She was a pale direction
I had foolishly taken
One mistaken hollow night
on a backward road
(one of many)
One mistaken turn
A downhill flight
with both eyes squeezed
narrowly open

She was a wan point
I had drifted towards
offering me dumb luck
and succor
(a sucker's lean)
All tall and mean
and dangling
Lost promise
In a slit-to-the-wish-bone dress

She was a pit-bull in *******
straining at her chain
and I was the last
worried and weak link
(she was fast)
She grabbed me by
my heart-pant leg
and yanked me
down sweetly down

I hated her
as hard as
she loved seeing me fall
(I could hear)
thin brushes on snares
and a deep rumble
(her laughter)
or a stand-up bass?

She was a pale direction
and I had
nowhere else
to go.

Icky things
with legs and wings
and oh! too many eyes!
Things what hide in shadow
spinning webs
and eating flies.
Little flying cobbies
(They are not there in the book
of insect or arachnid
though I often look and look...)
They were just too sneaky
to get written down
I s'poze...
Still I know they're
down there creeping
up onto my toes!

I was seven.
The sidewalk lured.
The Huffy beckoned.
The hill...
The hill...
Skinny locomotive legs
Pumping madness blindness happy
Freedom flight pumping pumping
The hill...
The hill...
Baseball cards in spokes were roaring
Soaring wheels and squinting windy
Boymachine thrumming heavy
The hill...
The hill...
Swerving Fords and Chevys curving
Hopping curbs and doggie-dodging
Lightspeed hoping
Seven and no sign of stopping
Hit the rock...

Funny how it all got slow, now
Boy/machine were separated
One went one way one the other
Gravity
The enemy

His death did not surprise me
As old men go he went quite well
Happy
After his bride of oh those long years
His final moments were torrid
Reaching out for Her
Hoping she was there

I cried then as I often do still
For his eyes can cry no longer
Happy
His longyear in my soul
His final moments my hope
That past this mudded breath
She is there.

We found comfort in His hand
Solace in His song
a small one-note
the final note...
We found Joy in His dance
Rhythm in His stillness
a quaint quiet
a final peace...
We found Happiness attended
Balance in His whisper
a small movement
a final step...
We, who were once of mud
And breath
And need
Are freed
From those confines
From that war...
The Hero Peris saved us
By His sword
Swift
A final kiss.

We found comfort in His hand
Solace in His song
a small one-note
the final note...
We found Joy in His dance
Rhythm in His stillness
a quaint quiet
a final peace...
We found Happiness attended
Balance in His whisper
a small movement
a final step...
We, who were once of mud
And breath
And need
Are freed
From those confines
From that war...
The Hero Peris saved us
By His sword
Swift
A final kiss.

Shimmering in your tomb dust
Unknown bride
Did you play
This wax and copper harp
Only for these clay attendees?
Did you love?
Does this new bright day offend thee?
Simmering in the old earth
With Regal Demise
Did you dance, once,
Just once?
Perhaps your heart is not jarred and coffined here,
But in the eye of some boy.
Did you love?
Is your antiquity for nothing?
Slumbering in the age of pages lost
To this tired, blind reader,
I wonder...
Were I to kiss your shrunken hand
Would you awaken?
Would you play again
That wax and copper harp?
Would you love?

Fragile and ****
Cold
Dark
Speed in between

Crystallized blue flame
Hard
Sharp
Mirror-shard dance

Beyond my eye-hand
Deep
Reach
Summer night dalliance.

She reads your soul like a well worn novel.
She knows the bitter iffy ending.
Yet still she turns your pages
With dear excitement.
This is true love.

Front door mewling,
Bloodied fur,
Beat to hell
But yet you purr.
Scraped and torn
You look a-fright!
"Need a drink!
****! What a night!"

Off the stove!
(that ****** cat.)
No! No! No! No!
(Not in my hat...!)
Your litter box
Is over there.
(But he just smiles.
  He doesn't care.
  My cat scats
  Cat ****
  Anywhere.)

He staggered from the bar stool
To ask a lass to dance.
Alas, he'd had too many more,
He did not stand a chance.

A chance was just a fraction;
Hell, he could  hardly stand.
He took out fourteen tables there
And headed towards the band.

The band was playin' Old Fat Rose",
A favorite of the crowd.
But no one heard him crashing.
The band was Oh! so loud.

The lass what he was aimin' for
Caught sight of him and fled.
He tried to reach and catch her
But he snagged her beau instead.

Her beau, he tried to pull away,
But he'd been drinking too...
And so they danced the night away.
A fine "How-Do-Ya-Do".

