Do the biology.
It’s the internet dimension
Down in the uptown train.
Fleeting riveted flirt
Rebel poetry princessa
Bronze flashing
Angry aware
Of her own unconscious
Wary smile.

Hey Adam

the city my
city our
city awakens
bright lightshafts
illumine the golden graffitti
the shifting Harlem River
then the Hudson
multi-hued october palisades
every leaf a spirit
making
this home.

Hey Adam

Home is behind you
riding backwards toward
tomorrow
letting go
so the leaves
can fall
find thier own home
mulch
dust
worms
and the spring to come.

Hey Adam

So this city
lives on
a train going through it
I still can feel you
riding beside me
you and all the others
into the Endless.

#65. Step One

October 29, 2009

The tide rushes out
so does care and pain
all need to maintain mastery
evaporates
dew from grass to wind.

The deep blossomed flower
accents the bees probing
need without loss of self
actually benefits thrives
gains through loss.

An inner flame glows unattended
burns as a star when cultivated
fed with life’s debris
needing recognition to flower
rather than smother.

Hold a dandelion puffball in your palm
the wind controls
holding tight crushes the frail life
an open hand loses the fragile cathedral
but guarantees the radiant fearless moment.

Turn over and over the benefit
of the loss of control of the loss
of loss a gift for health life
and the gain of all to follow.

#64. Odd Flakes

October 28, 2009

Odd Flakes

Blurry snow
not good for much
but beauty.
Melts neon casinos
into bearable glows.

Feeds the desert a little.

#63. morning jimmie

October 27, 2009

morning jimmie

The brain shakes the fear out of my clouds
breaking from the sun.

Earlier the wind blows the rain under the eave
where I stand on rocks.

My happiness
smoking a Raleigh plain end
and planning the garden.

The mud of garden puddles into pools
the run off from the gutterspout
must be stopped!

Build the dike
stop.

Gentle noise at back door
my friend awake
radiant
from dreams and delighted amusement
at seeing me in muddy boots.

Sacrifice For A Dancer’s 42nd(because she wanted yeats

If
as you say
love is sacrifice
then I would sacrifice
any chance at loving life
with you
to give you that Gift
and this poem
at your desire!

The child glowing, grows there
From the life, grass mown green.
She steps lightly on her
Circuits round. Escaping nothing
She gains her youth.

A man, stranger to her
Offers her the Lead. Shy
Away or Forwards. Gently
And happily or sadly
Grow a dancer.

Will we
go home with fleshy petals
and you watching
over and through me
like all the growing
of pollen golden
flowing over
the tidal line
dividing
life and more life.

#61. Instant

October 25, 2009

From casually aware
to intensely aroused
in the time it takes
to drive the midnight daring
dark back roads of Reno.
Love is tossed in my heart
as if it were
a leaf
caught by the wake
of a speeding pick-up
truck.

#60 A Last Love Poem

October 24, 2009

A Last Love Poem

I to you
but who cares
for the dancer in the eye of the dream?

I declared my love for you
and watched the summer sun turn to ice
before my eyes
watched the clouds in the sky
but who cares
about the invisible need
that lurks in my love
and the ice
and the clouds
and the cares?

All I see is a huge eye
sometimes blue sometimes green
but always black and white
in my dreams
there is a permanence
conflicting with heat
death and decay
for the universe
of physics and symbols
of the lack of you.

I to you
but who cares
for the dancer in the eye of the dream?

#59. Melancholia

October 23, 2009

Melancholia

absolute yeah,
stream of maximum blue encounters
minimum giggles of disinterested women
music like hammer throws of color
and swings of ripping brooks distorting
rocks and feasts of joy to be questioned.
Triples of fencers flickering dances back
and thrusts across a small window ghosts
trying to become real, painted at least
to their invisible partners. But the lights go on
and off strobing like a TV controlled by the fat man living
across the hall. Reversed creatures image
drinking babble of pretensia at bar
the coffee comes in black pots ink
driven peace papers are divine
imaginings. Odd stone encrusted
little beige woman dangles obscure
bizarre tokens pretends
that sunglasses are hiding her like some kid
disappearing behind peek-a-boo
hands but is grossing the whole fucking
place out. Whole tribes shifting
balance and place in the room
and as she pays and leaves someone
lets the gas out of the Goodyear blimp.
How sad that life comes down to this.
I have been cursed by a mad witch
and use these writings to ward the cast.
The world guards me always.
The punks are in and the little girl
in a pierced woman’s body greets them
to the chagrin of the date who wishes
to God that they had left already.

all blue
for sea border
on imperial purple
it must be
a flower
marble staircase
erupt
ions

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