Excerise II

Will we continue
as believers
through the years?

slave to a beautiful
dream
pursued through
sun lit brooks
and bramble patches

Or will we lead
different lives
down other roads

having forgot
the smell
of pine, and spruce
and how snow tastes
at Christmas.

unititled and unfinished.....

Why should it bother me
late at night
that
I cannot explain
what I believe
in terms
of ice cream?
Is it sinful to know strawberry
from chocolate chip?
or only, if someone else knows too?
or write blatantly of physical love
and the clash of belief
with something that
comes with sprinkles
and perhaps
a cherry on top?

What is a meta for?
just
something
to replace what
our society
wont let us talk
plainly about?

and him,
when you marry him
how can he know
just
what you want?
2 scoops
with whipped cream
would you be offended
if he likes jimmies?
and takes his on a cone…
just one scoop?

I
was thinking
to tell you
that all those missbegotton creatures
have finally escaped my sock drawer
and I
have seen fit
to leave my window open
and let go.
All those funny impish little things
that stood between you
and I

What do I stand for
that isn’t hollow
anymore
Nothing
that hasn’t been
raped
before
clogging my body
and mind
with things that
only aid
in misery
asking the weatherman
“must I spend another
day
caged
by my commitments?”
or free
in name only
wrestling with could
and should
be done
loyal to my denial
of roads
traveled
and less
traveled by
In the duality
of seeking silent solace
in company
and friendship
in loneliness
wondering
if I see
my enemy
every time
I shave my face
cannot escape
walking cliffside
paths
every new step
a new
unknown
yet close to a
home
no longer home
answering phones
knowing they
do not
have the
answer
to all these
questions

A spring sonnet

Take the low road, and escape with me
Why must we hide in the dapples of spring?
come with me, take pleasure, let freedom ring
in your ears, and shine in your young eyes which see
forgotten miles of country roads, which bid thee
enter and slough off sloth, all troubles passing
all cares slip away from your face laughing
like gentle breeze, through leaves in yonder tree
What spring madness gripped us when we fled here?
Surely the weight of responsibility
wrapped tight around ourselves like winter gear
would have shot down thoughts of such sweet revelry
Yet we have thrown duties to the wind
for the triumph of the raucous rivers din.

Mexico 2007

( Dedicated to my friend Kurt)

We left the refrigerator
light on
the day I was to take my friend
to the airport
to replace the alarm clock
that meant nothing
so one of us would
stumble hungrily half asleep
into the light
and find the note we left
so carefully
the night before
no time left for breakfast
really,
no watermelon,
no Huevos y Bacon,
just a glass of chocolate
milk in the early morning silence
before being catapulted
into the cobbled darkness.

Yellow Rain-Boots

(editors note: This poem was not written by me, but by a dear friend of mine.)

When I saw you in the morning

You were dressed perfectly

Your layers complimented your graceful figure

And your yellow rain-boots made you real.

When I saw you at mid-day

I didn't dare sit at your table

But I sat so I could see you

If only from behind

When I saw you in the afternoon

Your lovely hair blew in the wind

You walked gracefully but with purpose

And I adored your yellow rain-boots

Yesterday I smiled, and you smiled back

I continued on, but you made conversation

I answered your question, wishing I had more to say

But I'm too awestruck to do more

than wonder at your beauty.

Lord Lord
why am I so Drunk?

If nothing
will absolve
why not
my Tears?

Angels at my
bedposts strangers now
only watching

Comings and goings
rude awakenings
a deep loneliness

Pictures on my wall
smile as if they do not
understand

Old friends
who can only
watch and listen.

I am part of the river now
all summer
I have basked in its shallows
and fished in its pools
I am part of the river now
immersed
only a bright red head bobbing
I am part of the river now
it has become my reality
it has become my hiding place
I am part of the river now
I want nothing else
only its touch
its strength
I have become part of the river
I have given myself up

The River in Winter

A thousand voiced
cacophony
of
water
ever seeming
to be in constant motion
giving verbose advice
to the silent trees
that line the bank
taking issue with the ice
blocking its path
like an interruption
in its tireless monologue
ever voicing its
grumbling complaint
As it is forced
to tunnel under
the frozen sheets




When I was 12 years old
I used to carve bark
frigates with my swiss army knife
and rig them with birch paper

when I was 12 years old
I used to Catch speckled trout
in pools dappled in spring sunlight
and throw them back
just so I could watch them swim away

When I was 12 years old
I used to be the first to jump
in the frigid water
in April
wading through the pools
looking for crayfish

Now I am older
and it is winter
I sit on a rock
by the bubbling ice flow
that was my river

waiting just long enough
to remember what it was
to be 12 years old
by a river in spring time

Thoughts on Global Warming.

You never think of GIA
as the first rape victim
Adam
who begot
Cain
who begot
Murder

Nor would freud
in his wildest dreams
Imagine
that the blue black bruises
and multipe lacerations
of a mother
robbed of dignity
Would be the work
of generation after generation
of her sons

Forgive them lord
for the conspiracy of silence
that alows
her children
to slowly strip her
of all that is precious
and leave her for dead
for they closed each others
eyes and chose not to see
the blood on their own hands

My alarm never rings
and yesterday

in the city
I wouldnt have found

a payphone
just to talk

what we both know
would be utter

nonsense

We sit silently
on the hillside
agonizing
over our last one
for a long time

Not bothering to
shatter
the haze
of the summer's first
ciggarette

wishing
we didnt know
there was nothing
left
to be said

Letter to a friend

Heres checking in
to see how the state
teaches Dante
I heard
you might chuck in life
and go to Art school
best of luck
i'm sorry
I wish I wrote more
I guess
I just miss you
bitching to Eunice
about how you just ruined
Chagall
knowing
that someone else
knows
small talk @ 3:45 Am
would have sounded
ridiculous.

Forgive me,
My blind eye looking for you
over her naked shoulder
Forgive me,
She was my refuge from imagination
him with the black eye cigarette disdain
Forgive me
Sleeping in the arms of strangers
wondering if theres nothing left
of what we never had.

This army is funded entirely by user donations
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The house was quiet
and all kinds of joy
had scuttled into dark corners
the air was heavy
and everyone took their turn
to look desperately
into the downcast faces
around the table
begging
For someone to return their gaze
last night
the intoxication
had opened a box
everybody knew was there
the house was quiet
everybody had pretended
they had forgotten
what was in that locked grey box
on the top shelf
62 years ago
and the house was quiet
except for painful memories
asking why they were kept
from the table for so long.

Imagine god was a dirty old man
Imagine forgiveness sold in a can
Imagine an angel wanting to sin
Imagine a heart you can never break in
Imagine reality, what does it mean?
Imagine imagine was only a dream

What is this life?
If we want to leave it
What is the truth?
If we never believe it
What is freedom?
If we always abuse it
What use is our heart?
If we never use it

conscience
laid bare
take the oppertunity
to frisk
my soul

off beat
an outsider
under the strict
scrutiny of
society

*beep*
approved
collect your
privacy
on the otherside