So gimme a HI! and gimme a HEY!
And don't step on me toes...
We'll drink and dance the night away
To   Old   Fat   Rose!

Just time...
Like little fingers
Heart things in the Love dark
Small bright eyes
Playing attention
Paying Night and Day
Their due...
Just time...

Just time...
Odes and sonnets
And other words
Used as tools
Or feints of Love
In the swell and sway
So cruel...
Just time.

Just time...
Hardly a wink
In the blink of the wonder
Of Oxford, or Webster's
Or Roget...
Let's play...
With time.

I have washed my ****** hands      
in the hope colored stream
of my own karma;
a futile attempt.
The waters cleansed my hands
But stained my soul with
The leprous audience of
The singularity of my being.

I have waded souldeep
Into the stained waters
Of my own karma;
A quantum baptism.
My sins and triumphs
My denials and truths lain bare,
Visions which burn into the circle
Of all that I was, am, and yet to be.

I have become the hope colored water
Of my own floundering fate.
I am the circle, the enigma;
I stand within and without.
I encompass myself
And wait to be born
Into a new solitude
Of radiant wonder.

She was the only son
Her father never had.
Her legs were lean and long,
Alas, her eyes were bad.
And then at Sweet Sixteen
Her Father drove her mad.
(A sicko is a ******, after all.)

And after ten long years
They set her on the street.
With a pretty dress
And new shoes on her feet.
And so she looks for Daddy...
Or any fresh, new meat.
(Cuz an axe is an axe, after all.)

I do not need to know
How far or why
Just push me
And I will fall
Quite high
I will go over what
And under if
With room to spare

The ghost who sometimes haunts my attic
Is not up there
tonight.
She's lost
at sea
again.
For rather than terrify the household
she'd sooner bathe...
But she could never swim.
Hence her prior demise,
and why I cannot sleep...
We are tied, her and I,
by some promise where
I would rescue her
from the briny deep
in exchange
for rattling chains
and midnight howls.

Now it's off to sleep, and may
I find a dream to dance inside,
to smile my eyes shut tightly wide,
before the morning prattles?

A pillow mountain, rivers deep,
and blanket castles while I sleep.
(My dog could care less, she just lumps,
and snuggles, till the day.)

She lost her shoe
tripping away from the
midnight ball.
No prince would call
to save her from her plight
of dire domesticity.
For in her mean reality
there abided fairies, true,
But mute,
and they had no
tales to tell.

Don't go leaping
Into water
chasing after
Cute disaster
Noughan's daughter
Sings to fishers
Young and old
they lose their decking
All their wishes
All  untold
Skinny boy or
Old man whiskers
drowned-a-calm
by Noughan's daughter
smiling even
as they're weeping
in the deep
where they lay
sleeping.

This was her stone
her sacred place
high above the
space below
where she would go
when distance
came too close
when life decreed
its need
and insistence.
High up here
She'd relax her soul
and let it flow
out onto
the calm and go
the calm and go
the calm
from when to dawn.
For When was a wonder
always shifting
sifting sandish
with outlandish purpose
at notice
unwarned.
But dawn was and is.
She could smile and sit
with the that and this
of a constant
Shadow.
Wekemovye!
she would sing
as sun and stone
met
with her.
And children knew
Children knew.

Come gather round people, wherever you are
And hear this last song I play on my guitar
I've made one too many trips to the bar
And my voice is rapidly fading.
And the whiskey has gone straight to my head...
And these strings, they need a changing.
(goodnight)

Come gather round people, wherever you are
And hear this last song I play on my guitar
I've made one too many trips to the bar
And my voice is rapidly fading.
And the whiskey has gone straight to my head...
And these strings, they need a changing.
(goodnight)

Slinky *****
with promises
prying my sleep
away
Warm and loud
Lying to me
Once I
Step outside
That my dreams
Of you
Would come true.
Let me go back
To your
Unforgiving sister
Night.

Gosh o gee I think yer neat.
Ya got nice hair.  I like yer feet.
An yer cat. An yer dog two.
Shucks! I think I's sweet on you.

P'raps weel marry up sum day.
(Whens weer old an gettin gray)
Til then heck, o gosh gee wiz
Can I just steel a little kiss?

Why did you think
It was a lie
When I said
"No.  I never called her"
But you believed that
I meant it
when I said
"No. That dress
DOESN'T make you
look fat"?

I never worry about nothing!

Oops...
double negative.
Oh, hell....

Where are you now?
You called out with pains in your
loud letters
(Frets and fetters)
And I worried
     even against my thinking better
                                                          of  it.

Where are you now?
Still fighting that sad oceans
deep weather
(Frets and fetters)
Still I worry
                 of it.

