Imagine the look
The look on the old man's face
As the shepherd
Said
It's a girl
And the wise men
Handing out perfume
Said
We knew it would be so

What comes from ashes, you would know.
I've seen you there, fire in your eyes.
Your modesty allows me slow
Pursuit, perhaps I should disguise
My tongue's intentions in a song,
Or dance my way inside your head
And bring you back where you belong--
Oak headboard,  my ancestral bed.
You may see me, firewalking fool--
Head topped with bells, a rubber soul--
Salute you with a burnished tool,
Your misused heart my certain goal.
Now close your eyes, imagine me
In your embrace, in ecstacy.

around much noise
         in places where time
has pocketed
the words
come in to be remembered

How 'bout that mad monk
Larkin's elephant
Slow dervish
In a Chinese hat
Around the notes
Big holes

glad night
this mortal joy
                        so long
    uncertain and
                ridiculous,
                         sublime

     need i remind you
     love is best
not understood,
                practiced
     constantly
                                beyond belief

death and doubt
set looking
for a weakness
you deny
i think you must know
                     something now

i mean
i should tell you
my heart depends
on madness just
as the ragpicker
on litter and the breeze

it's what you find and some of it
get down, out of context maybe
yet still there like broken concrete
in a yard in Alabamee
where it might interrupt a blade
and you understand, could save a life,
could sift the fear out from afraid,
then paste it with a putty knife.
these flakes are not stories, they're stones,
eventually a cairn, and what's
allowed is all that sticks and bones
can divinate in passing shots.
assess the risk,  i won't advise--
existence has its way with lies.

when you were in my arms, I had
no thought, that rare condition sought
by mystics, dervishes and mad
and hungry painters staring off
at other suns' forsaken light
as if it held salvation keys,
rededicating one more night
to supplication, bended knees.
now time has moved your innocence,
ticked off the things you've never done,
and narrowed down your penitence--
some things still worth the price of fun.
this world is world enough but time
makes hesitation mortal crime.