Sunday, May 31, 2009


HIGH NOON @ WHITE CASTLE


Lay my hand upon the hand
that lays upon the hand that’s healing.
Mark me present and accounted for.
Put me down for a pregnant pause,
and a dose of downgraded wisdom teeth.
Give me Liberty, give me Death.
Give me the Lazy Susan of the Seven Hells.
I live vicariously through myself.

Saturday, May 23, 2009


MR. BRINK


Here, arguing with a
few pilgrims along the way,
I offered them thick words
that have never been spoken
yet may be our own worst enemy.

For reception, I received just
a rattling in the throats that
followed us out of the train station,
a mob on a bender who have foresworn
any further looks in the mirror.

I am alone among the tented
true believers, I am warmed
by the slow fuse of their blood.
I am besides myself, and willing
to put the rest in hock,

I’ve gone as far as I can.

Monday, May 18, 2009


BACK IN BROOKLYN…


The latticed chain-link casts its’ shadow
and the gods skip a shallow grave.
Zeus ran a moving business on 4th ave,
but never could get laid.
The swan died at the doorstep,
the traffic box clicks Stop & Go,
the street light’s a heart flutter filament,
and I’m nothing, a propped-up ghost
standing between two lands…

Sunday, May 17, 2009


PREDICTIVE SCRIPT


If you’re so smart, how come
you don’t just say it, my love,
my offal, my premature
transmission, my rapturous malady?

How come you don’t just say it,
a trench between the sentences,
the last place you wanted to dig?

How come I’m chasing myself,
when everyone else has left me?

Wednesday, May 13, 2009


BLUEPRINT


I see a ghost hand clasping as the cold
winter system flashes by....
a denatured glimpse, a fulcrum, a spigot,

a dead-end god, gone on the spot...

Sunday, May 10, 2009


DOGWOOD OR MAGNOLIA?

The pink-blossomed heart
imprisoned from yard to yard
as the dawn light slowly has its’ say
and I am up at 6 AM, toasting suburbia.
I have no name for what I’ve become
or the pale colors that pool around me…

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


MADE OF WATER


We are made of water, and from water shall we flow.
Our lungs are full of it, our words are full of it,
our eyes, aching and transfixed, are full.
We would drown the world in denial
before we could take this in;
an ocean of breath is what separates us.

Monday, May 4, 2009


TRANSLATE


A flight of geese—
broken black code
against the grey dawn sky