I wore those things when I was young and hungry
Smiles stolen from young girls eyes
Dances stolen as the band was winding down
Kisses, and even more secret treasure, in the dark parking lots

I wore them proud and loud on my tattered sleeve
Like embroidered badges
Commemorating their broken hearts
Stitched and pinned right there next to mine

I wore those things when I was young and hungry
Moments taken as Time aged by
Promises broken as the clock was winding down...
(promises spoken in the sweated moments of those parking lots of my hungry youth)

I wore those things
And they fit me well

I rescued a dog, named her "Scooter".
A puppy... she couldn't be cuter.
She sleeps on my bed
With her **** near my head
And she smells like an old roto-rooter.

Mom passed
Some years ago
Dad a year later

She hovers
On the mantle
In her urn

(Silver and Rosewood)

Watching over the house
Whispering to me
When I'm not paying attention

Dad sits next to her
Silent for the most part
Adoring her for their eternity.

The nun told me
"God has been keeping a little book
Of your Life,
And he will make you
Read it
OUT LOUD to Him
When you get to
The Gates Of Heaven."

And I answered
"God can't read?"

dark is not just
the absence of light
but the
lack of
the shadow
right
behind you
sneaking...

I stepped outside for a moment, simply to catch a breath on my porch,
and I saw that slivered Moon scooting behind those shivery clouds.
In a brief half-second I felt Her eons,
Her aged gravitational tumble,
Her pained and painted-on pagan sins of yore,
Her holy rejoinder of light against the darkness,
Her catechism of magic,
and the cold
empty doctrine
of Her orbital destiny.

I closed my eyes for a moment, to shut out Her history...
to try and catch that breath...
But She would not relent.
She was insistent, pulling my eyes open and up
and She offered me her memories
and begged in Her dry eternal voice
to allow me Her touch.

     I accepted.  Felt Her fear as our rockets bruised Her dusty flesh
     upon their uninvited landings
     and scarred her with their burning departures.

     When I had taken it all in, She disappeared behind one of those
     shivery clouds
     and I was able to
     catch that breath
     I had almost forgotten
     I had meant to take.

I watch for Her nightly now.
Even when She is obscured by clouds
or maybe just on the other side of this earth-she-cannot-touch,
Her eternal dance partner.
I open my eyes and gaze up.
With awe and wonder and respect
to let Her know that in my small gravitational way
that there is at least
One son here who thinks of her
and who understands and appreciates her tidal Motherhood

who smiles  beneath Her transient reflection,
holding that light dear,
and who, in turn,
reflects some of that light
back to Her,
with promised eye.

In my youth I'd often slip
and milk or juice would slop and drip.
"You're all thumbs" my Mother'd quip.
And I'd be sent right back to bed.

Little would stay in my cup.
I spent my days just wiping up
The slobbers that I'd often make.
"You're all thumbs" my Mom'd berate.

One dark morn my mother said
You're all thumbs!  Go back to bed!
(I dropped a rock right on her head.)

Smart-*** sixteen and lost in Syracuse
I scrounged a quarter
To call home
For an eighty-five mile ride
And Dad answered and said
"God gave you two thumbs, boy.
One to get there, and one to get back."

When I was wee my feets was small.
They found no grip, I'd trip and fall.
I'd stumble bumble left and right
From morning sun to bed-time night.
But as I grew my feets did too.
They grew out of both sock and shoe!
And when I slept they grew some more.
They grew right out my bedroom door!
They grew right out onto the lawn
And when I woke my feets was gone!
I sat there scared within my bed
Just wondering where my feets had fled.
Did my feets go out on a trip
Along the Mighty Mississip?
Were they stomping Kansas corn,
Or hanging ten in Californ?
Hiking in Saskatchewan
Or Yucatan or cold Yukon?
All day long and into night
I worried of my Feets's plight.
Worried that they'd never phone
To tell me they was coming home,
Worried that I'd be bereft
Of both my feets, the right and left!
And so I pictured my two feets
Just wandering dark Parisian streets,
Or alleys in the south of Spain,
Or freezing in the Russian rain,
Or separated in Des Moins
Without the calf, the knee, the *****!
But wait! Hold on!  What's this I see?
I'm such a goof, oh silly me!
I did not lose my big old feets!
They were just sleeping 'neath my sheets!

A bit of joy has come to me.
Some happy in a small disguise.
These students with their hopeful eyes
And brush and palette ...
I'll seize the day and let them play
With colors wet and rules begone!
We'll paint and splash on papered lawn!
A bit of Joy has come to me.
I am better for it.

Pay attention to the dirt!
Make the effort to Jump when the Big Fingers snap!

