Dear Desire,
          Waiting on the muse,
Even money she shows.
I mean the more I want her,
The less likely she'll come.
She's probably at a gathering.
Perhaps some Uptown artist,
Turning clay into vision
Of a man's soul through his hands, while I wait like
Some **** fool
Who's the last to know.
Well, she phoned from the
Hills- I've got some food chilling,
She should never have promised. I could read it on her voice, saying a bad signal
A tenuous connection at best.
Tonight, soon I say to the empty reciever.
Ah- what are ya gunna do?
Cut off at the knees,
I prepare the meal.
I see black and white fencing
Blurring before the snow
On 45, an hour plus
Off the highway, before
I met the likes of her.
She said maybe,
I even brought chocolate.
I hear the silent hallway,
Listening for light movements, the sound of
Her keys in the door.
I dream she's here,
Stretching her legs as
She kicks off her shoes.
I look for the falling of pages,
Whisper the dreams of children,
Fall back to obscurity.
Another poet waiting for light in the lamp stand,
Shining across the wall
Deep into Sunday,
When its quiets,
In the first cool
At the end of summer.
And I'll keep the light on.
You can let yourself in.
Check the pilot on the stove,
Would you Sweet?
If not, see you Friday.
              Yours Affectionately,
                   Bubbles.

Are you afraid
It will take you
Where you cannot go?
Surely in your mind
You paint it black.
Did it tank
In the middle of the suite?
Throw in the towel
When no one's watching?
I bet it swung out
On the laundry line
Before your old man
Woke to bakery trucks
And all night drunks
Sharing the same place
On the page where
No one shops anymore,
And they moved from the
Neighborhood 30 years ago.
And its never 1973,
But sometimes you think
You see it In a moon
Whisking white clouds
Above your window.

You can't have it all
With your hangover on Monday.
You can't have it all
Looking at nothing on TV.
You can't have it all
On Tuesday with enchilada sauce.
You can't have it all
Like shiny rays of sun.
You can't have it all
Said No Account to his
Wino buddy with
The last sip of muscatel.
You can't have it all
On Friday when it rains
In July, Or Monday when
The parking lot carries
The snow in a rush of wind.
You can't have it all
As the door shuts
And you don't have your keys
You can't have it all.
Just go back to sleep.

No blue moon in the cupboard tonight.
So much for the well worn thesis.
Here's where it runs out of gas. Only tinkling flowers
And bare rhapsody,
Shivering like a ****** in the night.
It's here, and here, and here.
Places I can only show
In the dark.
Things which have no name.
But here, and here,
Feel their shape?
Dim, Oslo in the rain.
And the Nazis occupy
The last of the city.
It's here, and here, and here.
It's nowhere, nothing.
As ideas scatter like ghosts.
Dry places, bones of dust.
It's here, and here, and here.

As far as the post conciliatory
Is concerned- It's been delagated to those just pulling out of Suffragette City
For those just entering the foyer, the bulb's been flickering for days. No mention of of attorney fees
At this juncture of the proceedings, Moonlighting
As high tragedy on the
Road to illusion, More a dull
Sideshow of sunny Saturdays
And blue Tuesdays.

And its all waiting just up the road of Monday morning,
While I numerate this dull
Reunion, Watching the ambulance light swirl
In the mix of Sunday night
Turning seedier by the moment. And the police cruiser's slow to respond,
And the parametics leave
Empty handed as another Sunday night comes to a close
And we run the race we know we're losing. And most
Times it's just eternity nipping at our heels.
Guess I've got to check out,
But not tonight. Meanwhile
I have a lamb stew burbling
In the ***. And there's
Wreckage on the highway,
Debris in the field.
And the first siren wails
In a place you do not hear.
And a rustic barn looms
In a dream of dusk,
As bluebird rise with the sun,
And the siren fades
To the distance.

I gave directions to the El Camino looking for 75, said
He wandered a bit off the way.
I don't know if he took it.
He laid up the highway,
I saw his car gleam in the sun, A half mile or so before
The slow curve of the Earth
Took it around the bend.
Later, I saw smoke and the wail of a siren. I wonder of
He wandered off the way,
As I sit on a half pile of junk
And some bad ideas.
I got a cream color couch
And a velour ottoman.
My, what a sight,
Unseemly in the moonlight.
And I refigure the abstract
Of cloud formations.
I draw it up close in my mind
Skin and sky and moonlight,
I watch it rise from the east.
I forgot about the El Camino
As the dry wind eats up my land. I pull back the blinds
To the yellow sun.
I wonder if they'll junk
The Camino, Maybe I
Can sell her for parts.

Spector, Sphere, haughty
Get togethers,
Passe receptors, holding twilight's canon to fraying
Possibility. Distant islands,
Dreams of dust, dirt and sand
Wind blown wandering,
Structures rotting in the sun,
Elusive direction,
Shapeless forms,
Dead ancestors,
Monsters hidden within the well.
Form, Formation, I draw
Nothing in the sand of time.
Only dead dreams, bad blood,
And family ties, broken
On the dark wheel
Of yesterday.