Below Orion’s belt
He will fly.

Sailing in on the evening breeze,
Through a clustered cloud of E’s.
To the timbre of a stammer,
Above the cedar trees.

A wish for lips to seize the soul is filled,
Without tongue, or a love-****** kiss.
No, this moonlight drifter need not sneak
To steal your attentiveness.

Raspy cool, birthed on a cool train, a Coltrane,
Flickering inside a steel blue horizon.
A stray bolt of lightning
in a darkening jar.
Did you see it?

Condensed droplets of jive crystallize
As sight spreads with a ****-crow sunrise.
Shadows yield to spots of sunshine, and
The hum knifes through atoms of air,
Awakening the Early Ears.

A fulfillment, furnished.
A drip, a drop,
A drip and a drop,

Arranged in pairs of sinking threes -
The details of an ensemble’s dream
Infuse the day’s reality.

And with one last vertical dance,
Time slips back to a simpered trance,
As basso continuo leads you home,
Through a lonely mountain pass.

A zephyr is crowned,
Sitting atop a morning cloud,
To culminate, an unfettered kite,
A lazy bird in flight.

Inspired by Allen Ginsberg’s Love Returned.

Tonight, there will be no merging onto
The wireless info web highway-
She returns, with smiles,
From thousands of miles,
To honor unresolved promise.
No longer anonymous, humming
My love song to someone in particular.

I weave my way across the margins,
Through a web of puddles and pebbles,
As puzzle pieces of sensual treble resonate,
Drizzle amiably down on my burgundy umbrella.

And she evolves, a silent tempest
That swells in the warmth of the night.

Is it the unaffected loyalty,
Or the sweetness of her smell?
The strength of her autonomy,
Or the completeness of our honesty?

As we peel away protective layers,
I hope that we remain,
Two connoisseurs of romance,
Who continue to slow dance.

Staying learned and childlike,
Earnest and mild, like
Students of truth.
From the thoughtful naiveté
Of maturing youth,
I offer my blessings to her.

It’s fitting that she, lovely
As a coveted Viyella,
Seems free of material expectations,
Or ring-around-the-rosy words.

So all that’s left to do-
Make our cozy escape, and find rest
Inside this departing Acela.
Calmed by the self-propelled motion
Of our northbound locomotive,
I consider a future inside fifty-two sunsets,
And finally set my sights upon
A sound, stone bridge.

It’s as though her auburn words,
Along with the acute angles of her smile,
Are anticipating my every beat.

I wonder if she knows that
Her eyes, a mélange of the
Steel blue Merrimack, below
A tall granite overpass, loom
Over these familiar train tracks,
A painted Methuen sunset.

Come, join me.
Down to dine,
From the towers
of your mind:

To a feast
in the present,
where there is much
to be enjoyed (besides
the fading hourglass).

Forgive the past,
Forget the future,
And live in this
moment, own it.

In the dark, silent room
The enlarger projects a negative onto a base sheet,
Where long-fingered hands place a contact print
Inside the developer, and wait.

In the dark room,
The smell of fix permeates the air,
And a young man can’t help but stare
At the image sharpening before him, slowly.

In the heart of the dark,
He sees the delicate dimples,
The gentle contours of expression,
The healthy shine behind her eyes.

Blacks, whites, and grays
Hide the color of her skin,
But he can still feel
Her glowing cheeks,
Feel the heat escape from
The flat dimensions

Of the paper,
Because, when words become unclear,
And stop speaking to each other,
He focuses his attention back
On the solemn beauty
In the picture.

Beloved, shimmering satellite.
You pour down dutifully into the night,
Through hilltops and valleys alike;
Impressing a calm, inspiring fright.
Quite heavy sometimes, while other times slight.
Pale and present, smiling upon the world
With that pleasant, Cheshire grin.
You leave me feeling warm, again.

O Moon, doubly resplendent
From your infinite place in the sky.
You share the solar-system with the stars,
And patiently listen as an anxious puppy
Whines from his lonely domain.

Radiantly, you reward
The midnight lover’s stroll,
Fulfilling the task at hand,
Until a rooster crows,
And the Sun steals your show.

Anticipation tiptoes from table to table.

My Jelly Roll Soul
Sets sail for Alice’s rabbit hole.

In front of a hushed, hip crowd,
The music condenses into a scarlet cloud,
And originality speaks aloud.

A trumpet sounds,
A subway car rumbles underground,
Signaling all the cool cats
That it’s time to get down.

A virtuoso teases black and white keys,
Shaping notes with subtle expertise.
The closest I’ve ever seen, man come to mastering machine.
Slowing the frenzied, fractured step of the East Village above,
To E’s. Legato ease.

Optional Z’s
Leave many without sleep,
For who could snooze
At times like these?
The alto-sax
Is bending C’s!

Just listen in, on that wailing bassoon,
Who howls to the moon.
It might be noon,
Up there.
But that’s up a flight of stairs,
And I’m enjoying my jazzy state of affairs.

There will always be time for Nostalgia in Times Square.

Since representation
Is often labeled
Ungodly, pardon me
For my sins.

At the worst times,
Spiced thoughts accompany
My empty, double twin bed,
My crowded head.

Her aroma is
Rolled up inside my covers,
Like the smell of earth
After hard rainfall.

She has a way of
Tangling my dreams,
A citrus flavor of tangerines
So subtle, and present.

The **** sweetness that
Won’t leave your mouth,
Even if you taste
Something else.

How lovely is a full-blown crush?

Like hot cider
On a chilled December day,
It can be so delicious,
And scold your mouth.

I watch the warm,
Vaporous breath become visible
In the frosty air of the holiday season,
And walk from place to place.

I feel the cold of my belt buckle,
Hear the crunch of frigid under feet,
And know that
Winter is now.

I try thinking my way into happiness,
And out of loneliness,
But it’s not quite for me,
And I find myself listening to Chet, again.

Of all the places
To lose myself in contemplation,
It’s not so bad here,
Under the pull of this crescent moon.