     I see you walking with your head in the clouds, looking up
     when you should be looking down,
     your hopeful imagination miles and miles away from your
     Here And Now.

Pay attention to the dirt!

     You!  With your eyes rolling 'round in youthful indignation
     playing in your happy little Tomorrow-Never-Land
     with those greedy little fingers on those greedy little hands
     talking your talk while walking blindly through a land filled
     with obstacles which have been moved around beneath you,
     by Big fingers, while you ignorantly slept!

Mind your step!
Pay attention to the dirt!

Do the math which you think you believe in,
while the gods you don't believe in
laugh at your stumble.
Go ahead...  Hold your head high in false pride
listening only to your own mumble
of self awareness as you go fumbling
through your pockets
jingling your worthless
change.
Best you dig deeper to secure the coins you'll need
when you come to YOUR final crossing.

Pay attention to the dirt!

"Life is short",  you often say.
But you're wrong.  Life is long,
And so very very wide.
    
     And yet you ride your time on one little narrow strip,
     always looking behind you as you stomp backwards
     in a foolish attempt to delay the arrival of your own
     inevitable.

     But even when that fateful day comes, you won't see it.
     You'll be too busy looking up.  Looking behind you.
     Tripping myopically along, blissful and unaware of
     Why.  Or Where.

Pay attention to the dirt!

Turn around, bend down.
Dig into that loam of home
with those greedy little fingers...

Linger awhile there, study the sift,
let it drift through and around your
knuckles...
And Feel the Real!
Look ahead, not behind.

     Observe the curve and swerve of the Glory Road
     stretched out before you and never-you-mind
     what fades behind!

     The Past at last has passed on and Tomorrow's Now
     awaits your feeble crawl towards the Wide.
     Into the Long.
     Beneath a sky which does not forgive,
     or even promise a firm footing.

Pay attention to the dirt!
  
     let me ask you...
     what is the price for dignity?
     the cost of respect?
     There is no lay-away plan.
     No six-month-same-as-cash agreement
     on a bargain basement consignment
     thrift shop deal-of-the-day.
    
     No red-tag blue-light special
     on a slightly used one-owner
     runs-well, cleans up OK Life.

     You can Not wheel and cajole a sneaky deal
     for a piece of pride on this ride into your
     particular continuum.
    
     There are no coupons.

     There is only Not Yet
     and Self, one day/per/day,
     as you plan and execute your
     next mistake.

     As you buckle your OWN boots and walk your OWN walk
     smiling,
     into the wind of contention.

So, Pay attention to the dirt!

Pay attention to the dirt!

And you mind your step.
You mind your step.

Though sonnets often wail of love, or loss,
This sonnet calls to all the Joy of Life!
Just got the papers from my (now) ex-wife.
She signed them. All those years a simple toss.

I fell in love with her at one hat-drop
(I love her still. I always will.  It's true.)
She set the bar for all the women who
Might try to catch my eye, from start to stop.

The way her tress cascaded, and her kiss...
The bliss I oft succumbed to in her smile...
The miles we walked together, she and I.

Though sonnets often rail at Love, or Life,
I'm happy that she's finally let me go.
These tears will pass tomorrow... (sonnets lie.)

O, I believe there might be something out there we can't see.
Some Cosmic Orchestrator or Supreme Divinity...

But why would it be calling you, just you and you alone?
If It's just all-so-powerful, it knows to use the phone.

I really see no reason, there's no reason I can see
Why God would bother calling you, and never ring up me.

But then again I'm just a simple man who won't define
The wherefore and the whatnot or the mind of The Divine.

Yet still I have a doubt or two that you've heard Holy Word...
Your actions speak much louder, Sir, than anything I've heard
From your lofty pulpit where you rant and proselytize
And tell us God just told YOU all the things we should despise.

But then again I'm just a simple man who won't define
The wherefore or the whatnot or the mind of The Divine.

She floats above my life with hidden purpose
Casting glances over her pearl white shoulder
Occasionally
To see if I've noticed
To see if I've fallen for the ruse
Taken the bait
Given in to the pursuit.

She knows I want her.
She's aware of my need.
It shines in my scent,
My wounded trail.

She floats above my life daintily
With estrogen seeping
Wiggling and shadow-boxing with my heart
Casting her lures,
Fly fishing,
Teasing me from my mud-******* existance
Only to snag me

Razor barb hook tearing through the soft tender meat of my soul

She checks me out and tosses me back
And as I sink into the murky depths of my maleness
I cry out
"Try again!  Size isn't everything!"

But she cannot hear me above the whir of her own motor.
And she trawls to another pond.