In the Crib, we live in Chrysalis, we sketch the wind on canvas,
there are no diplomas handed out in the crib as the education never stops
and the yearning for learning never seizes
in our struggles to understand and grasp the work that moves us,
confronts us and makes us search for the the word, the line, the way.
key west sunrise
key west
is a bottle of beer
a sunburn
a hangover at
pool side
a hot night of crawling fan blades
on a smoke stained ceiling
risqué ballads
from a beat
up flat top
an excuse to get drunk
when the sun goes down
listening to belligerent cat calls
from strutting
roosters
that have lost all the fight left in them
key
west
is sandals and cotton tee shirts
draping sweating drooping breasts
nipples like winking eyes
moist
aggravated cunts
tired calves
blistered palms
dry irritated mouths
and another bar near the water
key west
is a mask of swallowed inhibitions
the salty allure of sex
conch fritters on the street
and mahi on a grill
key west
is a pen and words on a stained napkin
that
you cannot read in the morning
waking up
to a raven haired beauty
with cuban blood
and a heart
and a heart that wont sit still
from Millennium Maladies
dylans rage
I liked discussing fiction
and dylan
and the meaning
of poetry
and the meaning of anything
with her
late into the night
at the kitchen table
when
sex and sophistication often get blurred
between the beer and the sheets
we separated the wheat from the chaff
and she saw a fair amount of me
in herself
deep and probing
a role reversal of muse and mentor
hours
of twining blue thunder passion and wet splendor
immersed in ourselves
the arts
spoiled in our own pleasure
it was hard to separate the two faces of distinction
resting high in our thoughts
a convergence of twin heavens
highlighting the terza rima of dante
what will happen
happens
coupled in a soigné bed
a candle
flickers effervescently
and she said I mumbled in my sleep
what is going on here
let what will be
be
I told her there was two ways I could push this
love
I could push it from the front
or push it from the rear
either one
anyway you gamble
place your
bet and take my solemn poison
humming solfa syllables
gets the same crying guttural response
from the back
of her throat
waving her arms with wild abandon
we
laughed about her practicing on her gag reflex
when she cried she was completely enchanted
I suspected
she
would be quite the professional
by morning
she learned quickly and we carried that to the table
with cheese
and wine and she found the perfect cucumber and a sharp knife
none of that bothered me
it simply
added to the
carnage of fractions
and the simplicity
of numbers
one of us was intuitive and one of us was rational
one
telluric the other ethereal
we spoke of contraries bleeding centuries together
we talked of theater masks and sweet
surrender
we whispered
the trysts could only get longer
until we found ourselves sleeping
with the sun
afternoons on the run
chasing deaths errands done
and nothing more
every day passing by the novelty toy store
on the corner
I saw her head turn
wondering
when I would take her
to another place
to another height
came the dawn and we wanted to go on
but we turned
off the night
and raged
against
the morning light
we raged against the morning light
from A Killing Frost Falls Down Tonight
collecting
snow in a clearing
I remember reading the words
of an old white haired poet
who told me
if you are going to go deeply into poetry
give your whole self to it
go whole hog
too many take it carefully
and fail
if it is to be your life
make everything else subordinate to it
there is a secret in small things
a poet has to allow mystery
cultivate a poem just as he cultivates the silence that underlies
and buoys it
up and surrounds the language itself
try to raise
perfectly common seemingly simple speech
to a moving and memorable experience
a good poet understands more about
language
than linguists
you have got to feel it
the emotion
but you hold back from saying it
keep
it in
then the power is there
keeping it in
poetry is a process
a renewal of words
a dawning of
an idea
poetry tends to evaporate from the prose and verse
when translated
because it is the truest liberal
arts
poetry makes nothing happen
but survives
in the valley
of its own making
every poem has its own little tune
that is the way it comes to you
as
a tune
you got to know how to do that
say it so you get the tune too
rhyme
you cannot do it without that
most of the time
you got to know how to take care
of the rhyme
poetry in itself
is a sort of extravagance in many ways
it is something that people wonder
about
what is the need of it
and the answer is no need
not particularly
poems are all set to trip the reader
head foremost into
the boundless
like leaving blocks
carts
chairs and such ordinaries
where people would be pretty sure
to fall forward
over them
in the dark
forward you understand
and in the dark
a poem
comes at a time
when nothing is happening
or something
seems to be happening
a poet rubs his finger on old wounds
and makes them burn
by using his own burdens ingeniously
using poetry as a way
of making sense of them
the
pain must also be seen as a kind of magnet
drawing a poetic needle toward the truth
north of authentic feeling
or south of true feeling
a poem must have the sound of sense
it is the abstract vitality of our speech
a
pure sound
a pure form
good poetry occurs in the difference
between the abstract possibility of the line
