Losing my sight, walking around at night.
Perice’s the dark, a moment of candle light.
Your heart is a drum, it hears, breaths and sees.
Upside down, hanging from branches of trees.
The air that you breathe won’t stop your heart skip a beat.
The center of paintings that stare.
The rising sun when sleepy eyes start to blink.
Standing like a tree, the trunk is holding water.
Naturally eating, puffing cigarettes takes a life.
A moment in time when a man loses his wife.
Bundle of nerves to untangle.
One picture frame, your painting yourself in the dark
A ham on the table, a clean spot and you think your smart
It’s raining outside

One drop of rain, a tear from the sky that is giving.
An opening, a space that is rented in time.
Realizing the dark, it is the sweet that’s forgiving.
Plucking a flower, stealing the beauty of nature.
Ceiling overhead, a feeling we wish to escape.
Your closing your eyes, laying on blankets of grass.
Not to feel the pain, sunset that’s making you cry.
Like a good book, reading from cover to cover.
Standing in the shower, beautiful, ugly and fair.
The needle draws blood,
the uncomfortable weight of a stare.
The tired feeling of wondering where you are.
The smoke of a chimney does not always mean there’s a fire.

Here comes Zeus in his zuit suit
Hercules in all his glory
hot and bothered, looks for Venus
history and poetry
standing at the Mayan temple
watch them sacrifice a child
Egyptians prepare a mummy
watch out the gods are on fire
all chant when the sun shines bright
the gods, the moon, the night
looking at the stars and Mars
watching Aztecs playing ball
voices speak to Persephone
George is singing my sweet lord
everyone try’s to stand tall
even when their idols fall
what you must do against all odds
is try your best to worship the gods
some people take time to pray
pray to Billy Holiday
some even praise animals
to stop sky and thunder from falling
and after the day is done
some pray to Jim Morrison
walk to the door and turn the knob
drop to your knees and worship the gods
muses mount the Trojan horses
pyramids and the white house
Apollo take your pick
shine your tongue and join the mob
drop to your knees and worship the gods

A crying wolf is howling, alone and never knowing
whispered words help those who are lost
days laid out and answers piled, lullaby’s for a child
spoken amen is spoken soft

wars go on with memories, secret notes inside the binder
blinded eyes that start to see, time moves slowly when you watch the timer

time is neatly traveling, emotions are unraveling
shot rings out and then it falls the prey
the youth has begun running wild, underdog has won the title
all the words that older people say
all the people in the pews, receive the preacher’s godly news
all hearing is focused on the timer

hands on the clock will never stop the timer sets off the alarm
the sun removes it’s rays, the clouds move in right before the storm

one man will become the loser and one man will become the finder
no one is alerted because no one took the time to set the timer

Thank you; just in cased
dropping you right outside,
the station placed
black and white; curled rimpled
change the day
crimped composure ride
driven away, Schwinn
blue bike-bombed to fly
dived-tired-out, a fallen direction
rekindled, tide, handed secrets,
and shipped lies
weeping late, hard sliver,
silvered sobered insight
watching patrons,
one graves of the hollering,
resound fans, masters of duplicity,
fiddling down, harbored arrows,
unknown re-board, foundered dimpled key
kept under the front door mat
spotted appetite; simply homeward bound
a woven DNA, clean caught
free-dumb, doing wheelies,
hands in the air, tight
well behaved acrobats,
charring coals hot
chair switching, church bells moving,
staring straight, angled cheese,
farmed after calves, narrowed gate
constructed happy, wine airing, too rich pate’
deducted tissue box, solving pro-nouns
tared for-malled, black statue, pro-rated,
dappled freedom, fresh rescue,
renounced of homemade flowers,
calcimine, in one sweet marbled beet
a nude tiled-a dying pillow-garbled speech
plagiarizing, a sleeping head
a rose colored vase, teared
cauterized smile,
re-surfaced

dark, cold, lost,
I ran to these things
it’s indescribable
to wish you were a bird
and build a five foot nest
inside a dying tree.
I slept in this nest,
safe and warm,
held, quieted, loved

I ran to this tree,
away from my family,
into the dark,
in snow up to five feet.
woods, alone, confined
the only place
I felt love,
caressed by stars,
the cold wind,
protected,
by my mother tree

