...upstream...

being able

to swim again

means being able

to dance again 

and again until 

it looks like

I was swimming

not dancing

       again

...abbatoir..

mean errant bull

won't you ride with us

trot away from

the streets though

your urge is to

run through them

into them and reddened

by them

...new and old...

youth is the detractor

at this event and building

                              space out of lack there of

is a surreal art    age is a generator

something that cannot 

be machined into the archways

or coined/carved into familiar styles

any more than the black

gum that becomes black 

cobble along the hallways 

brand new and somehow distant

corridors throughout

a new chapter in this architecture

this young grass 

handsomely groomed paths

glistening windows

here you are not what

we thought you'd be,

    your better and that is

a shame because we shouldn't

have given up

just yet

...recharge...

inked into wavering

lines of blue sky

twining the night's sun

setting through stillness

they forget

that each change

in the shuffle of songs

sets the sun a little

lower lower

than the sky can show

before the orbit

finishes or the battery

loses all of its energy

until the next day

...flat, low-light...

the mild detest

of a priority escape

means that one

can never reach

the ground they

are tip-toeing on;

these four walls

repress any further

vision (or delusion

I estimate)

of truly escaping

and becoming

whole again

with pockets

and book-bindings

fully intact,

wallets and check

sleeves fittingly

available, next

to the fridge door

in the flat, low-light

of the oven-top lid.

...reaction...

the trigger in the clam

shell that shuts it suddenly

the sand granule in the eye

at the beach

the last little bit of popcorn

kernel stuck in the bridgework

the last straw or the wooden

bowl with crack allowing

the soup to stain the table

again and again

You always can react

to the fact that you will 

have to have a reaction

...single seconds...

*

he wanted to know

why he couldn't find

himself a fitting enough

bed realizing it was

actually the blanket

all along

*

he hoped that your eye

gets better and that

his mind finds itself

with that very same

hope of self improvement

*

the first songs of spring

are not bird songs

he said

they are really catchy,

from ice cream trucks,

that repetitious song

*

"Occasional Thoughts"

you can kiss my ass, but

then, I am a gentle man,

so you can kiss anything you

want to      but no marriage

                    ---Robin Blaser (1925-2009)

...weather girl...

I wanna be your local weather

girl tell you the temperature

that the day is running 

and the barometric indicators

in your knees and behind

your eyes;  I want you to be

my local Chinese delivery 

so that I can ask you

for more chili oil and tea

so that I can ask you 

what your family is like

when they sit around

the restaurant, dreaming

about the string bean's recipe;

I want you to be the local

pharmacy's delivery

so you can put me to sleep

later tonight, after we

finish the leftover Chinese,

and the rain has slowed.

...sun honey...

glad you should bee

little one stump side

jumping funny little bug

when the lights are so bright

the birds know they

are being watched

glaring sun with one wing

lucky to be in flight

a risk in the heat 

of the brightest path

get away with it

away with it

you go weathering

along today

...still audible...

that tearing, ripping

sound is still audible

(no pain is as brutal

as the last gasp of air,

the ending of a life)

shredded red fabric

strewn about the skin

marking and noting

each lost memory

of the whole that once

was our body

...paddle-less life-raft...

the way the storm

came up and out today

without leaving anyone

with a sense of relief

or restoration

that the minor floods

here mean anything

in lieu of the floods 

in the Plains 

and the disasters

of a failed economic

half century, our 'cents'

of worth, failures

to rescue anyone

during any of  our 

major catastrophes

except those who

already had more 

than enough provisions

for themselves,

but squandered it

away as fools always do.

 

...March 27th, 2009...

the bicycle eases 

back down the hill

and the clicking

sound of the chain

means that the air

is getting warmer

and that the clouds

will lift showing

your eyes to all 

quite soon

...back-up...

the bus is back

and it has parked

in my head

hazards on

just like the bus did

two years ago

and didn't get

a ticket

goddamn bus

...thought full guy...

how it happened was

he sounded it out

and flattened it out

on the thin thin white

paper plate like a smooth

soot silting in just 

the right spot 

on the page

this is what he said

became of the words

...mutli-ball...

the pauses and delays

only mean that a signal 

is not sending like it once

was and the receiver

or the router need reset

that little flashing

light in the heart

the things that occupy

the mind    working   

busy     please  wait  

that flash is lost

when the light turns

red and the text

on the other end

goes dead     cold

like the curb

...your dream...

I want to tell you

about this poem 

that he wrote

in the middle of the night

but I forgot

it when he told me

that he was going

to  finish it

when I went to sleep

...heroine...

tight inward film

the movie ties up to the book

lower freight fear

the acceptance of my crash

body lay body

the pressures of attraction

lie lower weight

the dream of being him

steel rail expressway

the days uneven thought

movie flashback scene

what do you fear to feel?

...big budget...

the aims are simple:

create giant not so unrealistic fabrications

elicit not so faux leads and characters

throw in the fears of a nation

and its shared unease

and we have box office

gold (or blue).

Are we up on the market

or down to the last

bomb dropped?

These the minor

details, the less 

than guided aims,

simple or not.

...white Brooklyn streets...

at 1:30 am

Union Ave took on a whole new glow

about it in the lights of the bar

shovel tractor high beams

and the fractals of light coloring

of the white white  

   soft     soft

late winter storm that we embrace

like an old album

or a record of the storms

we used to have in this city

before we changed the path

and its frequency