Monday, May 29, 2006

Adventures in a Fishbowl

Even though
I live in a bungalow
the size of a boxcar
and most of the rooms
are closets,

I still feel
like a jungle hunter,
an enticing fear
that goads me through the
passageways of hours.

I expect a terrible climax
suspended in my imagination
like a poised tiger,
and move past each scene
in awe, awaiting the next.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

The Missive

After I received
the letter from another planet
a door
opened in the wall
and I stepped
away. A circumference
of 2 miles is my life, ok.

Tangled edges and puzzles
all with genuine social names
like war and addiction and accident
shake my eyes. Sex and separation
play hard ball, don't play at all.

You are so learned out there,
into your causes, into blood into
the business of far away.
You look so learned from here.
Your seriousness is a grace
that makes me weep.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Seeing Wildlife

The brown creature
was born here,
and so we meet.

I came from far away
where they made
a seal to
keep out the earth.

The brown creature plopped
into this world steamy
lick-bit and flopping
in grass and mud.

When I was born
glistens of drip
disappeared in a
flutter of towels.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

The Latch Key

I will tell you
what I do:
wake up
at three AM,
go to a place
where people talk in typescript,
ask women
to pretend to wrestle me
and rejoice in a special
liquid way
when they pretend to win.
I don't believe it myself.
It's as if the words
unlock a secret box.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Adolescent Ethology: A Bus Poem

nothing but joy
we take all of the space with it.

Health and energy
is how we keep our
membership, alpha
animals raising our hands
to call evolution to our sides.

We know
in sarcasm and laughing
that soar way
above trouble.
Girls know too, inspecting
and giving awards.

Friday, May 12, 2006

World War Two Gene: Mother's Day Poem

Anne still suffers
from the loss
written in the tissue
of one who came after.

It is the cold homelessness of Ohio
and the railroad towns
where no one understands
comportment and stenography.

She can never go back
except for brief breathless
visits during which she watches
everything age and fade.

They are tough there in Ohio.
It is war time and everything is
cobbled together out of plywood
and corrugated tin. The fun unforgiving,

the kind in which only strangers indulge,
sweeps away speech,
the soothing seriousness of roots,
the inherence of value.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Silver Spring

Was it the time
I thought Martha Narensky had returned
and ran down the street after her
only to find I was a fool?

Was it the time I couldn't speak
and sat at the table for two hours
silently gazing at Kathy's eyes?

Was it the time I was so full
of failure that I poured my confession
on hapless Milicent until her father
asked me to leave? Was it when
I returned in the middle of the night
dropping my very best door painting
on her porch?

Was it the time I held to my lips
the hand of forlorn Elizabeth before
she went where she went?

What prepared me
for love?

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Don't Touch That

I still practice
secret naughtiness
grown out of my main root
from the floor of time.
I keep it in a vault
as deep, dark,
private as the womb.

But you will find my hideout
when you dissect my life
and strip open my concealments.
I will notice your discovery with
an embarrassment that transcends dying.

Friday, May 05, 2006

The Unrealist

I'm a dim light eater.
And while I have
admired the ones
with rosy cheeks
and sociable dispositions
feasting in the sun
I would pass
all my years quietly sipping
fantasy with laughter as a
rare dessert.

I hide my appetite for sweets
knowing the power should it
ever get free in a frail
structure such as mine.
Thick blankets of cool vapor
protect the birthbed, letting things
stay as I imagine them,
and letting my years go by.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Joe Green's Speech

When his voice
plumbs to the very
bottom of the possible,
knows just how bad it gets
and no worse,
it's got jokes in it.