Saturday, October 31, 2009

Self Concept on Halloween

Bad stuff doer
wierd old man
mad bus photographer
street rider
waiting to be wiped out by Autumn.

I tell the waitress how
I always wanted to be a criminal
or at least look like one
wearing black coat and balaclava
with goggles under my helmet.

"criminals don't wear helmets,"
she says, original and poetic.
I tell her,

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Tuesday Poems

That's Me

The nuttinesses
hidden away in little things I write and dream
are nuggets of salvation

I'll never give them up.
All my strange theories which hung
together out of childish reveries.

I wont give them up. I love them.
I mean, nutty theories hold a special kind of
broken truth, truth with error, fact with question.


Then somebody came to the door
walked in when I opened it
and said, "is anybody here."

I was saying yes yes who are you
and you can't just walk in here.
The tv was on but the picture was blurry.

Then somebody passed by all I had on display
without seeing, preferring reference to a book
that told him who is real.

They have real reputations I know.
Then somebody looked around and seeing
an empty room left without speaking.

Thursday, October 22, 2009


I want to tell you
about my reaction to death
even though it is risky.

As my wife lay
unmotivated in bed
except to avoid pain,

her room-mate went
from her potato chips and lipstick
to oxygen tent. Then vanished on Sunday.

It was dark during a day that discussed winter with me.
I went home wondering how long
I could ride to the bus.

Saturday, October 17, 2009


Why do I feel we invented color?

I know we are proud of our paints, but

color came on its own

through natural randomness filters.

The Hours

Two serious women have such active eyes.
I watch them turn into each other
asking questions, asking for words.

They adorn themselves
like they are serious
and everyone wants their invitations.

When they look together something tangiable moves between them.
Each turns her head into the other's path,
each stopping the other

deflecting the flow of time.
Serious, masses of memories,
capable of poetry,

novel meanings.
Walking the wet streets
in shiny new leather.

Friday, October 09, 2009


The kisses
were a state of affairs
not the kind that start with flurry
and end with a furbelow.

They are flourishes of appetite,
could have continued
way past exhaustion,
sleep, through the following days.

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Joyce at 35

Looking at Old Photographs
I didn't remember but Joyce with abandon frequently laughed.

Friday, October 02, 2009

The Torrent Brought About by One Yes

Items I want so much
but can't ask for
my mouth goes numb
in saying it.

Things all assume
I already have,
to which I am
entitled only once
but want so much
and can't ask.

I have resorted
to broad hints
that nobody gets.
I sit on Santa's lap
and can't speak.

Thursday, October 01, 2009

The Ultimate Measuring Instrument

The waiter entertains us
while we wait for dinner
with an electronic toy
that guesses whats in my mind
in twenty questions.
We laugh when it succeeds.

Is the space of my mind
so small that it fits
within twenty questions?

There is only so much space
unexpandable despite the
shapes within it. Life
shrinks to fit its container,
but the space around life
stays the same.

Can the toy guess
a shrunken life,
when its objects
fall out of it,
in fewer questions?