and its vernacular performance where stresses fall
as they do
normally in human speech
without the slight tug toward the formally perfect line
however remote
there would
be no poetry
the form indeed
makes the poetry possible
do
not say directly what you can say indirectly
poetry must be in touch with the living vigors
of speech
move
casually but inexorably toward moments of quiet
illumination
a reader can tell a good poem
the moment it strikes
him
that he has taken an immortal wound
one
you will never get over
there is a barb to it and a toxin
that we see
at once
you never know where a poem comes from
but where it is gone that you can tell
you can see the trail
the trace of the comet
after it is gone
if a poem is with outer seriousness
it must have inner humor
if it is with outer humor
it must have inner
seriousness
neither one alone without the other under it will do
there
is an abstract possibility of the line
and the poets individual way
of breaking words across it
it is there
only for those
who have previously heard it
in conversation
it is not there for us in any greek or latin
poem
because our ears have not been filled
with the tones of greek and roman talk
speech is the most volatile
and at the same time important part
of poetry
if it goes then the language
becomes a dead language
and
the poetry becomes dead poetry
words exist in the mouth
not in books
with poetry
poetry begins in trivial metaphors
pretty metaphors
grace metaphors
and goes on to
the profoundest thinking that we have
poetry
provides the permissible way
of saying one thing
and meaning
the other
the greatest of all attempts to say one thing
in terms of another is the philosophical attempt to say
matter in terms of spirit
or spirit in terms of matter
the permanence in poetry
as in love is perceived instantly
a poet does not want to know much
when he is writing
the knowing
can
come later
manner of expression is more important in a poem
than its
meaning
a poem comes alive
in
patches of colloquial intonations
where a poet manages to entangle syntax
and idiom
in a manner
that
connects to living speech
a poem is literary belief
every time it is written
the author
trusts in the
thing to come
which is more felt
than
known
the poets
wildness
must
be
pure
wild
with
nothing
to be wild about
from A Killing Frost Falls Down Tonight
something a woman told me one day
she said she could feel it pulling at her now
like a child
trying to get its mothers attention
just a slight tugging
but constant
until the mother gives it the attention
it deserves
she said her problem has been that she is always given that tugging depression
more attention than it
deserves
which is why it has consumed her in the past
and why it will consume her again
she said it was comfortable
and almost soothing
like sleeping with someone that you know will beat you
just languishing in his arms is worth
the pain to come
so she lays down in her lovers arms
because it is
oh
so comforting
this is what
she knows
it is beautiful in a way
that is incomprehensible
to those high on life
she said she has always feared happiness
as the physics law states what goes up
must
come down
only the higher she goes
the harder she falls
and let me assure you
there is never someone waiting
to catch you
so she keeps herself in a comfortable zone
drinking hot chocolate instead of coffee
and going
to bed early
but the sooner she falls asleep the sooner the nightmares begin
now instead of that child tugging on
the hem of her skirt
it grabs her hand and yanks
and she goes with it
how can a child deny anything she asks
and she trots along behind the tugging child
trying not to fall as it yanks her forward
suddenly
even the
depression is unknown territory
so you are almost in china
so she looks at the child and tells it
no
and
begs it to take her back to her chocolate
and the child simply replies
you know you want it
and
so she does
as she always has
you know you want
it
echoes up from her childhood
he would blow
the words in her face
drowning her in the stench of his breath
you know you want it
but she did
not want it
she was too young to even know what it was
except that it always brought her pain
but life always
does
and so when the child told her that
she replied with what the man of her childhood horror
made her reply
yes please she wants it
but she did not
but it never mattered what she wanted
she always got what he gave her
once she was told that there were caves so dark
that if she stayed
down there for four months she would go blind
the same goes for depression she said
it got so dark that she didnt
even see herself
just her crooked past
and her problems blocking out the light
she couldnt even see her hand
in front of her face
but all that was insignificant because she didnt want to see herself
so
yes
she wanted it
let her lay in her lovers arms
just dont make her see herself for what she really is
because in
the end
that is want she was trying to escape
not the tugging child
or her childhood horror
in the end
all she wanted to do is escape herself
so
after
years of guiding that child out of china
and trying to find where she put her mug of chocolate
she came to look
in the mirror
and all she sees is herself
what she expected she wasnt sure
perhaps
she wanted it to show
everything she had been through
that way people would stop and fake sympathy
and say they were sorry for that
and she is doing that to make herself feel better
at least then
she would get some attention
