Tuesday, May 22, 2007

a warning

don't sit beside her
little singing fool
little jingle boy
with all your glances

unless you would become
an ordinary man

Monday, May 21, 2007

an ordinary man, #2, or san fran frankie

frankie takes his life where he can find it, sometimes
down on 6th street, sometimes running with the
oakland boys, and sells his favors to the bankers

in the hollow, sings puccini like sir elton in his bath,
he is an ordinary man and sleeps in poor confusion,
knows that moonlight fills the night with lies and

fabulations, so he goes in search of glory, from the
dawn, from the bars and from his rooms that want
his monies week by week, but he likes a single-malt

for breakfast, rare merlots with caviar and toast, he
hoards his labels like a floozie, gathers memories
from the tawdries on the street, he would be famous

my ordinary man

Sunday, May 13, 2007


she leans across my table, my little sidewalk sally, making
oh's and singing ah's, tapping strangely rhythms, and i cannot
see her eyes, clouded by her wild, hiding in a silly place

and she makes her questions, drawing lines all full up
in magicks, and i can not breathe her rawsome mystery
why am i captured here, all bound and simpled as a boy


i may sit the night entire, wrapped in hot rum and lemons, all floaty
on your window sill, to guard against the day, come roaming early,
come hungry for your favors,

i was down listening, maybe stealing clevers from the catholic boys,
hawking day old port to the crosstown freddies, when i smelled
your sweet confusions,

or was i selling tosca, giving whoopie to the pimps, and stopped
my indelicate perusals, sent those jollies on their way, for i would be
your hero

Thursday, May 10, 2007


lads who have found their sleep
should not be waked
if you must, watch them in their peace
they offer you a shadow of their repose
so sit and plunder memories
gather them if they've gone discarded
these times are of a rareness
and you've been a wastrel
you've lived in careless hours
and there are so few

as for me, i'll sit up in my window
caught between the ghosts and day
i'll guard you for a moment
go thief what ever fancies
i can try to hold the sun at length
spin some tales, dance the fool
but i'm not armored
so take my cautions at their face
don't wake the sleeping lad

his lips will give no heat
i see well the dark's temptations
though full and angry red
they're not for you
even here, in my awkward shelter
i can feel your anguish,
feel your weakness shedding resolution
see your pale hand frozen
in hesitation
and your hard breath clouds my sight

i would take some of this laddy's sleep
and hold it for myself
i know how to cherish
unsought things
so we sit in our indecision
but this i know
we must not wake the lad

Wednesday, May 09, 2007


if there was music, would we dance?
do you mind these strangers, oddly smiling
how do they see us, but that's another day
somewhere is a waltz, somewhere a song
somewhere we'd be lovers, if the world
were mine

always remember that
the train

there is that slow train
washed in black, making trumpets
casting ash with every mile
shaking these old barren fields
and bringing sorrow

who are you carrying
will you sing some soldier's chant?
and have you been paid
to make this journey
by men of worth?

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

true love

true love
i believe it's closely associated with
pecan crunch
coconut cream pie
if i were able to believe
anything at all
you made a litany of promises
certainly the length of a pre-nup
as many clauses
but i watched your lips
as the stream of words tried to
and it's closely associated with
lemon squares at starbucks
non-fat lattes
cinnamon sticks on our tree
as i try to remember everything on my list
santa's a tricky role, you see
for someone like me
and with meeting at the zoo
where you could kvetch about the animals
and i could smile
making my anticipation an event
and wonder if i'd kiss you
among strangers
true love is about
sleeping through the afternoon
to stay awake throughout the night
watching as you slept
keeping every hour safe
counting my minutes because
life has a tendency to cheat
to take what's mine
and i'm very much afraid of
true love

Monday, May 07, 2007

true love, no. 2

jocko made a hip-hop, breaking down his smile
into lopsided parts
did a jump, 2-step and finally
no step
sat on little jilly's swings and
all the while
forsaking a twirl
going through his famously confusing
explanation of love

whipped cream on lemon sorbet
raspberries in a root beer float
are true love

and he let me flip through the seconds
adjust the volume
cross my legs and exhale
in befuddled awe

baseball in Paris
cricket in Omaha
are true love

and he let me toss my scruffy shoes
across the afternoon shade
wriggle my toes into the sun
ponder the first tulips

foie gras with capers and shallots
camembert and sangria
are true love

and he let me muse
listen to a rowdy horse fly
aretha with my angelic falsetto
as he howled

jelly bellies at the Met
poneys at a rodeo
pancakes and grits
are true love

and he let me dream
of midnights
singing with my radio and
baking oatmeal cookies
with my father

and i often think of jocko
here where we left him
some other day
and i often sit
unspinning hours
waiting for his observations
on the silliness of life
expect to hear him breathing
in a rhythm slow
and measured
like true love

Sunday, May 06, 2007

the float

he was an immoderate man, choking d-flats into
his steel horn, riffing down intemperate a-sharp
sugary crusty donut shaped violations

he throned those iron steps scratched out
from his bedroom window, splayed his toes
shook his arms to free the juice

listening down, waiting out the breathing that
stole a few half-chordal splutters, squint-eyed
o-ing his lips to mimic back a few

maybe he'd coda out some butchy-boy noise
blonde hair glisses, frat-bunny do-wah do-wahs
runnin-the-bridge makin-time atonals

his leg found some dancing, shaking a wrong
old beat stutter stutter what'd-i-ever-do-to-you
and everybody knows boys don't cry

boys don't get sweet inspiration, make sweet
choices, make supper with sushi make-believe
and he splayed his toes cross the edge iron

steps, swimming in the moonlight, surfing
slip-sliding, chasing dizzies, gutting out
and making kisses on his horn, steel smooches

making him a good boy, an honorable boy
a make-me-proud boy, and he gripped the
iron one last time, then did the float
Site Meter