Ulterior Motor Vehicle

In The News

2009-02-02T13:25:00.003-05:00

But the soldiers in their gray flannel coats were reduced to clomping and trudging in the deep snow, instead of their normal crisp marching steps.

(News link)

"...a nonstop medley of tree limbs cracking off.”

(News link)

wisdom

2008-04-08T10:28:00.002-04:00

no apples of gold
no pictures of silver
just butterscotched fingers
and a half eaten granny smith

strings attached

2008-04-08T10:00:00.008-04:00

i'm sorry i sought you
i'm sorry i seek you
i'm sorry i can't leave you alone

you are you
and you are me
and there's an us inside the we

talk can flat line
motivation lack
heart strings snap
memories die childless

i look with white-orb eyes
to my carcass address book
and its ribbon of x's
a page of "where you were's"

my heart hugs faraways
in emptiness my lungs breathe stupidly
little sister - know nothing

'right here, scout.
take my picture with this wall.'

my childhood
fixed immovable on you
do you pretend you weren't
do you want to make it undone
do you want to erase
you were
you are

the us inside the we

obvious

2007-03-14T12:00:00.000-04:00

it's obvious you love me
you reek of it
i love you
too
and our smiles
light up room after room

It Will Find You

2007-02-16T15:17:00.000-05:00

The lonesome hotspot of reflection,
the dog-eared corner of regret,
the shattered mouth of indecision,
will crash through solid walls to find you,
It will come and find you yet.

the draping rag of melancholy,
the limping dog of chance and loss,
the overwhelming stench of cowardice,
will ever seek and ruthless hound you,
it will someday your path cross.

And would you like to chance upon it,
the bird of love, the crown of peace?
And would you build your dreams around it,
that all your sorrow someday cease?

Joy is faster than the fastest raven,
Love runs harder than the sun,
Peace is but a shadowed whisper,
you may beg and beg it hover;
but its race is never done.

2007-01-12T12:00:00.000-05:00

December
November
October
September
August
July and June

May, April, March
Feb-ruary
January the twelfth
at noon.

Destiny

2007-01-08T15:06:00.000-05:00

Even a stick in the ground
is a sundial
if the Sun so chooses.

Life A Graveyard

2007-01-08T14:55:00.000-05:00

Life is a graveyard
of moments we chose
and now they lie buried under time.
But now and then they get up
and wander around.
This is called "memories."

Christmas Prayer

2006-12-21T11:09:00.000-05:00

Where, Christ Child,
can you lay your head
and where will be your rest
when the human heart is made of lead
locked in an iron breast?

When, Christ Child,
will you rule this land
and where will be your throne
when each man's Promised Land
lays captive under Rome?

How, Christ Child,
can I offer you
a gift that meets your worth
when all I have is broken fear
and the crippled dust of earth?

Here, my Lord,
take my thoughts, deeds, time
Be crowned King once again
of weeds, and dust, and worthless grime.
Transform them all, Amen.

Curtain Down

2006-12-08T11:36:00.000-05:00

Young fancy often
propelled me to create
as a whimsied child
countless events,
final curtains,
resting places for imagined
love affairs
the reasons innumerable:
he was gay...
he'd been unfaitful...
he was dead...

but this one was new.
I had not
conjured up
this scenario
in my youth
so you shouldn't wonder
that I got the script
wrong
and told you I would wait for you
to understand me
and to want me more
than you do now.

And I am eating
at my desk
those little pretzels
with the taste we hated
and vowed never to eat
because they are here
and available...

which is more than I can say
about you.

Don't Use That Word

2006-12-04T14:36:00.000-05:00

I can't hear that word today
without a quick blow to the intestines
seeming to happen:
'Love, you love me.'
I can be loved by a madman, too,
but it doesn't bring me comfort.

Where is love? I ask myself,
In the giving
or in the receiving?
Where does love happen? When is it truly born?
Is love really love if it is unrequited?
If one side does not return it, is it really love?

I am showing love for you
to the pain,
till it hurts,
till I'm numb,
just to prove how loyal I can be.
I have not refused
anything you have asked
again, again, again,
I go,
I see,
I speak,
I listen,
trying to make people who will
not love me, love me...