the kind of attention she had always wanted
her life has been settled into two extreme
attentions
no attention at all or a fist in the stomach
of course there is always real genuine attention
but
that requires someone more beautiful
more talented
more coy than her
and even if she were to gain attention
she would be terrified of it
because attention like that can kill her guiding child
no hot chocolate
no china
just happiness and a huge crash after falling
if
something terrible and life altering had happened to her she said
why oh why couldnt it be more visible
like getting
burned up in a fire
someone cutting her face
or falling so hard she became a quadriplegic
everyone would then
walk up to her
in horror or disgust
and ask what happened
and she would simply reply
whatever
never
play with matches and explosives
but instead
no one has ever asked and no one has ever cared
well that is a
lie her therapist replied
but therapists are like whores
you pay them for a fake sense of comfort
and she would
much rather get that fake sense of comfort freely
but now she doesnt even get fake attention
so she just sits in
the corner of the cave
and hopes for the lights to go out
yea
so what if she is afraid of the dark
she is even more terrified of looking at herself
god how she remembered the dark and how she longed for it
and still does
as a child at night
she would hide under the porch and with the cover of night
where she couldnt see herself
and he was walking around in a drunken haze
looking for that free fake sense of comfort but he wouldnt see her
where are you you fucking
cunt
she is in china
whore you know you want
it come out
yes please she wants it
she didnt
but it never mattered what she wanted
and no matter
how long she crouched in the freezing darkness under the porch
she would have to come out
and he would be waiting
and she would be waiting
so take her to china little girl
guide her by the hand
and let her languish in the
arms of her lover
but please remember to turn out the lights
and she turned off the lights
and she laid down
in the comfort of her lovers arms
only now as she lay down with the dark enveloping her
she can see him
in the corner
sitting in the chair
smirking at her
telling her she cant escape him
not even in her dreams
and he walks over and sits on the edge of her bed
leans over her and she can smell his breath
you know you want me
only
she doesnt
and for once in her life she has the courage to scream
no
and the little girl turned on the lights
to assure her no one was even there
she turned on the lights and she screamed in horror
again
she screamed
in horror of herself
turn off the lights
yes
I want it
yes I am a cunt
yes I am a whore
just
please turn off the lights
the little girl turned
off the lights
and she wept for her mother
when he was finished with her
and her mother would come sit by
her side
the first time she was so happy to see her
so relieved
here she is
her mom
she is not perfect
but she is going to love her
protect her
comfort her
and she looked up at her adoringly
she reached
up from where she lay broken on the floor
take me away
take me to china
hold me and give me hot chocolate
I need you
her mother looked at her crumbled on
the floor
with her eyes hard and angry
unloving
take me to china mommy
but she left her behind
I
am sorry mommy
take me away
please forgive me mommy
mommy
mommy
but she left her
turn out the
lights little girl
she is too terrible to look at
turn out the lights little girl
no one wants to see her
turn out the lights little girl
she doesnt want to know what you have done
look at what you have become
the little girl took her hand and ran
she pulled her along
and they went to china
the greatest thing about china is the huge amount of people
there are so many people that
you are never alone
everyone is pushing and shoving their way through the crowds of the unknown
just tons of lonely
lonely people and you get to be one of them
this way no one points her out
no one stares and laughs
no one
pays any attention
no fist in the stomach
they just shove their way past
so many people and its easy for her
to push them away
and she slips into her lovers arms and she sleeps
the arms are warm and comforting
the arms
are always there
she can always return
her lover always awaits her
and the child is always tugging to take
her to him
so she drinks her hot chocolate
and listens to her guiding child
she can take her to a place where
she can escape herself
where there is no light
and there are no mirrors
from A Madness is Within Reach Inside of All of Us
navigating a sailing ship
he had to take a taxi lesson home
for six more months
and he knew he better make the best
of it
and there is always people
from the low end of the food chain
sailing already in that sargasso sea of
the damned
so when the taxi driver told him
he has to pick up
that crazy country girl
from the bar barbeque
joint
they picked up last night
he thought nothing of it
she
wants to go out with me
the cabbie said
juking
but I am seeing this girl
from new york
dig that
I had to move from new york
to florida
to meet a new york girl
he says before he
starts coughing
flicking a cigarette out the window
then blowing his nose
in some kleenex he keeps in a box
on the dash
and throwing that sickness out the window
as well
this
girl I met from new york
her husband says she is
fat
dumb
and
ugly
but she aint any of that
she aint any of that
the cabbie tells him
