Sunday, January 26, 2014

fields to peel

i can't recall or is it
i don't want to. memories
cut with a foul odor
as if nothing were ever beautiful

back then. how can i say
there was never laughter
but that's how i remember it-never,
unless it's tied to pain.

always the tear behind the smile.
the way you gave me away, worthless


i'm practicing to be
a little old lady.
feet socked, legs blanketed
perched by the window, looking west
rocking slowly, slowly
to sleep in the sun. what dreams
should come in birdflight above the bayou
i'll let in again, powerless to stop illusion's progress
into delusion. the crows line up three four
to a lampost, gulls sweep acorss the muffled sky.
the dryer tics in the laundry room, calling
warm! warm! and i shiver
crows drop from posts to limbs to ground
the line on the on the lights everchanging but steady
till the one they were waiting for arrives,  they
 all disperse in notes across the  glass
falling off the page of the window/

this room was my son's
but i've changed it. given it a paiint job
and a new floor. when he comes home
from college he likes it but doesn't
recognise it. i feel guilty till he says
i don't ever want to come back here to live.
taken a bit aback i ask for clarification and he's like
you know, i'm almost twenty, i have
a life to live. i smile and think well
i guess i've done my job ok then.


this year i've been watching glaciers
melt over florida. right now there's a thick bank
just calved over my head. two days ago
the melt off filled the sunset, aligning along
tidal paths, like the ocean pulled all the way out past the sky
  left  its imprints in the sand, smell of cirrus.
the slanting sun lights up the comet tails of fighter jets or aliens
i cannot determine which, because i have seen
too much of everything else and wish for something new.


i've opened the window to let out the smoke.
i can't write without smoke and mirrors
 below my window ducks dig
 in the front yard marsh.  while gulls
haggle and fight over the pond
 just beyond the trailers that block my view.
once the ducks laid eggs under the hibiscus here.
once i bred magic under the ferns and aloe.
i told my self this would  be the non smoking room
but the cold air pushes the cigarette back in. i wonder
how opaque the window film is, can the ducks see in
are the gulls flying in circles to watch me write?
i have become concerned with privacy since i met you
yet you would have your tale told in song or
novel form. it might make a best seller i agree
if i write it in some new form.  otherwise
its tawdry details seem like an impossibly coinicidental plot
from a jaqueline suzanne novel where i am the saviour
you found just before drowning in the dark lake of your own making.
you wuold disagree of course. that's what keeps it fictional.


about the outer banks

i heard the parties involved wanted differing
experiences. all well and good but for the time required.
expectations are the death of good times. the past
has its own requirements and one of them
is to remain the past. they say you never reach the same
high after your first hit of the needle. still, you try. you try.

i have a bit of money, a smidgen of vacation time. understand
i have my needs as well. i like your idea, better if i didn't have to travel
so far to experience it, all on a maybe. this is what i think...
i should plan to come up there for a week. if we get to the beach
all good, if not, then we can be poets anywhere, as proven.
if i can get the time off, that's what i'll do. if not,
then sorry, i'ma go out west this time, empty my bucket
a little bit more. maybe we can meet in barcelona after college
if we're still alive. that's a dream i could bare to live through.
i have this thought that ocean is ocean, though i know
it's not true. but the pacific moved like the gulf
though more flamboyant, the atlantic waved to me
all through my life. it's the desert i don't know yet
and mountains exotic as cannibals. the outside of volcanoes
call to me, a trek to places i'll only go once. so forgive me
the dolphin is my home. i need to get away from that this year.


it's been a long time since i sat down to write.
i want this to be the beginning of a new era.
no more games after work. leave them for the moning.
i want to unwind here, in my madeover room
the one that has no lovemaking ghosts to distract me
from the long tall drink of you. because you
finally arrived and i remember the light in your eyes
not the spotlight, candlelight, streetlight
you know what i mean?


but it does seem ridiculous a bit
the way i had to reveal myself and us
to find inner peace. i wonder what this next phase
is going to show.

Wednesday, January 08, 2014

weed is everything you want in an opiate for the masses

or almost everything i mean paranoid
tendencies aside, to quote one of the heads
linedup outside the smoke shop, when asked
his plans after he gets his legal
ounce a day ima go home
smoke some weed, watch some stupid
movies and play some video games
he had  a big smile on his face 2

Saturday, January 04, 2014

nike mountain shadows on the foothill of st. pete

my son installed swipe on my tablet. im not using it
but i loke it better than the orher one for response though
 my typos are still legion. dot com
i still think its gonna be a good year
tho i forgot to burn my regrets in the new year fire.
i sang them out instead. consternation
or delight made no difference, that makes
the difference.

does that bother you if i touchyouvwhille u write ?
as long as u dont want response.
its cool. i was used to that. just let me be your
jet pack, baby. iwant to feel my hands 
on your body before i turn 85.
what are you looking for again?
catnip. i cant find it but i did
find this cigar


the cat was tortured by the papparazzi for tears
and year Thus this see swipe thing aaintwokrkng
out. sjes tired mow, shadow.
she wants her cooffe and brie
her honey and apple. she has come pit

out of the land of self agony

Wednesday, January 01, 2014

14 minit pome

im in the red zone
a cat cleans its orange body
childhood is on its way
rain keeps comin down
packing away and up
the ash grows longer
as time swifts by
the things we dont know
we miss.

tattle tale emails from the past
vivesect a landmine, close the gap.
endings can be both sides of a mountain

sleep seems like a preferable option
if the body allows
memory as persistent state of being.

i'll make some cornbread
jambalaya and coffee
nourishment, comfort and glee.

play with me peeks around the corner
demanding as a bee.