but i stay

well i got this love now
it's oh so slow
sometimes i think i'll pack my bags
and just walk out the door

but i love him
the way he shifts
from high to low
with little gifts
sometimes i'll think i'll pack my bags
and walk away but i stay
yeah i stay

you ever seen ice melt
then you seen his heart
he got the turtle hug
he got the viscious spark

but i love him
the way he riffs
from high to low
with big fat sticks
sometimes i'll think i'll pack my bags
and walk away but i stay
yeah i stay


i asked him for a kiss
in a little while
he said exuse me miss
you think i'm made of time

but i love him
though he ain't so swift
he keeps me waiting
i keep him on my list
sometimes i think i'll pack my bags
and walk away but i stay
but i stay








===========================

an different song

if you said find the sun i'd run

WAR IS JUST A COCKFIGHT

is that my cigarette pack over there?

i dont bleeve there's anything in that pack.

no it's mine.
\
wrong on both counts.

most of my friends were girls
growing up. guys scared me

we have that in common.

i don't know what the kids were told.

mostly they felt unwanted.
like post abortion blues

thing is, when you're being the odd one
you gotta wear it like a badge

odd is not a bad word
not only are
triplets odd, but the trinity.

and the golden ratio
 Fibonacci
just like on criminal minds.






*******



so where are we at here?
total riots in european streets
this is what an invasion feels like
why you want to meet them
at the border with guns.

a sitting professor, female,
in a saudi uni says muslim
men can, with impunity, rape
non muslim women. in fact it's


encouraged as your duty
to make more little muslims
to continue to intifada.

well. your title might have a point
here at three minutes to  midnight.
where you should be hugging your neighbor
not comparing penis size

time travelling

the bean soup was made
with jambalaya stock, hambone
from christmas, honey baked.
mexican cornbread, dad's recipe, modified.

last night's eighty dollar dinner, trendy locavoresque,
peopled with spectacled diners in suits, you in purple tie
against my shiny gray cardigan and boheme skirt
was no better than what we cooked up between us.

now you're on the phone, with your pretentious tone
all enunciated educated southern gent talking grants
how to make them  happen, leadership changes means everything
it's an open game now. oh yeah, keeping up with the times.

who is this dr x and why isn't he a professor. mela matters
because of the tenure issues but no one is looking out
for the students. that's why they like this doc. gotta deal
with the time stamps as they come. ad. min. istration.

:****


too busy for a family, what tonsure in a spec of dirt.
he's a spec of dirt.eye inflamed. blinded by filth.


live blogging a contender's nterview on tonightly.
helping people with glaucoma touting gov. staying out of your life
but he is definitely anti choice i tell me honey. keeping it 100
worrying about the biggest dick besides the leader who no one wants

and whose name shall not mentioned in this blog , hopefully
a footnote in a transitional country. put a little hat on hitler,
tame that crazy hair. let's lookit that future, all burnt offerings
and cut rate selloffs of non existent condominiums on the rising

seas of paradisical shores. which drink do you accept- tea
from a russian dictator or the coffee from a serial rapist?
dignity can be reified, but love is for never. twenty six
inches of snow and the heart still beats, warm netflix, chill.

spectacle of of turning blue, three percenters in a race
already over . the kind of confidence found in
  wrong reasons crossed with obscenities dumped
on preschoolers. poor taste less than exploitation.

you  might as well have lit this money on fire
or bought dividends on seems to be the one
crisis symbols. mom was no help. the fight
continues. it's not your critique rolling my eyes.

feliz navidad

live bloggin the xmas eve shakeytown
salsa en la casa, skeeters in the shadows.
front lit by the puter on my lap, on the patio
in the otherwise darkness.  in the backyard
neighbors speak in happy tones below
the music, popping something occasionally
for a game. this year is too much to bear
outside this little circle where tragedies
are of our own making or absent
 you have enough anxiety to shake
loose rivers from their banks.
  want to run to the sea /disappear in some mist that runs off the page so no one knows your name
but i remember, love, the times we can have
if we just remember how to be young
with old souls and older bodies.
never mind the gray, i love you anyway.
the music rises behind me, voices break like a wave over rocks
the horns , the singer yelling o mi amour, contigo a la playa
or something like that, i always mix them up, it confuses me
why i can't learn more spanish than i did in eighth grade
and i work with these people, they talk all day and i
ignore them. selective hearing. they will miss me
while i'm on vacation, i think. the boss is gettin a triple bypass
i saw the circles under his eyes he's almost sixty, like me
and it comes to me like a soft mandolin we don't have a buncha more years
to smoke and drink and carry on like teenagers
so we better get crackin if we want to get it all in.
and then i just go to sleep thinking of the energy required
to even bend over and put on shoes i've been in constant pain
for five
or is it six years something like that and it's not like i didn't ask
for the mental pain to cease but i didn't think it'd require
an iron brand in my hip eighty percent of the time and i
could take pills to make it stop but they make you stupid too
unless it's non opiate but like everything else even ketoprofen
becomes unaffective when used consistently.
so i save it and wait till the pain's too much
or i have something to do the next day other than work
one pill works twenty four hrs.
then i'm not tired.