I had three heart
attacks
already
and I am only thirty three
the last one was three weeks ago
but I was driving the next
day
but anyway
I told her
her husband does not scare me
after
they stop and pick up the crazy country girl
from the barbeque joint
he tells her a few miles down the road
hey listen
see that black motherfucker riding that a bicycle up there
naw you
cant see him
cause its night
but do you think
you can
clothesline his ass when we pass by
he shitted me
one night
for a four and quarter
fare
fucking black bastard
naw
I was only joking
close the damn car door girl
before
you
fall your ass out
we are going around
a curve
shit
how is my big ass gonna fall out
she asks
it will take a whole hell of a lot more force
than that
to move my big ass
you smell like a barbeque
he tells her
where the hell you think I just came from
I was telling that guy back there
my wife
weighed a hundred and ninety pounds
when
I married her
now she is over four hundred pounds
she doesnt cook
she doesnt clean
motherfucker
you need an aspirin
the
crazy country girl tells him
an ass burn
no
an aspirin
an ass burn
he asks again
I got one
a bic lighter hemorrhoid
and she is fucking it
maybe you ought to sit
in a fifty five gallon drum
of prep h
get tucks delivered
by the semi truck
the crazy country girl says
anyway
the
girl I am seeing now from new york
her husband
bashed her over the head
with a cinder block
from behind
one night
and made it look like a break in
she didnt know who did it
till her ten year old kid
told
his psychiatrist
he saw his father do it
and the little brother saw it
too
he was five
thought it
was funny
you know
he is in boston
now
the father
not sending any money
and she is from new
york
like me
and just one phone call to my buddies
and they will drive three or four hours
till they find
his ass
talk about an aspirin
talk about
an ass burn
hey you live down this road right
yeah
I tell him
but you can just let me out
right here tonight
I
can walk home
alone the rest of the way
from Accept No Presents and Give No Pardons
a Poet is on His Own
make her listen to me
daytona
the worlds most famous beach
tacky and wacky and within reach
in
june
with a full moon soon
and the hotel has the same slow elevator
and smelly carpet as last year
with the same
german receptionist
who is pissed off
because she never made the olympic swimming team
but she takes the card
and the register rings
and the credit card bill stings
a month from now
but somehow in the day of things
its all worth it
the two rooms
ours
and
theirs
and the bed is soft
and they are off to the
pool and the beach
and I reach for her
but she wants a beer
because she doesnt want to be here
with the
closeness and responsibility
of how it might be
or should be
if she didnt feel like she does
with a headache
and an echo in her ear
but they go running for the water anyway
and I am out on the balcony
where I can see
the parking lot
and a slice of the beach
and the sky
and the crown of palm trees
hot and humid and warm
and just missing a thunderstorm
and later on the way down in the elevator
she tells two women we are on our honeymoon
and we had two beers in our hands
and I put out my cigarette
before I got in
to go down
and walk in
the sand
and the two women say
congratulations
smiling
facing us
in their sun burnt past skins of
matrimony sins
and I wrote a poem
for
m
in
the morning
from At Odds with the Flavor of the Union
it was a tuesday I think
and I was heading to the bar after second shift
and it is raining
coming down
in great torrential drops
that are heavy and splattering
with the wind shield wipers furiously
trying to give
me
some appearance of visibility
thinking that the moral decay
that is drowning this society
is at the
same time showcasing
the dregs that front the television
and its frightening
and then there is writers like
pat conroy
who
in one and half pages
can make a fart sound like the most majestic resonance
you have ever
heard
and the neon of the bar sign is there on the left
and I pull in the parking lot
turn the engine off and
run in for a beer
an hour later I am having a conversation
with a woman
who is a promiscuous flirt
that treats men like a little girl plays with dolls
for her sole amusement
and temporary entertainment
then discards them with a wave of her arm
when her interest wanes
and her attention
is directed elsewhere
consciously or not she is indifferent to her hussy attitude
that men are always available
if she chooses to scan the bottom
of her list of priorities
and I told her
the most fragile and dangerous
thing in the world
is a mans ego
its like a balloon
a mans ego can be inflated by a womans breath
and
over inflated until it ruptures
or it can be simply popped by a womans single point
then
what
is
released
is
hell
on
her
but this woman adored the attention of a man
the flirtation
the powerful ability
to manipulate the wandering eyes that surround her
in the dismal avalanche of anxious male eyes
hoping
wondering
believing
fantasizing
that she will recognize and respond
to the agenda in their fermented minds
me
I left
after six beers
and went home
where my cat ernesto
dragged in
beat
but not defeated
through the door he came staggering from chasing pussy
where he briefly gained immediate composure
once past the door
enough to still stagger painstakingly
and confidently to a complete momentarily
grand
and noble entrance
standing resurrected
knowing
the nights
chase