The faithful catfish below,
Clear day,
I can’t hear those faithful eyes.
gathered; swollen skies…grasses
shells warm in the sun, wasted the faithful
catfish.
Plant a paper moon (I heard just now)
writing. Plant a paper moon.
A Poet dies. A turn. Path brok-en.
Beneath the tree. Donate dinner.
A no-wear man is weak.
Falling apples. Green and hard.
Hold on to branches, hold on.
Collect, gather rocks. Inside yourself.
Age. “They pace in sleek….certainty”.
Those tigers that swim. Underneath water.
Wire’s, wire’s. Slipped cage.
Lier, Lier, Change.
Words water.
Down the draining, drowing
Change loose; bites me.
Like a fossil. Rock.
Half- waxed. meaning two birds fell. hearing.
To see the unfindab.le tear

Waiting to be
I drew pictures
as if there were a reason
falling from the star
breathing like a tree
a felted blanket
leaving below
fallen snow
lying late at night
one inch of window
twenty below
insisting on Ontario light
cobbling, holding
covered by snow

I drew more
the air soaking
the snowflakes baking
I drew then
a side without a saddle
awake, fresh like ice
to catch that falling rush
salted down
as each hoof touched
the white night gown
the air ascended
shinning up
beyond morning light
a melted design
a beautiful design
a beautiful mistake
waiting to be

Madness
my missing bones
scratching burning itching
sand flakes
instead of cornflakes
a metal plate instead
a spoon missing
it’s handle
despondent hands
shoulder screwed down
someone Else’s now
masticated architecture
my bones service spoon use
standing upright
silver cupped head
I see my reflection
and am part of the
Rembrandt painting
seen next to his beard
above green pea table
across the dusty glass
just barely there
hair touches
the top of my body
long-faced oval-face
long necked to Modigliani
my spine too
is steel slight
curvature
my foot an iron claw
decorated flower
like a french curtain
beautiful and rich
(my one foot)
many people
grab me hold me
then turn &
tap me on the table
fringe food
spitting off
a dandy-lions
mane seedlings
shaking fragile
territory
tearing off
discarded stems
no state flower
blown or torn down
bloomed
it’s not a real flower
there’s no date
stamped on me
where I was made
where I’m from
or my name
synonymous X-ray
I’m in somebody Else’s
hands one foot
one bone stem
re-flecked on
with a silver cupping head

he and she
lie still
still lie soft
heads sink here
ripe crumble on cotton silted
thin wink disappearing
before hearts bellies
eyes sting

cataracts under take
the morning page
a cradle stymied
awake,fingers leaf over
Tuesday’s time
(without a doubt)

soft
as water
waterfall
blood parts,water breaks
it’s a beaded corset
a rosary quite set
each bead,a blessing
dropped

my mother wore
my grandmother held
(without a doubt)

and if not for a clef lip
a face under seen
water broken and loose
worn pur-ring warm
blotted feather
unspoken and small
a snow owl
tethered grace
as a waterfall
held
(without a doubt)

Fire has no reason, it’s a morning loop

like a fine old hand held

needed touch, gently holding

a butterfly stitch

can’t help to be rich

space removed, a window cellar, broken room

a remnants and regrets

cherished

the brown bottle, tipped over, tears staining

cloth belts, a rolling vein, tobacco smelling shirts

held together

by my grandmother’s

butterfly stitch

her loving touch

custom made rain coats, spring dresses

hand made by worn factory hands

made in an hour

any color

just for the afternoon

she sewed, my sister & I watched, the needle crawling

a fast silver fish

boxed and preserved, those patterns

laid over by plastic, like a couch

rolled and tied, our sleeping body bags

meant to be saved for a rainy day

my grandfather drinking from his grandfather cup

over spilled coffee grains, scattered like ball-bearings

we eyed our glass marbles

as the game began

Boston Red Sox vs. N.Y. Yankees

that old T.V. furniture piece covered

with dollies, Lorna Doones, and pouched tobacco

our grandfather ate powdered scones

still telling horny polish jokes

taking after his father, the Italian stallion

tending to their Sicilian home

open bags of Cheetos, three girls ate

orange fingers

overtime sudden death forfeit

cigarette still lit, an arm chair ashtray

new white Cadillac in the driveway

consciously, picked up fork

the road, remarks behind, ended

in that dark garage

shaking, messing around, shaking

foraging boxes, bags of Hershey kisses and old canvasses

pulling our hair, remaking a face

hearing our grandmother singing

wooden old dart board delivers

across the blue sky-top of the page

a straight line to Christmas, a blue crayon pathway

a broken red glass ball to be hung

a kept fake tree

en-caused, Jasper Johns-poster flag

all American

remembered again and again

hung on the wall, memories, played over

a plastic bow and arrow

aimed for that single red dot

like Christ, over doorways

catholic American dream

my grandmother sat, holding her cross

with my hand, explaining god, to her best

patting her arm hair down

when her goose bumps raised

asking if we wanted another

cook-kee

telling me about periods on Sundays

crosses everywhere

doorways

they were revolutionary’s

in every way, us

Polish-Italian-Chickasaw-Swedish-Blackfoot

mix-down

my mother sewed herself a P.H.D.

