January 28, 2017
The word on the street was repeatable.
That was then. Y’know, now not so agreeable.
That word, that gist in senseless sentences, that word
It just must be ignored.
The sleepy air slipping right through the reeds there,
The night marshes where nightmares Stay as seeds there.
The song, that mist of music meant to soothe, yes, songs
That must not be ignored.
Upon a pond
Where big calm mists meet surfaces
Water bug clouds dance down aways
And I stand to see through tree trances
This moon is broken enough to lend to substance
For near and far bearings, distances,
And at first. existences.
I swear here’s where the strings swell in
(2 YRS BACK)
June 15, 2016
When told Fool’s Gold is all that
When it’s anything but,
Instead of taking out yr wallet for faking out
Don’t make out that yr already over the ruse
Wontcha smile (finally, fer christsakes) and refuse.
Smile and refuse
May 7, 2016
I got word from my brother,
A suggestion from one lover;
It’s still finely time to fill in those spaces,
I will take on cyber lawyers, to fill out a cyber will.
My cards splayed out on tables,
A gasp goes down ’round the drawn crowd,
As they turn to peak at my color
Already leaking from my face.
It may be that they maybe wait.
Something. I turn up to yearn her coming colour,
Sumptuously flushing her chest and her cheek.
I can very hardly wait.
She’ll start to try to speak…
And I’ll find and see
All in all, the riches mined & left shining
Are just filthy lucre
It’s a fact I guess
That here backstage
I fear before the final act undresses
The unspoken, the between the lines, the off the page,
Is revealed I’ll mull over my moves
How shall I shade my lines, my lies?
I’ll retain written refrains,
But refrain giving more? or remove? or improve?
All the way back to old balconies
“My Word To The Unwise..
It’s getting so I gotta get a call on
If I’m drowning
Or if I’m dying of thirst.”
February 12, 2016
I’m turning & tossing
For yr talk/ yr noise/
Take my private call
Of the wild/
A must call most primal/
& y’mustn’t fail to stay ’till
My tail falls off.
teachers to small children the world over,
pastors to parish,
they all will tell the pretty truth
(aside the pretty lies, “pretty lies”)
that crystalline snowflakes
are unique. unique.
and maybe later
and sunday school classes
( the world over)
small children might make snowflakes for themselves;
they’ll fold lacy paper exactly in half,
with a good crease,
and taking their round-ended scissors,
they’ll cut their very own unique cuts
so that when everyone unfolds their lacy paper
and lifts it above their heads
everyone can laugh at their uniquenesses
but one thing that ministers & mentors,
rabbis & nuns will not add
is that those one-of-a-kind snowflakes
in their descent
on icy black currents
all their night fall
. (from a coupla years back)
January 1, 2016
N E W T H I N G S
M U C H
often it’s uncertain to see,
to see the true things through,
but certainly sometime’s there’s time
when surely much of what’s new
when noticed might matter
to you or rather
D U E
I fear I forget that the frail,
nearly unable, but
when a whisper of Will…
when they muster an incalculable
measure of reach
to straighten, and lean up
for what’s due.
That’s alot to wait for
The Freshest thing in the clearing
by the pond’s sunk boat,
near a nest, There’s this ringing
drop, possibly just now dotting
one leaf, left just new
by all the dew
That’s what I wait for
December 14, 2015
Inexactly, a drinking priest,
You’d think he, at least & at last,
Classically, might be caught in
(Necessary) tight vises
Of a crisis of faith.
Vacuously, I’ll see it’s not
Knowing the knowing needs
the slowing some
the clogging some
of logic to help the heart sing through
(for Graham Greene & Tennessee Williams, & their wondrous torturous sermons)
(from years back)
August 12, 2015
As I ask
For more info
& They acquiesced,
They ‘d defer to
“Those in the know”.
Those in the know?
“I don’t think so.”
I was a wise guy
god, eighty odd years.
Most answers are guesses.
Uncertainly those experts,
August 8, 2015
“Is this It?”
I’ve always kept this away
I’ve sleep before this one feeling
Can fuck w/me alone (my eyes on the ceiling)
I’ve kept it at bay
With whiskey, & the fantasy of Art
I’ve consistently insisted on
Not being too damn smart
Illusion and delusion and confusion
For a start
It’s not all how you look at it
it’s how you don’t,
“Is this It?”