and
fight
was
over
from Forgotten Notes from Nights of Illgotten Grandeur
wheat amongst the silver
a finer substance could not be far from renaissance
cannot deny any more
than that
I pulled her from her gilded doldrums
on a late spring night
I have been preparing for
your
arrival
way way too long
seems like a dozen years
or two lifetimes or ago
I thought warhols cans were crooked
and the beats always trashed the place
and were too caught
up in fellatio
I saw queers with studded expectations
on the subway
spray paint cans
in trench coats
sharp eyes and angry mouths
a goth girl without any panties uncrossing her legs
in front of a mother
with
four welfare children
listening to a boom box rattling the windows
I
had to throw my hands up in the mist
I cannot climb down there
and it is alright
if that makes it any easier
to digest
I did not think it was your phone number
I read on the wall
but nothing is for sure and nothing is
lost here
just wheat amongst the silver
heads down
on the pavement
they do not turn up everywhere
she called one day
to say
my poetry was vanilla ice cream
on a hot skillet
and you are never too old to eat
peanut butter and jelly
scrambled eggs
boiled eggs
fried potatoes
potted meat sandwiches
with mayonnaise
you see
I have an oral fix as well
she admitted
baby I needed
assurance
thinking
you can never tell
where the next kiss
is coming from
maybe
it is so infantile
but here is the catch
miss the point and it becomes inconsequential
the man down the road collects hubcaps
in his yard for a good reason
stores them like a familys history
shiny melting pots
finding them along the
ditches
chevys to the left
smiths to the right
so do not
cry for me
do not
she hangs hats on my wall in the summer
said she wanted to call
but she had to do this
and do that
and she had the boy
sat tests
ceramics
glazes
and
pacifying
the new teaching
sub
and then there were activities
of course
with her parents
on sundays
membership only
brunch at the yacht club
from Millennium Maladies
always open
for discussion
there are successes and failures
and there is sweet victories
that make them
keep going on
pushing on
planting on
blazing a trail
as they
weave and slice through
thong
when they are crying
about
nobody
writing the great american novel
starting a nuclear dysfunctional family
and nothing seemed
as important as that
spiraling
away
from the claptrap
of lifes menial bus benches
desultory
offerings
when what they really needed
was
rain
to make both of
them pay for their trials
over
tribulations
casting pantyhose nets
before tasting
the truth of the
matters
arrives in all sizes
but he liked hers
just fine
come here
he told her
let me weigh
the full difference
in my mouth
between
left and right
morning and night
let me lay within sight
tasting
the
gates of heaven
from Sixty Nine Poems On A Sundog Day
when she returns in a few days
I remember a bar in daytona beach
where it was dark inside with splashes of light
where it counted
and the girls came out from a curtain
and
twisted and sashayed around the pole that was full of fingerprints
and sweat and all the nights before them
but
none of that mattered
see
I was there on a thursday when the sun was still out
and that was all that I wanted
to stand or fall watching the show
slinging high heels and garters away
splitting the night and day away when
I came and left
and the daylight hit me in the face
like the beach in the morning
bright and hot
and all
I wanted was to go back to the cool darkness
of the interior
and drink and toast the heavens
raining their
charms from above
the cars were inside playing their songs
and there were cars outside cruising main street
and
I was mesmerized by a young latino dancer
that could barely speak english
but I guess she knew enough to know how
to make a buck
and she knew enough to say fuck off
in english and spanish in the same sentence
because
she had a boyfriend
who was passed out in a truck in the parking lot
and she was hot to look at and that was enough
to carry the hours away
to miami or havana
and then I saw her standing outside
wrapped in a raincoat waiting
for a ride home
to her children
who was being baby sat by her younger sister
and she said to me
hey mister
I need to go home
my boyfriend reeks of lipstick and perfume
he is no good
and maybe its the music in the
place or the beauty in the afternoon
that grabs you by the balls
but when you are alone sitting in a room
or
standing outside with a stranger
listening to the young bucks on the radio
singing their life sucks
songs
screaming everybody is wrong and fucked up
like razor blades in your mouth
on independence day with a flag under
your feet
and a cat curled in the corner
with its tail wrapped secretly under its ass
hissing at the pissing
in the toilet
flushing the hours and butts away
for another smile across her room
and the splash of light flashing
across her hair and face
as she walks over the place with her charms in check
and a lightning bolt tattoo on the
back of her neck
and other myths stamped across her shoulders
with spiders scurrying at her feet at a moments notice
that leaves you less than suspecting or respecting
to anyone but yourself
but then again you are feeling old and
middle age
caught
locked
in
a
cage
in your very own habitat
given that its the words in
the morning
that kicks you in the head
every
hour
no
matter
what
time
the clocks hands
says it is
too late or too much or too little
