Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Wildlife Doc

When I see
a nature movie,
I can forgive the predator
for vanquishing the prey.
I share the lip licking
and understand the hunger.
But sex is different.
The female witnessing
the urge driven contest
with not only procreation
but the sweat of defeat,
the curling liquid over the thighs at stake.
I watch the dominance battles,
tooth and claw,
defeat of the father by the son,
groundwork of oedipus,
marginal male slinking
around the edges of the herd,
stealing glances and chased away.


It's surprising how
the feelings last.
The creature hides
in its brain-nest
nursing its wounds.
It breathes fast
through its mouth
quivering a little,
hiding its face,
poor wounded baby.

The sun doesn't stop shining
breeze plays in the trees,
but it stays hidden
in the dark
as the smell of its body
accumulates in the grass nest around it.

Death may or may not come.
But the time for salvation
slowly dribbles away.
It must rise. It must

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Sometimes He Gets It Bad

Sometimes the bottom falls out
because he comes to believe
something good about himself
(superior even) and it
turns out not to be true.

Sometimes when he gets it
bad he will just say,
even if you deserve it,
“I'm not in the mood to
praise you right now.
I need it all for myself."

He will close his eyes
and hoard all the praise
he ever had.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Hannah Dancing on the Hotel Bed

Hannah Dancing on Hotel Room Bed


I know it's she
even though the
photograph is dark
features dissembled

in motion and shadow.
I can see
her face enough,
straining at her smile,

fists frantically
joyous. This is her life,
awakened into
unending sunshine.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Sentimental Journy

When I was 21
the bus didn't stop in West Virginia,
such a small state
and the Maryland panhandle only minutes away.

I would settle in for another few hours
completely saturated with resting.
The slight early morning gray
was like dust.

Going home; but not home,
a visit with my parents.
They would greet me and
I would be grateful.

Now, from the high standpoint of age,
as if I look back from a high peak
with thin clouds drifting under me,
I realize that today

is the time for play.
I pull out my toys
like I did when I sat
sprawled on my parents' carpet.

Saturday, January 19, 2013


Those long bus rides
between Urbana, Illinois and Wheaton, Maryland
were all in the interspace, 
hours of smooth nothingness punctuated
by jangly nothingness
at change points like Cincinnati and Pittsburg.
Blurs in memory, dreamy,
taste of intensly needed sandwiches
and the desperate need to be clean.
Long half-sleep voyages
through fantasy, through needle-sticking
drives, erection, thirst,
looking out of the window for relief,
only to see darkness.

Sunday, January 13, 2013


I didn't cry
but couldn't keep
the lubrication in my eyes,
such precious water in a dry time,

when they prayed
for the children
that the world
will protect them

and all the
other people's children
passed with their teachers
along the aisle.

It felt I was a thread
in a great soft quilt,
like the one adorning
the gathering space.

Wednesday, January 09, 2013


All we talk about
is death. We see it
on TV as casual as
sports. It's

empty death, non-heros
suddenly vanished from the script.
We don't live with histories,
only empty-eyed stories.

We say goodbye with
one-syllable whistles
and finger flicks. Blood
is a decoration

that entertains us with
seriousness. We know
how goodbye is a joke
we needn't really tell.

Wednesday, January 02, 2013

Why Don't I Say Balderdash to Midnight Moon

Why don't I
jump up and
down with my hand
on my head yelling
when the poem
strings me out
even from the very title,
like politics, history or
makes no sense like dreams?

Thank goodness some people
can write like this.
I can't.