...singing in the snain...

singing along

to La Cucaracha

with new hope

I almost fishtale

off the bridge

thinking the snain

was just passing

through the grate

...tv news kills the romantic in Seattle...

the new ones

were darker even though

you don't think so

dreary is what you called

them but they were rainy

this has to do with locale

the fact that you mentioned

turning on a tv

which I never thought

was an option for you

was your downfall

and the reason

for this aggressive stance

(welcome to our world)

all poems are political

...sleep fight...

as soon as

I hit you

I wake up

...conjugations of conjunctivitis...

not the flight

but the battle

not in the hardest stone

nothing like this

and the bloodshot

worsened with withered hours

and the pins and needles

worked the cornea

(the tributary image

reappears in the once-white

of the eyes, creeping

and creek-like)

until the drops were

administered and I saw again

what you saw

when we got back

home and lit up

the office desk lamps

and wrote about

how irony blesses

us with coincidence

and illness seeps

through the thin thin

walls like the wind

(more ironic that chronic)

...thousands of feet overhead...

the white lawn speckled

with dead brown leaves

and branches veining,

creeping into shapes

similar to tributaries

and rivers

from thousands of feet

overhead,

we sit warm toasted

by the radiant heat

and the pulse of a square light

that singes the hairs

on both of our arms

telling us that we must

move around more

or we will miss

the little features

we used to watch

of each other like

little television episodes.

It snowed to white

and I still do not know

what the small

of your back tastes

like today.

There's no punch like

or catch phrase here.

This is just the age

of the docudrama.

...cloudy...

I thought clouds

were supposed to hold

rain up so that we

can get something done

like rake leaves

or make love

but I guess they

open up for a reason

which is required

of both

and that is sad

...anymore...

I cannot write

poetry anymore

unless it is snowing

and it is snowing

(or at least snaining)

and I have to go

to class so

I cannot write

poetry anymore

(until the snow

starts sticking)

...keeps me warm...

after I leave

what do i have

that keeps me warm

but the image

of you lying in bed

with that soft smile

on your face

Happy Birthday Mom!!!

...substitution...

six twenty seven

six forty six

out the door

and into the door

half asleep

half asleep

(guess then I'm asleep)

gas pedal dream

across the sludge

canal bridge

closed windows

mean nothing

when the vapors

seep in


(at this hour

I can't find a sub

to help me drive

this class home)

...passed you by...

at only eleven bucks

I should have taken you

with me and read that first

poem again and again

because it was your last

and yet I left you

on the shelf

where one leaves

the books

before going

into the bathroom

(you were hard

covered)

and I want to slam

my finger into the car

door for not making

you my own

...l'shanah tovah...

at the river's edge

I say I'm sorry

and think about

how things can only

get better this year

once I get rid of this

lint in my pocket

and this little shameful

thought that I can

make things better

...neglicide...

(this is our helplessness)


and no depth

of mine can

match that

of yours


this is part of the same

system that has failed

us and you and her


this is

"par for the course"

a phrase known

better to doctors

than "can I help you?"

more used then

"I can help you."


and all we want is some help

to make things easier

for those who actually need it


Where are the skilled doctors

who actually want to treat

illness and disease?


When did this take

a backseat to golf

and boats and trophy wives?


Wasn't there an oath involved

somewhere along the line?


Through neglect

we have bred terror

and the fear is that

we will all end up this way


irreperabley damaged

while the ones who have

studied the ailments

have given up

on the ailing

...roast beep...

smile again match

the sweetness of apple

and honey and

the year that is to come

and he is only three

(me only thirty)

but the joy is the same

he's gonna smile

like that forever

as long as he

keeps moving

...signs of the divine...

(these are signs:)

there are casualties and

injuries and upsets and

smashing and crushing


(Mistakes have been made:)

bombs and bullets and

blitzkreig and ballet and

wounded and wound


(Fighters have fought:)

boxer and bloodsport and

water and nurture and

nature and torture


(we've clashed here:)

testament versus testament versus

prayer versus prey versus

fan versus fanatic


(In the severity of each case
our cruel sense of import
tears at the very source
of the divine, what we are
as a whole.)

...scan-tron exam...

the microchip will be
eventually inserted just
below the skin

tomorrow's pain
will become a barcode
injected just below

the epidermal layer
into the veins
or deep tissue

in case of emergency
the signal wil be clear
and help appears

and the check
will be handled with a wand
and a long list

explaining why the exam
costs as much as a pill
that will require more tests

to seek more answers
that will require
more tests and pills

and nothing gets alleviated
or cured or even sustained
long enough to be sure

that the diagnosis
was as accurate
as the bill

D'oh!

...sweatshirt on the train...

she was some sort of test

I cannot discern between

want and need

but this is probably

part of the test


If I give her the long sleeve

and leave you in the cold

who will I be looking out for

me the guy on the spot

with the public display

of dupe or be duped


The answer was actually simple

you are the one

that I need to keep warm

because your hands

are always cold


and I need to keep

the rest of you warm

and hold your hands

if the warm blood doesn't

make its way that far


(called extremeties

this was extreme)


regardless of whether

it is July or January

the swearshirt stays

on your back

always

I promise

...porch sun...

the cities all mesh with themselves

this big red house is cool today

on the porch especially well lit today

the sun keeps asking questions

as if I knew the answers he was looking for

Oh, you know the answer to that

you are the sun and I am the spot

on the earth that you miss

when I go into the house

to sleep or den to feed

the parody of this is breakfast

cereal commercials or advertisments

from Country Life

but I am far from this luxury

far from Vergennes

far from the homes sitting

along the Champlain Islands

too far from the strawberry feild

outside Burlington

closer to the one in Central Park

and that hasn't a strawberry in it

The fears are quelled by the sun

today and the return to simple

becomes the truest aim

of sitting on the porch

...the wait...

patience

is the tricky thing

when the air is thick with water

and the sun boils the water

before it can ground itself

clouds

the wait for them

is unbearable

never wanted a western

front to come quicker

and the package of moisture

needs to finally open

and cool us all down


Are clouds of afraid

of freon


Are storms weary

of being saviors


Here comes the sun

again

but it isn't alright

it'll destroy us all


until the rains begin

I have nothing

and cannot breath