from A Murmur Escaped From Her Lips As His Hands Traced Her Hips
venus on a bar stool
she was blonde and petite
dyed and dangerous
but that didnt matter
it was completely inconsequential
she was venus
I noticed her looking at me through
the plate glass window
of the bar
when I got out of my truck to go in
her obvious beauty was immediate
her
curiosity blindly questioned
she occupied her space like a queen
reigning over time
thoughts
glances
moods
wishes
and I settled on a stool next to her
the only empty stool in the bar
because no one else
had the balls to get close to her
and she threw her right leg lithely over her left
shaking her suspended foot violently
when I went to the bathroom
after my first beer
I could sense her head
turn
watching me with obvious
intent
I wondered what she wondered
what she fantasized
what she thought she wanted
imagined she needed
what she prayed she needed
I pissed long and hard
when I came out
she was gone
I guess
she left
to find out
what she needed
from Last Night of the Orphan Poems
cuban
crisis
she was a young
cuban girl
with a big fat
latino ass
full and taunting
golden brown
when she playfully
slapped
it
she laughed
but her eyes were smoldering almonds
looking back over her shoulder
daring me
to take
it away from her
as long as she still owned it
and could decide on her own
without interference
when
enough is enough
thats not hard at all
she said
with her big thighs
and breeding hips
cocked
deliciously
to one side
forming
a soft
question mark
you have been let out
in the yard
too long
boy
she said
I want some color
right here
slap it
put some color
on this big
round
beautiful
ass
slap it
a dark crevice divided her globes
and she really had an incredible
ass
the skin searing
pink
slap
slap
slap
cook both sides
ruby red
she
panted
with her lipstick smeared
then
turn me over
turn
me
over
when
you
think
I am
done
from Last Night of the Orphan Poems
her body
nicole was a wreck of a young woman
platinum dyed blond hair
up and down
with coke bottle glasses
because she was nearly blind
without them
and maybe that was her problem
she could not see to protect herself
from herself
and she liked to get drunk at the bars
and when they closed
rollerblade down saint george street
at two in the morning
then go to the cemetery and wonder how all the souls
buried there died
years and
years ago
like she could change anything in the past
theirs
hers
or
mine
and she pretended
she could just skate through it all
standing up over the bricks and mortar under her wheels
without falling flat
on her ass and leaving her knees pressed to her ears
while thinking about
what she could do for the poor horses
on the bay front with flowers on the ears
hauling fat tourists by the castle
because she felt working animals
is like men
working their wives
and I shook my head at her thoughts
as she asked me to take a picture of her
in a chair
in a motel room
naked
with her legs flung open
over the arms of the chair
with her porcelain
fuzz and pink pussy lips smiling
and her smile daring me
to doubt her meaning
that she was my salt in my wound
and she had other bandages
to wrap her lips around
beside mine
so after we left the motel
we drove
home along A1A past painters hill
to down town saint augustine
where she asked me to drop her off at cuna street
because she knew some musician
that worked at a latin restaurant
who might be able to get her a job in the bar
and I never saw nicole again
until she sent me an e mail picture
of
her
sitting
naked
with
her legs spread open
on
a
chair
in
a
room
at
a
motel
that
we
shared
a
hundred
years ago
from A Murmur Escaped From Her Lips as His Hands Traced Her Hips
ante up
place your bets
put your cards on the table
tell the
truth
when you are locked in your bedroom
lost in your affair
working overtime
loading up your 401 k
burning backyard bar barbeque
on the weekends
with the neighbors over
hitting on the wife of a friend
after she bends over in front of her husband
glued to the cell phone
driving your suv
evenings on the computer
crying in a chat room
stuck with paying the bills
working late till eight pm
balancing the checkbook
playing
golf with the boss
drinks with the girls
on pay day
bastard does not send enough money
and she says she
is not happy
buying bras for friday
it is not just urban
it is not just suburban
it is just not city
it is just not country
when will the parents
of
america
confess
we have been terrible stewards
to these
children we dress
and send off to school
so
we can carry on
with our own first come first served lives
video
games till 3am
fast food for supper
frozen pizza
microwaves and banquet tv dinners
that is the real winners
on saturday night
these kids are embarrassed by their parents
at some age
and maybe they should be
when
they do not see themselves
as they want
to see themselves
and they do not get what they want
as young
americans
these children want attention
not there at home
not in a cul de sac
on moms prosperity street
why is not dad home
he is working
so we can have all this
the mother says
and christmas is coming
and your sister needs braces so she can smile like britney
and your brother needs glasses
so he can learn history
at westview high
and it is not a bomb scare that cancels classes
but bodies
in the cafeteria
blood in the library
huddled under a desk thinking you are next
when will the parents
of america
confess
we have been terrible
stewards
to these children
we dress
and send off to school
