osage green iris leaves
or arms that wave off gravity.
someone's love returned,
unexpectedly.

there are small houses
shoulder to shoulder
there are mingling tents
giving poor refuge.
there are tenements
eyeing the traffic.
and suburban havens
with garages and
televisions.
there are
adobe abodes
in barrios and
indian settlements.
there are high risers
unshaded,  barnacled
by balconies.
there are boundless
estates with
vineyards and stables.
there are balinese huts
on stilts with their
villagers.
there's life on
the road with
changing addresses.

I want to laugh
on thin ice and
hold you tight
on the terrace,
party crashing
the penthouse.
I want to fly
far-flung,
a swallow diving
heedless and headlong
Living on air,
and not sleeping
at all.
I want to
hang on to you,
riding the loop
de loop,,
tonight at
the carnival

insurgency
sedition, sedition, sedition
music
rendition, rendition, rendition
homily
perdition, perdition, perdition
debate
erudition, erudition, erudition
mathematics
solution, solution, solution
contracts
condition, condition, condition
dead now
mortician, mortician, mortician
and then again
apparition, apparition, apparition

the turn of the rail
round the land.
the curve of the
soundbox against
the hand.
the engine rumbles
somewhere, undefined,
as love disappears
tonight.
the wall lines the sea
in holland.  The velvet
folds close the stage
at the opera.
Tile on the roof
silently shedding
the rain as love
disappeared today.
Relentlessly cold is
the hearthstone.
The march of the
nightshift to
the factory
from home.
Barge tied to barge
sounding the horn,
a freight of black
coal, buries the heart
as love disappears tonight.
Dark are the waters
plied by the fishing
boats and trawlers.
The paths are
map-less
ruthlessly speaking
a language that's foreign.
At the edge of the
canyon without
finality, love
disappears, over and
over again.

the earth is not round.
It is not as flat as it
could be. Love
is waiting for
magellan's next
trip around.
Life is not profound.
It is not as meaningless
as it could be.
Life is waiting for
dylan thomas's
next trip around.
You are not lost
You are not as
apparent as
you might be.
You are waiting
to be painted with
a pearl ear ring
next time around.
The universe is
not empty.
The stars are
like us all.
Waiting
to be known.

the trees were
growing many years ago.
tall protection of
this life we know.
All the elegance
tailored in our drinks,
cool secure habits
we never really know
the possibilities
for sadness.
The lawns are
trimmed precisely
Wall vines
nearly braided.
We talk in
clear mechanics
and if this
were in oil
deep in green and beiges.
Hanging on a
white wall
horizontal, pristine,
never cheerful
never sublime.
The waiter sets
the food down.
Thinks insanity
runs in his line.
No one asks me
for a **** thing
though I never
said so
For ripples aren't
acknowledged here
the glaze on sadness
wiped clear.

Of all my hopes
the end to poverty
is one that
I would wish for.
Then on a sun-drunk
day in may
I'd buy your kiss
at a fair they
held outside
that saturday.
And then of hopes
I would wish for,
an endless oil
lamp
as you'd know
the way to use it.
For the third
and last
I'd have a wish
for time so
when you are
done with others,
you'd wish that I'd
come
through it.

when I was in the room
with all the pictures
on the walls, in the half light
last night.  I wanted to
straighten them and
could not without
a reference point
from your life.  
when I was with you
walking
in the glare and crackling
of the late morning light
and sounds sprinting about,
I wanted to hold flowers
for you.
I could not without
having a small role
in an opening night
show of the rest
of your life.
when I was in
another city knowing
you'd been there too,
I wanted to refill
the glass from which
you drank.
I could not without
the clue your glance
provides saying
I am not lost
or alone
like a language without
its rosetta stone

It seems like a
never ending summer
daddy in his short sleeve shirt,
walking as he gestures
with a bare arm,
Without echo
the car door shuts.
We've got things to get,
let’s go.
And the neighbor
through the wood screen
door
Shuffles, quite
aimless, again today.
In a close knit
navy shirt, only ten and
in suspenders, he carries
too much weight.
With the dusty smell of
unused cellars, webbed
and cool and put away.
She remains a lovely lady
carrying produce
from the yard.
With her grandchild
at the table,
can't quite finish
this banana,
so he leaves it on the tray.
Somewhere across the
ragweed fields, the dusk
bird stalls the ending day.
And in the street,
the night
with glow bugs,
it is for
lonely children
that they play

You should have said you
loved me, in a militant
way.  Like hanging up the
sheets on lines in the sun
for the wind to
shake and
****** the neighbors.  You
should have loved me
wildly, home at five in
denim shorts, with art
and adventure, instead
of food.  You should have
loved me forcefully, an
echo in a seashell, intensely
poor, passionately rich,
you should have loved
me always.

In the end of the world
you are un-flattered. In
the end, the world’s
trapeze is like a
chain from which you are
unfettered.  In the end
of the world, our houses
are spun from the legs
like the webs of spiders,
as they become some other’s
cages. In the end of the
world the sky is cleared
of clouds, the mountain’s
peaks are pulled, with summits
that fall then
rise like tides
pulled by mercury.
In the end of the world,
we fly like birds
behind the waterfall.
With no front or back,
are like lovers only
once in life, and lose
all perspective that’s been
tried so hard to keep.
The words are lost,
spoken with doubt, unsure.
They are stretched and slurred
and like the collision
of heat and light,
this is love,
in the end of the world.

