DOLLAR-STORE GLASSES

January 5, 2018

I wear dollar-store glasses
they help me work on perspective.
I live for nothing I can think of.  fact.
It’s suggested I might strive for focus.
In my day bed i might live
with one window & uncertainly my curtain cracked

I can wear one seventy five
On dollar-store glasses
I passed par for an old guy.
I’m far from passed, muy alive.
Tho’ she could present a good argument
Contesting that mad “muy” adjective.
I’d abstain again & again
And I’d hate to publicly substantiate

11-17-2005-07 Read the rest of this entry »

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PORTENDING A PORTAL

August 16, 2016

 

 

When the carousel  comes to where…

When the maelstrom makes certain turns to…

“This is where I came in!”

I’ll quip, and wink, and break up the fourth wall

I’ll step off,  & start off,  forcing a freefall,

& any form of  free  I will welcome.

If I find my feet  I can become

A pilgrim  on path,

A pilgrim back  filling his path.

 

TRANSFIXION

June 20, 2016

I  can’t  transfix  my  P.O.V.

 

I  can’t  transfix  enough.

 

I  can  remix  some  sub dubbed  copy.

 

I’ll  crop  the  stills  until  they’re  still enough

 

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

After finalities,

Are just filthy lucre

Aside memories

 

 

 

 

…but from here;  a boxed baggage bin,

in whatever vessel burning,

Point on  into blank,  frigid  forths.

Andever  vexed  in  yearning.

 

Blind Pilgrims/ Taxed temporal things/

Kinshipbourne/ Trapped/ As my fathers/

Captive on this  course/ We’re  bound to be/

Forlorn/  for treks  on farther.

 

 

 

 

from many years ago, for  Daddy

 rest in peace, b.3/21/29-d.5/29/57

1 CLIP

March 6, 2016

 

 

I’ve dreamt  and forget..

I only kept

One excerpt, one clip

I took back

Here to look back to

.

You could see down

To two  in the water,

Not drowned.

You could see that down there

That they were freely moving.

.

See

We ride out on

That river of grasses,

That  for a while now

Made for miles

Between us.

.

We’d ride out on

The one door, the one

We always want open

We’d ride one door

Still open

Wide to a wide world.

.

 

BEAUTY IN BLACK

December 5, 2015

If you’re tired to talk

If it’s too late for listening

My little time to tell you

But I think I just must tell you both

My dreams were dark   no  darker

Much darker than your bedroom

I’m afraid and I need to tell you

I want to tell you to hug me

And to let me under your blankets.

One morning I saw you and they were off

I stood  and  stared

You were the very best thing I ever saw

Both of you were so good  I cried.

I don’t want to wake you

Just my little time to tell you  both

My dreams were dark  no  darker.

 

 

 

http---americanart.si.edu-images-1979-1979.98.121_1a.jpg

( Rockwell Kent, “The Lovers” 1928 wood engraving on paper)
for mom & daddy

She won’t remember when

Without a word we wandered

Dark  collegetown  neighborhoods.

Where were the dogs & cops?  I wondered.

We were thrilled for the night  still.

Still,  there were all the satellites.

And very still, there was that light

In a candlelit  picture  window.

It  gave  a silhouette, a shadow   readying  a bed.

Buffing up a sheet,  she showed us,

Me and my sister Janny,

Her  heartstopping   Beauty;

A silent ballet shadow show  that

We acknowledged

Her  walkstopping   ethereal naked lines,

Then  continued on, still wordless

Then  getting stiller yet.

.

.

.

(happy birthday, janice)

 

 

 

If  counting

Caught  halfway

Within & through a mountain

In a train on fire

Can’tWaiting  on the dark at the end of the tunnel

If  counting this here as a nightmare

I bet you’re poor at metaphor

.

It’s a well-lit  path

That tunnel

& the dark at the end  is full

Of  newer  stars,

Of night air  rich  w/lungsfull

New  oxygen

Again

 

 

 

AFTER THE STORM

June 4, 2014

On a walk out  on a dark street

And without the sweet burden of youth

And  don’t ask  about the mask

My eyes won’t recognize

Looking back  my way

In the marquee window booth