so we can carry on
with our own first come first
served lives
it is not what you think
no
no
no
no
let me
tell you
what
I
think
I think
the
whole
world is
a
fucking
kitchen sink
of dirty dishes
and
it is a bathtub of bubbles
with your eleven year old daughter
playing in it
and
someone
has
pulled
the
damn
plug
and she stands up screaming
with her palms covering her budding breasts
get out
but you have seen the rest
her hips and her pubic nest
and you close the door
mumbling
I am sorry
from A Mere Miscellany of Midnight
Madrigals
I wanna life too
before heading to the job
on a dismal raining wednesday afternoon
watching
the latest updates on the hurricane
that would strike a string of islands
after a thirty seven year absence of major
storms
I had a revelation
I
had
to
go to the bar after work
I decided earlier I was not going
did not need it
want it
I should go home
get the latest coordinates on the storm
but someone elses hands were packing my clothes
for the bar after work
determining my destination
knowing tonight I would meet a woman
and go home with her
it was not a self righteous
presumption
that came into my head
it was clear concise fact
destiny foretold
I grabbed my lucky gold
pirate doubloon
flicked it in the air with a happy smug thumb
caught it
and left
at midnight she came in the bar
alone
lonely
I had been there almost
an hour and six beers later
she sat three stools down
ordered a bottle of beer
and I saw immediately she was
not my type
blonde
straight hair
chipped tooth
old clothes
no jewelry
make up or elegance
green bean skinny and uneducated
I went back to my own thoughts
hiding in my own head
only the truly lonely
shun company
with no beguiling bitterness
she left her beer
money
and keys on the bar
to play a
game of pool with herself
aiming sadly at the balls
without any heart
trying to get the sad taste
of life
out of her mouth
erase the day
or the last few hours of it anyway
I felt sorry for her
a womans heart is a tomb of secrets
and I wondered what was holding
her prisoner
tonight
what was out there in the darkness
but there was
also a kindred spirit
to her that I felt
a bonding sympathy
because I have walked miles
down that desolate
road
that never goes anywhere
when she finished
her clumsy and hasty attempt
at playing pool
to merely justify her reason to be at a bar
by herself at midnight
she came back to her beer
and the reckless dismantling of the presidency on the television
I have no stomach for
politics
democrats or republicans what did it matter
I was
truly bipartisan
they were all corrupt egos
with the conscience of a snake
if they were not already crooked
when they came in
their spines were tainted noodles
when they left
she asked me did they serve food here at this hour
but that was just another justification
for her late night presence
hunger
but for what
I told her no
too late
she
said she might go to taco bell
and I winced
and nodded
and got another beer
then another
another
and another
the empty mugs hit the bar
like ejected shotgun shell casings
I had an appetite
but for what
the bartender called last call
and she finished her second beer
and walked out
I drained mine
and followed her out
we were parked side by side
she drove a tired old
pontiac
grey primer on the front passenger tire wall
I heard a voice say
and its strange
because it sounded
exactly like mine
nasal and abused by alcohol and cigarettes
saying
wanna go eat somewhere
I was not even hungry
and there was not any desire for her or anything
other
than another beer
in the warm slice of somewhere
no I have to go home
I heard her say
relieved
without losing stride
I got in my truck
shook
it off as a passing goodnight
I have some cheap beer at my house
she mumbles
ten seconds later
magic
words to a lonely
drunk heart
I followed her out to the highway
she had a tail light out
shaking my head
at the intersection
questioning my motives
strictly boredom
a vanquished sense of something
or maybe
nothing
watching her
speed away when the light changed
running over the concrete median
in a miscalculated
turn
that should have blown her tires out
but she drove on into the night
with me following her
wondering nothing
in particular
and everything in general
she ran off the road two more times
before we pulled down a potholed dirt road
and into the driveway of a mobile
home
in sad disrepair
and we got out
when
she opened the front door to her trailer
a wave of heat and sweat swept over me
I was aghast
there were bodies
everywhere
in the dim darkness
on the floor
bodies in white underwear
cotton fruit of the looms
on
closer inspection
they were children
twelve
ten
six
five years old
pale pasty skin
skinny
elbows and knees
turning restlessly on a stained carpet
a fan blowing stale tepid air
across their hopeless
dreams
I threaded my way carefully across
the sleeping battlefield
acutely aware I did not belong
in the
company
of this much broken sorrow
thinking these children
did not know any different
this was their
life
it touched a nerve in my soul
their father is a bum she told me
he left her and the children six months
before
and he has not sent any money
and she did not know
what to do
I looked around at the meager furnishings
a dozen boxes of cheap cereal
old toys scattered
around
photographs of the kids smiling long ago
she handed me a shlitz beer with an awkward silence
knowing
I was prying into her shallow attempt
to establish and maintain
some semblance of normalcy
