Thursday, July 29, 2010

Two Poetry Party Games

The poet hides
behind the curtains
and the audience is supposed
to find him. He waits
but nobody looks.

The audience
hides from the poet
who counts to 1000
then opens his eyes
to find the door open.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Good Boy

When I nearly miss
part of eighth grade math class
because I spend lunch
exploring with blonde Diane,
I get the bad feeling

I am going to cease
being the best
good boy,
sink into a dark
indifference.

Mrs Driscoll is getting to her feet
eyes combing the faces in the first row
seeking my scrubbed cheeks.
I should have been untarnished
and she will notice I am gone.

Mrs Driscoll, like the god
I pass and face at the gate
without my good boy honor,
will not
remember my name.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Destination

In a place of vibration,
where color and form
don't meet an eye,
I have built a nest.
My body
equipping me with
translation.

Uncertainty is
deeply real.
Where I reside is
construct, theory
if not fictitious
sleepwalk.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

My Last Poem

Knowing how many
mistakes I have left

on my last of
a last-chance thin line.

Poetry is leaving
along with everything.

It's a relief to know some say
that's grand.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Diaphony

lace of silk
zephyr
the clear brown eye
gently lined with black
unquestioning smile
set in motion with a dream

a love poem
tender skin,
oiled in spice
living forever
delicate wordless conversations

found by magic
together always
freely bound
without contradiction
vows.

Thursday, July 08, 2010

From the Bronx

I write away to get
from the bowels
of a building in a city I left behind,
a certificate to prove I was born

in an alien time
when little boys wore
lace and short pants.

Now I wait for the mail,
each day in the fright
of someone drifting.

Suppose, I obsess,
they don't find me
among the millions
who cover my trace.

How will I go home?
Well if I waste
my remaining years

hiding in the basement
among the spiders
the official people
can't expel me.