i don't k now why i lent you my car
you have a history of self destruction through
carelessness. a hole burnt in the driver's seat
the lanai, pushed forward two inches. i'm like wtf
i can't believe i let you. hold on to your no
you said and ignored you. i had to tell you no you know?
it's a game of dom sub again, i guess. i love the slave
and so do you. you drew me in, pretending you were mine
but it's slowly become you who are master
freezing my commands with midwest tornadoes
springing up out of nowhere and i convince myself
if i just hadn't flapped those butterfly wings.

the skeeters have found me
i must go inside now.

rung around the same old

so this purely subjective beginning
with firework traces lingering seconds
beyond midnight ushers out one phase
slides the next one into home plate.
why the idling tickle feet, the prior banquet?
we know that's so last year.

the years go by swiftly now
one layer over another, before you know it
christmas and kwanza morph into your
second mellenium holy war.
is racism dead? not in my bible.

i had these poems to lunch
but they didn't eat a bite. said watercress
sandwiches could contain e coli
so they'd rather not. i threw
the leftovers out before they left.

i got dishes crowding my cabinets
like refugees with no jewelry.
where's there's dollars, seek a way
and ye shall find. my bathroom's out

for a stroll, trying to get rid of nasty relationship
with mold. bleach and a chain saw,
thin set tile and ton of grout then all things
resealed. let's not worry about time

and its infinite phases. why they don't overlap
is more a mystery to me than static ,FM dial style.
i wondered less why there was suspicion than why
it was levelled at me me. hell, i saved your marriage

because two free radicals more
in the cosmos
just didn't fit my bill.




















*(*(**

















so what's on the journal's agenda?
to be clear, my bathroom's a mess
mold-eaten and stripped bare,
the question is what do  they come back as?
a walk in shower is ideal because baths
is something few working class bees
can afford -time or otherwise.
a quick in and out, a footsoak on the weekends
why should i decide to have a bath in either room
of this modest woodframe mobile?showers
for the new age, man. if you want roman
ways, just visit the coliseum.
unless you want a roman shower.
i swear hot water
is reason enough for modern civ.

i guess you can get that with fire.


so let me amend. hot water and indoor plumbing
are raison detre for modciv.
see what i did there?




thinking oceania. thinking eurasia
and twenty years gone.





























++++






so you see, the scrolls. the placeholders
the dark matter, separated by stars.
a fitting tribute to the artist would be
rename black holes "bowies".

i think of them as dark stars pouring
into a white universe. but more likely
they gobble up light and that sphincter
closes tightly behind so that stars are born
on the other side.
good art does that to you. i heard a memory
from a producer that worked with david.
funny , i typed dave but i doubt anyone
ever nicked him that as an adult. the short
version is bowie. david bowie. never dave.


to be clear. i must belabor.


the producer said dave was very much
a zen of the moment creator. for instance
on heroes, he wanted a cowbell. but it was late
no cowbells to be had. not wanting to wait
for morning and the music store, he grabbed
an empty tape reel and metal ashtray
viola. cowbellish. this is what we hear
thirty, forty, fifty hundred years later
after he dies, and the producer dies and i
die along with all the other witnesses
who could tell you
  wtf is that sound


so much loss, as though it never was.










































****



















so  my love you grow thinner
more absent, dive deep into
age and lack and tired.
no trope could save you now
so let us rejoice in these small
reliefs provided. let us sew
the holes in our heads. i have needle
you have the thread.
let us lapse into quiet, haunted
mill of the gong echo in my head.
a washerfull of chatter, a bird full of dread.




so my love you grow
grouted in time, sealed with glass.
there is nothing more i would have
than you beside me and
the blue of your eyes reflected in the sea.



this is why i don't write. you fill me
i give you poems written in waves and magnetics
because your eyes are weary. so much
science to absorb, so much quotidian
advice to heed. so many diy
tutorials to reject.

let the poem be the music of you by my side.
let the music be the portrait of time,upended.
let time be a soft circular cloud,clambering to bed.
let the bed be our dreams, combined.





















))))))))))))))))))))))))>>>>>>>>>>>>>












border
lines collapsing
across the globe,between
my mind and yours. we share space,
combine.








*****




tangled in mists
the peacock feathers emerge
advance militarily
and fall to a cat.