for her young
sleeping on the floor
a roach crawled across the ice box door
and she flicked it to death
easily with a dish
towel
and started crying
I am their mother
first
second and last
she said
but I wanna life
too
I nodded
sipped my beer
and
reached
for another cigarette
thinking
about
her husband
and
her four kids
sleeping
in
hot
misery
on
the
floor
then
I
got up
finished my beer
and told her
I had
to go
from Bar Snatch
midnight madrigal
on the month of march
when
I think of her
I think of her in the morning
I think of her in the afternoon
I think of her
in the evening
in the night
late
when she is not here
I think of her on the couch
resting
I think of her on the
table
legs
waiting
I think of her pulling her dress
up
I think of her showing me
her silk thong
underwear
I think of her in between
the right and wrong words
thinking clumsy adjectives
caught
thinking
tangled in her
my thoughts have me walking
across
pins
got me
skipping over
needles
convinced
they can not hurt me
baby
really
they
can not make me
look in the mirror
unless I want to see
what is behind me
and see we whisper because
late in the night there is shadows
in the room
and sometimes
the shadows seem to follow me
and it is then I think
it is her
it is her
cause she is always soft
when she is rubbing against me
she is always in touch
it could
be
her
there in the shadows maybe
when I just wanted
crisp clean sentences
clear of pretenses
naked
as naked is
see
shaved
bare
and razor
burned
stripped without concern
for mother
father
brother and son or daughter
leave your sister
alone
her laughter is disingenuous anyway
and
what comes after
is a soliloquy of regrets
forgets
banquets
irish potatoes
blighted
and
left
over from the plow
pulling weeds on a dead homestead
splattering the stage with tomatoes
kids sleeping over
eating doritos and fritos
for breakfast
sucking sour cream and onion chips
from their teeth
dripping
salsa dip on the carpet
white cheesy lips
legs crossed sipping coffee with rose hips
exploring brochures of
hedonistic islands
naked cruise ships
and clothing optional laundry mats
and then she went back
to her
martha stewart magazine
her sunglasses
her novel
went back to her hat and the pool
I do not leave my dirty laundry laying out I told her
listen
if you have
any doubt
then I would suggest
a chest of drawers made of maple from the victorian age
for your guiled
panties
maybe that would
change
your
mind
sit
beside me dear
sit right here
oh
yeah
sit right
there
I wanted to tell you
about updike
when he signed my book in key west
that he did not write
and I told him the maid at the motel
stole his
novel
s
and this book was all I had
and he smiled
like I knew
he would
and I never asked him
what his name was
and he never asked me what
my name
was
either
and that was alright
with
the both of us
we were strangers on a literary road
crossing paths
only
once in two lifetimes
from A Mere Miscellany of Midnight Madrigals
advertisement
demure blue eyes
defined by
dark eyelashes
beautiful
sparkling teeth
outlined with luxurious lips
brilliant smooth cheekbones
her curving shoulders are both
soft and bone hard like a penis
she lays her cheek against her shoulder
sitting
on the edge of a bathtub
full
plump hips
back arched
thrusting her breasts forward
in a red sheer
lace up teddy
by fredricks of hollywood
reg $32
on sale now $22
warm up your holidays
from Tonight We're Serving Insanity for Supper
love and lust
do not ever confuse the two
love
and
lust
there is an excellent chance
you might not recognize
love
if it comes
around
you might
send it away with your own
private distractions
and regrettably
you might miss it
in the end
but
lust
is as accountable as an early morning
hard on
you think of it
when its there
but you will
never
keep it for long
enjoy it
while it lasts
and for what it is worth
have faith
in your
distinction
between
love
and
lust
do not ever confuse the two
love
will bring you
heartache
but
lust
will let you smoke a cigarette
and
sleep
when its all over
from Redundant Ruminations
of a Hand Well Stroked
ninety seven
miles an hour
mad tunes
on the radio
its my life
no doubt
wondering
has anybody
heard it
before
thinking
the wind is something
else
again
when
it
begins
blowing
dont
you forget
its my life
its your life
mad
mad
tunes
in your ear
sleeping
three
doors
down
and the wind
rain
in
my
ear
new music
baby
new music is what
we
want
miles rolling into new miles
better as we go
mad tunes
in
my ear
on
the
radio
as
we
go
better go
away
miles rolling into new miles
come away
with
me
my new love
from Forgotten Notes from Nights of Ill Gotten Grandeur
in your underwear
my pen is
my strength
my pen is
my weapon
my pen is
my
ink
blood
life leaking out
my pen is
without a doubt
always hungry
for words
and
passion
for big woman emotion
my pen is
in my hand
morning noon and night
my pen is
in my pocket
under lock and key
never soft for words
always searching for words
my pen is
in her lips
when she
borrows it
knowing
my pen is
my weakness
the hoursmy pen is
my strength
my pen is
my weapon
my pen is
my
ink
blood
life leaking out
my pen is
without a doubt
always hungry
for
words
and passion
for big woman emotion
my pen is
in my hand
morning noon and night
my pen is
in my pocket
under lock and key
never soft for words
always searching for words
my pen is
in her
lips
when she borrows it
knowing
my pen is
my weakness
the hours
when she is around
from Sixty Nine Poems on a Sundog Day