I did not know the names
Of rock, tree, and bird
But I am learning.
Not for
Survival of the flesh
But of the spirit.
It’s so very loud
My dear,
i don’t mean to inconvenience but
The sound is incessant!
Don’t you hear it?
The old washer is churning
The rain is rhythmically washing over rocks
Your belly is growling
As if i were in it,
I’ve run out of diversions
Several times a day
And the endless
General thrusting of man and machine
Is driving me crazy.
January Crickets
The dryer makes a noise
Like crickets.
I used to loathe that
Incessant sound.
But the frost on my bones.
I ache
To hear them again.
There are Bottom-shelf Cocktails that Taste Better than Jealousy
You really love those devices.
Your mind and eyes make love to them
A young girl, eager to catch or steal
Any time at all, to get her hands
On her young, and eager stallion;
And when i kiss you,
I feel as if i am interrupting –
Your eyes, glowing with fascination
Pleasure centers, firing,
Your mind all lit up…
Like
the candles
you used to
light
for us.
Greener Grasses, Bluer Seas
Naked and grateful
In a warm bed,
My skin is thirsty for the sea
And my bones
My lousy bones, they cry
for the passeggiata.
My lips languish
In the saltless air,
And the fields of chamomile
Would strike the irons of my spirit,
But sometimes,
Even if you can –
You shouldn’t go back.
It’s all fun and games until you have to get out
The lake is forty degrees fahrenheit,
The kayak is too small.
You turn grey, your eyes narrow, fight or flight?
When your piano fingers, finally
Make the crucial trust-fall,
Suspended breath, landing so gracelessly.
Geese converse across the lake-top, green, clear,
We paddle, hush, enthrall ~
The sun plays hide and seek, swifts dive and veer.
The mountains wear a sari of blue mist,
Every lake-house, quaint, small
Mumbles by us with the pull of a wrist.
A gentle rain comes down, urging us back
Heed a warm kitchen’s call!
Our wakes stalk us faster to the task.
The dock is in sight and you’ve gone quiet
The next order, too tall
You see it, and frankly i imply it.
“How am I gonna get outta this thing?”
Your boat comes to a stall.
I don’t know either, big girl, I’m thinking.
I roll up my jeans and search for shallow
Grip your pull-cord and haul
And we flail, and fail, get wet, and bellow.
We’re only half frozen below the knee
Cups of coffee, a shawl,
If we weren’t, I’d ask you to marry me.
To hell with the damned drum
7:45 am I’ve been up for 3 hours
I’m clean enough for my first meeting, right? yeah-
I guess this is “makin’ it,”
but I have to say
What they say
I got this far by marching
to the beat of
My own drum, but to hell with the damned drum
My arms are tired, can someone help me
Can someone
help
I am a man but
I need time
to cry.
Maybe being insane is complicated, maybe not
I am taking the recycling out
In the snow, in a t-shirt.
I am unaffected by the cold,
Hercules!
I am collapsing inside, failing
To develop the hubris required.
I’m going to work out, physically and
metaphorically – I,
I am high on disassociation
and meditation
I am curled up in a jealous ball
On the kitchen floor
I have all the best ideas I’ve never had
Only twenty-four hours a day
I only think about you sometimes
But when I do, I salivate.
There’s a cigarette burning in the ashtray
There’s a cigarette burning in the ashtray
With a long and comical cherry
Why does the fan not disperse it
Into a thousand particles of dust?
It is grey, and stoic.
There’s a cigarette burning in the ashtray
Next to the other ones
That burned down in the ashtray
Since she got home, she’s
In the chair, with a beer.
There’s a cigarette burning in the ashtray
And Jim Morrison on the stereo
Let’s leave her alone today
It’s especially bad
Like so many other days, these days.
There’s nothing burning in the ashtray
And she is sound asleep.
Let’s go outside and play
Before she wakes up
And gets another beer.
2000 pieces
prince nothing 