Sunday, February 18, 2018

Incident At the Barbershop.

Incident At the Barbershop

Tomorrow is not like it was today.
Yesterday is gone but today is not.
You told me you were going down to the
Barber shop for a haircut, but you came
Back ten minutes later, crying your
Eyes out because you had made enemies
Of the barber.
He wasn’t very nice, you said.
I asked you to give me specifics,
But you insisted the cause was not just,
That it was just better to keep it to
I didn’t bother you after that, because
You seemed so distraught.
I can make out everything in my mind,
The way you must have sounded when
You spoke to the barber,
And the way you must have fled,
Crying, from the barbershop.
I never liked the barbershop, either,
It was as if you were losing a piece of
Yourself that you could never get back.
One day, maybe you will tell me,
And tomorrow will begin as if it had not
Stopped, and yesterdays were not promised,

And all endings will begin again.


All That’s Flesh

All that’s flesh is wrought of flesh,
All that’s bone is wrought of bone.
Bone and flesh mingle together,
Forming a xylophone. 

The music that’s in the tone,
Goes together as if going on forever.
All that’s there is mourned of flowers,
Are burdened by light, and wrought with powers. 

In the season of the flesh,
The folding of night is pushed inside.
Just like a blessed mesh,
The heart and joints will not abide.

All that’s flesh is wrought of flesh,
And all that’s bone is wrought of bone.
You put everything together in a mess,

And hope for the sound of the bone.

Under the Moon.

Under the Moon

The morning after it was like the sun
Was rising in the east,
The golden sun on that April morning
When we first made love.
It was as if the whole entire world was
Awakening at that very moment,
Filling to the brim of it the way I was filling
Our cups with orange juice,
And drinking it down.
Making love had become just like breathing,
And everyone knew about it but no one
Knew nothing.
It was a secret we had kept during the night,
While we tossed and thrashed among the bed
Covers, looking like banshees going out for
A morning walk.
It was a divine moment the first time our
Lips entwined, like a fiery hot fire of burning
Flames shooting from here to infinity.
Then the caresses and everything in it,
Flesh upon flesh, sheets upon flesh,
And the niceness to it that was everything.
That was the lovemaking on that very first night,
That lasted a lifetime under the moon.
Somewhere, I think, a wolf howled.

Or maybe it was me.



The purpose of life is not waking up
Thinking you’ve lived a half-assed life.
In the dreams that you seek, you begin
To dwell on the fact that nothing will
Ever change, that change takes time,
That nothing will ever be the same again.
Buddha says everything takes time.  Buddha
Says there are all things great and grand.
Life is in how you live it, not in what other
People tell you.
If you want to buy a motorcycle, then buy
A motorcycle.  It is very simple.
Life is simple, my friend said, late one evening
In September, after the torrid rains had torn
Everything apart, to the smallest miniscule. 
The smallest microscopic organism. 
Some people are very polite; others, not so
Polite.  We weed by example.  We are not
The example.  Somebody once said,
That to dream is to be of the flesh.  I think it
Was my brother, who was a motorcyclist and
Had gotten a parking ticket late one afternoon
While getting his hair cut.

To dream is to err.

Saturday, February 17, 2018


In a Circle

The adjacent simplicity of water is
More like the lateral movement of
Destruction.  Everyone encompasses the
Movement, that is in the movement of us.
Some people steal purses; others steal credit
Cards.  But all people are on this world
That spins and moves in circles around an
Interstellar sun.  Sometimes it is hard to get
Ideas from not moving; but, when the spirit
Moves you, this is the time to respond
To the utter realization of thus, that all moves
On this planet, including the wind.
The wind is moving my hair.  It is moving
The flag.  It is moving your clothes. 
See, what did I tell you, that anger does not
Really mean you should be angry, but
Have fierce realizations that time goes in a
Circle, that everything moves and goes in
A circle, too.  This is what poetry means.
I guess you could say this is what anything
Means, and how anything goes, what with
Destiny and all, shaping our minds and helping
Us move forward, move forward.
We are always moving forward.

Didn’t you know that?

Thursday, February 15, 2018


What Infinity Is

The proclamation of infinity is, without
A doubt, a half-realization.  This stands above
The rest, that all has been and all shall be.
We have been moved when all are moved.
I do not want to brag, but I have been broken
Many times like a broken bottle, a clock
That runs backwards.  The time is not in
The time.  Do not be straightforward because
We are all fragile, like shards of glass on
A highway.  The highway is full of old cars.
On the side of the highway is a landfill.
I dream of a place where I can be free and not
Be afraid of being thrown into the wind like
A song.  We are beside on the times.  Sometimes,
We hear the things that should not be said
And say things that should not be spoken.
It is how humans are, the need of it, the greed of it
Is much better than what was given.
Some people will do anything to go on a vacation.
Others will do anything for love.  Still, there are those
Who do both and I do not wish to brag, but I do not
Like either, I simply like listening to jazz on my
Way to work, hoping for a better tomorrow,
Hoping for something much better than here.

It’s a stone’s throw away.

Grandmothers Are Happy.

