Monday, February 19, 2007


music, family, french doors to a
suburban garden
matching teacups, faithful sons
and golden daughters
lies, and lovers
graceless exits round 3am
we are what we are

may we play some streisand
from 1965
octaves tossed like salad
in a spinner
broadway highlights on a vinyl disc
who could ask for anything more

jog my memory with a sandra dee
zen could be my saving grace
mango custard, raspberry creme
confusion circles slowly
as it should

holiday inns, breakfast buffets
my life has been played out
in paperback novels
sold at rubbermaid parties
to ladies of leisure
not without pleasure
all at a charge

families give comfort
but rarely when needed
how will it end
these liars and dreamers
masquerading as neighbors
with garages for secrets
we're picking up the pieces
from a random distribution
of luck

are nights still meant for
keeping customs sound
traditions tightly wound
like summer in the poconos
entertaining ants and flies
by the lake
jam and bagels, bourbon or
sincerity has its cost

i leave my clothes, piled by the door
when rains come after dark
and walk beneath the tulip trees
quiet as a cat
listening to nina play
her songs of boys gone bad
love misconceived
poorly financed
until the rainbow finds me
at its end


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