my father, an atheist doctor

humanist, writer of plays and pain

my uncle, the gourmet cook, London Aids

my aunt, cookie maker, heads the mental illness foundation

my cousin’s, two writers, a painter, a pianist, a sculptor

my sister the socialist social worker

hand me downs

all of us volunteers of my grandmother’s butterfly stitch

a morning loop, needing touch, gently held pens

all of us write something down

our memories can’t help

but to be rich

Take A Listen To “Butterfly Stitch”

But I lost it
it’s inside the mattress,
unseen
it sneaks out,
and spies
under my body weight
it spies
on the way I carry,
my own lies
the dirty sheet,
it makes it’s nest,
ruined
every time, bed re-made
pillows plumped,
fresh like
smooth shaved legs
it regrows hair, soon
like lies rebloom
in dreams
inside the mattress
dreams lie on the unseen
it’s caught on something
dreams, like melodies
stuck, again
it’s caught on something
it moves, underneath
the springs that hold me up,
my body weight,
slowed heartbeat,
there’s a line I can’t get to,
it’s caught on a rare
moments insight
flushing, down
like babies from the nest
roaches grow tinier
than we dream
it’s caught on something
I’m lost,
like a roach stares
looking for food,
spine, in my mind’s eye

Rolled-over
on whatever-is there
combed (hair) beach
bleached cover to cover
hovering
hollering in your hand
spreading
the shelf you can always reach back
into a rain storm
stand in the shower
breaking-naked
beautiful
a dull point
hollering in your hand
sponging off
heating flames
hemming in
the red pen stops
spreading
hollering in your hand
fire ends
setting
hollering in your hand
it was good
to have-a ceiling
(an) overhead a place
flowing and filling
clouds
caking, cracking, cracks
hand held
raining
blowing breath, warm hand
knowing underneath
bestowed
as we peel away
cold skinned clothes
looking up, lying under covers
blowing breath, warm hand
wiping away
flowing over life
arranging our own smells
religiously religiously
blowing breath, warm hand
setting the alarm
freely
as living rings: a silent bell
warns
sweating the sun
sets
hollering in your hand

worms tracked and sunshine timed
a demure quarrel
a bearded shock
a fickle fetish seemed
rudder-ed mural rendered
banded, boarded, docked, aided, unloaded
A barreled cadmium fish
genteelly gagged
kissed unloaded but racked
quiet Petra dish
aided with blankets
painted by facts & fences
a blow fish corralled
the horizon line
that gave way
knifed in facet-ed time

to be an un-charmed day
simple plain unstained
in-formal starved
frozen alive unstrained
dull yet golden
informational
harm coy arrow
fear revived. full
sun after noon
salmon watched row
wood rottlet
re-timed a minced docket
dirt tanning, moon let
cross bow

digging up, touched
rocked sun set
starfish alive
regrown scrapping off
old colors
fanning
the imprisoned rock
poked threw & rhymed
the chained
Prometheus
the back,
tide,
of a curtain hole.

poked pride
certain seams in
a naked P.O. Box
light finds
flipped paintings
& worms tanning whole
in suns.

to feel like a weed
just to be torn out
belly-up
a curled seed
(that grew)
under tossed, grass blade
(smooth)
And shimmering green.
wet,
a rototiller-ed, cut.
clean wood gathered
a slice of
Railroad tracks:
buried, iron, breath
ties of trees
speech [Bracketed]
passing so/
slowly/
overhead/
by kites, who’s knots
state height and width-un-til
it’s own wooden ribs broken
brake.
Against.
breaking skin-colored
silk faded, disjointed, discolored
the sun bares/
it’s bones/
barking/
at the burning tails
it flies high, cloth-ing
the burning hair, the back
of faces
of change/
the chance
to catch a cat-tail-
curled snakes head
tall green weeds
(silver)
light sinks
shinning highway-lottery exit
scratch the surface
with a silver face
the fire so hard to
put out-rain
(the last), wet trolley
(cut) log. troublesome.
bog
deranged terrain
(a) weeding.