We all have windows
in our houses
and behind them
pat around in almost
dazed purposelessness.
Some covered, some uncovered,
the windows may
only slide roughly
on aluminum tracks.
You feel like
you’re only on the very
surface of the earth
ready to be
pried away.
And everyone
is captured behind
their windows. Making
paths on the floor,
parallel and perpendicular.
So we struggle
against walking
against sleeping.
I guess if there is a crime
then it is being knitted
to the ground so late.
And someone has
to keep it neat
and curses in his house
at the blessed ground
in which to sleep

There is no hope.
Summer was skipped.
It is like monet
without a coat
of lavender.  
There is no flight.
Delivered, the post’s
torn pages
were of a silent heart.
There is no slight,
these are lines
not lies, blindly parallel
in the still
september sky.
Above the dry milk
n’tick weeds.
There is no word, a
vast and vacant sense.
This is the gift
of absence
without a footprint
of regret.

I want to think
about you, un-posed, beneath
the mimosa, on the warm
morning, with the sun urgent
to stretch high above the
protected terrace.  Rake on the
sand, careful about the plants,
reckless about the night, a thick
band of silver, about your
wrist, each stone, agave and
orange.  I want to watch you pick
the cards up, safely,
corner to corner, unhurried,
like softball, near the end
of  the game.  
I want to know the
thoughts, delicate, triumphant,
beaded with drops, not tears.
Threads that shine with the
last light.
Deft finger tips
careful to unwind, and
not to unlock.

Your foot is
up on the kitchen
chair, noticing
a little dust
on the canvas
on the ked’s
toe edge.
If we had just kept
running, for no reason,
stayed in
dusty playgrounds
so to speak,
living un-seriously
in the l.A sunlight.
Your hand is
on my shoulder
without pretext
or apprehension.
Noticing your dress
is faded from
the washes,
the puffed sleeves
repeatedly unstylish.  
If we had just
been arm in arm
without a plan,
just reading to
the lonely,
making bread
for anyone,
as easily as smiling.
Your eyes never
got old, to me,
if we had
just kept
lives uncluttered,
like a rented room,
left with just the crease
on the spread, where
some one else will
sleep next.

Maybe we belong together
looking at the transit
trains with sides
like scuffed chalkboards.
Maybe we belong, reclused.
A single museum gallery
postcard on the
bare wall. Maybe we
belong lost to our
children, inspired by
a new longing.
Maybe we belong
On the window’s edge,
feet on the iron
landing trying to
see with
just one eye, trying to
survive with
just one heart.

Id like to ask your
brother for your hand
I’d like to have
A three act play
The first is life,
And in the third,
is resurrection,
that takes the second  
act away.
I’d like to have
you look at me
held within your
hands.  Feeling
like the spinning
ride with the floor
that falls away.
I’d like to hear
your call across
the field,
To bring inside
what’s grown today.

I’m not going to think of
you the same way.
Looking at the glassy
sea, a dark cup
on the lips for the
early morning.
I’m not going to feel
you’re gone, the same way.
As a chance that passed to
hold your waist
in the high school
hallway.
I’m not going to
talk about you
the same way.
As though we’d gone
forever in a world,
our lives combined together.
I’m not going to lose
you in the same way.
As though an atmosphere
was still there, once there
was no air.

The weedy field is cracked and
dried out. The water flows a
little slow. The screen door hardly
keeps the flies out though
they’re dying and I think they know.
She’ll grow up to take dictation
her sister’ll marry
and have a child to show.
Mom is dead since last mid-winter
They dug a hole down through the snow
Lets take off and feel the twilight,
school begins in a week or so.
Then return to deal the cards out
and later pack the cars to go.
I don’t know a single secret.
Are you shepherding me to sleep again.
Every word another brick.
Every thought completes the wall.
I know you’ll tell me of a new love
before tomorrow afternoon.
Cook some soup this Sunday for us.
The rain and dark will keep us home.
I’ll imagine that I gave you bouquets.
Not the trivial life I’ve known.

Let's ride on
sepulveda avenue
from sawtelle to encino.
Lets believe
we are alone in life
and there’s nothing else to do.
Lets make all the links
we failed to make
living with no threat
from tomorrow.
Lets not think at all.
Just believe
there’s no one
we should follow.
Lets pretend you
have that dream.
Even though I know
it’s not so.
Lets just paint
this sunset
as if we’ve
felt no sorrow.

I don’t know how you
made him not stay,
simple as
handing a fare,
in the open window,
so the cab would go away.
I wonder how
with your smile
making its way like a
moving shadow from
the mix of cloudy wisps
and high summer sun,
as it so quickly forms
and disappears
across your lips.  If it
floats inside him,
as though
in a print,
started, when
you slipped too,
past the aperture,
riding the light.
If it had been me,
unable to let alone the
image, not trying to
grasp what it meant,
or remember where
I’d been,
beyond your thoughts,
beyond who
came next,
with useful
hope departed,
holding on anyway,
giving a relentless
purpose to my heart.

Lets toss the ball
on the lawn
in the declining light.
And  
through the open
window,
the record plays
errol garner
on the turntable.
Lets slowly make
our way, to the
beach, after
drifting through an
uncharted night.
I don’t see any reason
to pretend, at all,
that somehow anything
should change
this rolling life, once
unshorn, once the
pain of wishing
for more and wanting
to be the same is
eventually gone.
Lets walk home
in the closing duskiness
and under the
china light, hold on
and like a listing tree
and the moon above
our roof,
all wait and
imagine the world
to begin
to right itself.