Grandmothers Are Happy

The drunken shadow was on the wall of
Forgetfulness.  My mother forgets me
Every single day.  She walks up and down the
Stairs, while whistling a tune, sometimes
I can make out what she is singing,
Other times, I can’t.  Her mind used to be
Sharp as a whip, but now it is gentle as a cow,
And I am getting used to telling her how
Things used to be, and where things are.
There is a difference in the times, now.
She used to whistle up a storm.

The storm has grown dim.  Everything is dim
As a cow’s butt.  I wish my mother was how
She used to be, so playful and loving, but
The disease took her away.  It is a disease
Of the mind.  She doesn’t dream of anything
Anymore, she just sits and whistles and
Laughs herself silly.  I never know what she is
Laughing about anymore.  It is like a joke
I don’t know anything about.  She was married
Once.  Her ex husband left her the children
And the old rocking horse.  She loves the
Rocking horse more than she loves her children,
And she says, one day, she is going to put
Her grandchildren on the back of that rocking
Horse and whistle her heart out.  That is what
Should happen.  Grandmothers should be


Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Some Love Doesn't Last Forever.

Some Love Doesn’t Last Forever

The light is bitter and waning,
And I am growing old.
I have always loved you, dear,
But I am growing old.
The green pastures are fading,

And the light is growing dim.
My true love is yearning,
But soon I will be gone.
Tomorrow will be here before you
Know it,

And today will always live forever.
In my heart, I will never, belong to anyone
But you.
My love is aching and beautiful.
You say you love me now.

Sometimes your love will stray,
But you say you love me now.
I never knew what to tell you, all those times
We were together,
That love is ever-lasting, but some love

Doesn’t last forever.

Monday, February 12, 2018

I Live In a Forest.

I Live In a Forest

The forest was a grim place of
Destruction.  The night is dim like
A lamp.  Stars want to come out to play,

Like the rodeo that they are.  The wishing
Well is damp.  Someone had fallen in it over
Ten years ago, and their ghost haunts the water.
Sometimes, you can see his face if you stare

Down into it, and wave.  Sometimes, waving
Makes things seem better than they actually
Are.  The distance is the becoming of it.
The distance is grand, and flocks like the
Ocean.  The waves are turbulent.  Surfers surf

On the surface of it.  A locket, a dangling necklace
Of greed washes on the shore of the waves
Of the ocean.  The grandness is in the theft.
Some days are better than others.  Other days
Are bland, like apple sauce or bad vibes.

We seek what no one else will seek.
The darkness is in the light.

The light knows that.

Sunday, February 11, 2018

I want to go to the Greek islands,

I want to go to the Greek islands,

You said, tossing your hair back over your shoulders,
And staring intently at my face,
Trying to garner a reaction that I didn’t want to give.

And how will you be paid?  I asked you, as if I didn’t
Already know the answer to this long burning question
You had, as if there was no time other than the present
To seek the answer to the question that no one had

The time to ask. 

I will be paid with my life, you replied, and got together
The dinnerware and silverware, putting them on the table
With the white tablecloth, moving around the plates and
Silverware, to position them just right. 

What I mean is, I said in exasperation, where is the
Money going to come from?  How will we get there?
By boat and then by plane, you answered.  I am going to use
My funds that I got from my grandfather. 

You got funds from your grandfather?  I demanded.  Why was
I not informed?
You were not listening, you replied,
And then you sat down to eat your dinner, which was

Also mine, too.


Have You Tried To See?

There is a whirlpool in the middle
Of the ocean where the fish do not lay eggs.
There is a dark end of the pool where

No light can escape.  It is so deep and
Dark, it attacks the fish, and they
Run away, scared, terrified they will
Die.  Some people

Have tried to swim in it.  Including fish.
But no one has ever come out of it,
Safe and whole, they are always shuddering
And looking for a psychologist to tell them
Their prognosis.  Sometimes it does not look

Good for the fish, especially the porpoises,
Who spend their entire time swimming in circles,
Trying to capture the moment before they entered
The godforsaken hellhole, the prison that is
This whirlpool.  It is out of their hands now.

They cannot save anyone who dwells in it.
They cannot even save themselves. 
The whirlpool is there, watching and waiting,
Waiting and watching, and no one is safe from it
Except the fish who avoid it in the first place.

Avoid the dark places.  Always seek the light.

Saturday, February 10, 2018



The littlest heartbeat is usually the
Best one.
It is stuck between my finger and my
No broken bones, no shattered cartilage,
Everything is masked for us to give.
Seeds of destruction are no longer filled,
Time is a worry that cannot be broken.
I am here.  I am not.  Where are you?
I have been sheltered, like a princess,
On her way to the ball.  She will fall in love
With a prince and I will be left alone.
That is how love goes, on and on forever,
Like a blessed doll.  All things are transparent.
Reading is the fundamental of science.
The backbone of commerce is more than
Riddled with the guilt of deniability. 
Forced by half-drenched realizations, there
Is a steady thrum of reluctance, which is cast
Aside as reverence.  Everything we have we
Have worked for.  Everything we know is turned
Into a brand of knowledge that is not in our
Foreseeable future.  Some people have no future.
Others do.  But it is all taken in stride, just like
A landslide that has overtaken the realm of
All doubt.  I have not been given a way out,
But, still, I am looking for one.  How is that
Forgiven?  How is that a meaning of forget-fullness?
What is the dream of realization that eludes us?
And then, in the damn of hatred, we wait to

Be reconciled, even still.