Tuesday, August 28, 2012


you're talking to yourself
on the phone about tethering
and chemical strings, pacing
the room from bed to bath
circling  a woman
you'll never forget.

you're younger than you
remember, but without the anon
there'd be nothing new to know

can u write that in a mathematical equation
so we can get it published and win a noble prize.

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii thwart the government's evil plan
to tap smart phones with my free app that makes
secure encrypted calls , yes, even conference calls.
cryptography is where privacy lies

cash this in, the woman wants her snuggles
you remember how that was, don't you?
close the curtains, take the receipts, let's keep
the money unnamed.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

like a moon those mood swings

predictable, timeable. i marked
the calendar but erased
it from my mind.

  found a unicorn
horn in the sea filled with sand
and filigree of virgin, color of a sturgeon
unbelievably improbable, like meeting
this way, cometting the yucatan.

all kinds of shit to do.
ramping up to  the high
bridge of  i 375
 into  downtown
 fly off  into the half
moon siting over st pete's skyline.

nestling in the quiet
while the sun's out
 on this side of the pond
sleeping in the daytime
gearing  for the wane.

sliver in a slither, snort the quick of lime
i'll be changing quickly in a short time.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

i don't mean to be difficult but

i like my ham sammich on rye with hot
german mustard and swiss , toasted
and if i can't get that then it's not
a big deal, i  can handle a new taste.

things are not going well across the state.
i might have known the woman would sabotage
new beginnings by jumping into the ghetto, no camouflage
to go for an  opposite  paradigms. deflate

the ego to bypass decision
not understanding the cost  of derision
is middle class tax rate high
and she has no money to fly

away from a mess she courted
her only escape route aborted
by spending all the cash she could get
savings gone in a rolling dice bet.

so what will the future be for her
it's cloudy and stormy seas for sure
unless she puts on the shackles she craved
when she headed out of mommy's safe cave.


fuck, i would have told her more
if she would have listened but
the broken window stopped me, sore
from all the fights and blame, put

up with it as long as i could,
a chance appeared, the signs looked good
 her time was done, she felt expelled
she will blame me for her hell.

already does, oh well.
the blame game's quite the spell.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

interview with myself

hows it going with
your new man?

we're in the honeymoon phase.

why aren't you writing more about it?

he never leaves me alone long enough.

well, dish, sweetheart...

seriously i don't think i can.

why not?

he wants to be in my poems.

that's never stopped you before

and i think i've learned my lesson

why so cryptic?

that's the lesson

please, explain! expound. you built a ouvre on simple reality. diaryism. give me some of that.

i'm a superstitious person. my gods are sadistic, malicious ironists.   his are, as well, though he doesn't like to pay them homage. we are living in a musical that the gods are writing, we both know it but don't  talk too much about it. i have an inkling that the irony will evince when we admit that we know there's a big black bag waiting for the body of our relationship. it has a smiley face on the outside and it's located somewhere in the great northwest.  so yeah, i keep that black bag between me and belief.

okaaay, that was contradictory.

so you understand my problem...

not really.

listen, this is how we met.

 jupiter and venus dance
in the early spring sky.
i pull into the end of the street
where i stood up in your rabbit
convertible,  pulled
 my panties down.
stepped  over to the driver's
side. you call, the conversation

is about computer security
linux vs. windows
the trajectory of logarithms.
i watch the planets, alone
in the dark, dissapointed
you aren't here to share it.
go stand outside
i command, look to the west can you
see them dancing?

you can. i'm so weary
i tell you
of the game. i'm giving up
on love, this very minute
it's never gonna happen. i'm done
with the love game, gonna play
the dating game now.

  the planets turn into
  eyes of a dragon whose tail
encircles the earth
and rattles  moonrise behind me.

at home i put an ad on craigslist
filter through ten replies. poor response
for a friday nite but it's late
 and i'm not peddling sex even though
nine of ten responsdees believe i am.
but not you. politely, you suggest
a different day. is is really too late?
i answer. flirt with two other men
wanting . hot, anonymous alohas.

but you want to play my conversation game.
we bring our balls to applebee's
and close the place down.
a hug and kiss, a scorpion's sting
goodnite. i fall in love
with the idea of us
in less than four hours.
the god's titter. this one's gonna be
like a long delayed orgasm
and the torture begins...

so,  the new guy is a ....



a deceiver, a dog, a man.

i don't understand

i want to think he's perfect
the omens are good. i gave up on love
seriously, i had killed hope
and they resurrected it that very night.
what are they gonna do to me now?

but you seem so calm and happy these days. why do you believe that?

because he's not perfect. i merely make him so.
perfection would never wane. this will, won't
 it now?. since i am
resigned to the mortality of love,
  it's sacred when he helps
 move  my daughter to another city
so she can start her life, so we can
be peaceful with each other, i let him
paint over the crayon
drawings on my kitchen wall
with leftover paint,
we found in the shed
and mixed together
to make mint. because he wants to help
because it makes me feel good
because all the things lacking
are the flavor of what we add
when the vibe is positive despite
the gods intent. and we laugh
and we smile and we stroke
skin to skin, blending into sugar water
that gods will spike with vodka
when their real  party begins.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

spillage and fracking

ok so i went thru a period
a phase, an idea. it left me speechless
counting the meanings i could hide
like a suitcase full of grenades
somewhere on the  lower east side.
explodable but still pinned to safety-
as long as the key stays put.

a bite on the neck would bring the day
to a wonderful close.  i'm giving up
on the tussie mussies, looking for diastole
and sistole on cobblestone streets
as if history were a road we could restore
or a wall painted mint, piped in kelly.

i have my peace now
the girls gone
a houseful of men
one queen bee
buzzing the flower

love is  an atom
thirty two spins ,
 electron cloud
  heart of positivity
cushioned with neutrality
to add mass and attraction

 i need to get stoned
to understand particle physics
stjll, it surfaces in accordian notes
and the lake in your eyes
the vibration of youtube videos
tuned to the end of the world
and alien salvation
clouds with metal skin stitched
to photons with aurora wings
last dances with new haircuts
the creep and gong of hello.
the spider bite of goodbyes.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012


rub oil onto her thighs
between skin dimples  
on footpalm as her knee
brushes against you

remembering before the dike
was built, before first words
first wounds, first wonders

heal that which binds
  tangle to  wind
unravel a glance from
the turn of her head.

wave goodbye to a tantrum catastrophe
and the mountain of   prophesying clouds
goodbye to streets as  rivers
the cannon  power line,

say hello to hope in adventure
through sugarcane to new coasts
lined with lime, tamarind, and time
prismed into her eye, sharp but  kind.

Saturday, August 04, 2012

mugwort morning

a rare
 white glow of blinds/sunrise
 soften your hazel eye into
 blue sheets

 flower falls from my
 mouth., can't unspill  spilled  wine,
 house homed in a word, nestling sweet
mad "our".