This group effort of unrequited love
which you endorse with your wavering heart,
and promote with your silence.
I only want their love
because it seems to stand in the way
of yours.
Is this truly love you have for me then?
Or is it my own version of the madman?

...I am dying inside today.

Pleas don't use that word.

the silent turning

2006-09-15T14:40:00.000-04:00

if I'm too quiet
I can hear the sound
of leaning against you
and your breath on my hair

if I'm too silent
I can remember
reaching up to kiss you
and then I'm sad
that I can't have that silence
that place beneath your face

I make noise to pull me
once again
away from you

retrospect

2006-09-02T21:46:00.000-04:00

Just make it through this day and tomorrow will be better.

that's what I keep telling myself.....

why do your arms keep missing me so much

Song Awry

2006-08-31T11:14:00.000-04:00

In the night, I dreamt that I sought the man I loved. I looked for him, but I couldn’t find him.

So I decided to go out into the city, into the streets and alleys, which confused me because they were unfamiliar to me, and I looked for him whom my soul loved. I looked for him, but I could not find him.

The policemen who walked around the city at night stopped me, and I said to them, “Have you seen the man I love?” But they had not. They only laughed at me.

That night I went to sleep, but my heart stayed awake. I dreamt that I heard the voice of my beloved as he knocked at the door. “Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my spotless one,” he said, “for I am drenched with this rain; my hair is dripping with it.”

I got up from my sleep to open the door for my beloved, but he had turned away from the door. He was gone! My soul went forth when he spoke, but it failed me now and he had gone! I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.

and now...

2006-08-29T15:14:00.000-04:00

god i could just spit i'm so tired haven't slept in days and still this gnawing gnarling weight in my gut won't leave me alone i thought that my freedom would bring back my long uninterrupted night's sleep by now but now my days are peppered with wistful dreams about my bed and at night i lay in the self same bed and fear tomorrow a tomorrow without form and without you this loss is greater than i anticipated oh please sleep please come back to me i crawl in and out of each morning more tired and weary and scattered than the last i don't know what will become of me if i cannot sleep i become a tiny empty hollow shell a sick weak frail creature all alone in the dark trying to pull covers over my head and sink my weightless head into a mammoth pillow that suffocates me and chokes me and shakes me awake again and again where is my sleep where is my peace where is my rightmindedness and hope

In Case You Wondered

2006-08-25T10:25:00.000-04:00

Sleep: No
Food: Yes
Smile: No
Cry: Yes
Regret: No
Happier: Yes

I Don't Like Your Leaving, Part II

2006-08-14T12:25:00.000-04:00

And how will you leave me, my Darling?
My Sweet?
All alone and blue
here in my Shoe
with stop signs around me
but no need to stop
spinning precarious
through streets after dark?

How will you leave me, my Sweetheart?
My Love?
In a big empty booth
your own Sarah Ruth
one shoe on, one shoe off
no smile returned
from folded up cloth
candle unburned?

How will you leave me, my Treasure?
My Dove?
You'll sail off tomorrow
and drown me in sorrow?
I've not forgotten
that you have promised
a column of kisses
for the girl left unkissed.

I Don't Like Your Leaving, Part I

2006-08-07T15:37:00.000-04:00

1. Drag from bed, groggy and befuddled
2. Go to work, sit listless and confused
3. Return home, drown in movies or useless reading
4. Cry to sleep
5. Repeat

Morning Revelry

2006-03-13T08:32:00.000-05:00

It is almost fifteen to the hour
and for the first time this morning
I am awake
unpleasant though it may be
I am awake to the potential
to the harm
to the choices
to the meaning of each day.

I am smothered by tent peg options
each one to hammer home
a final conclusion
each one to settle the matter
each one to hold something fast
less flexible
less maleable
less childish
as the mornings stack up.

and I stop for breath on this one. At fourteen minutes till the hour
on this particular morning
when rain clouds have coughed up the sun
on another horizon and
left this one bare
and desolate
and me and my choices
are looking into the street at birds
washing
and preening
and stomping their feet.

At thirteen minutes to the hour
on this particular morning
I have revoked my claim on anyone
and stopped calling myself "mistress"
realizing the error of such a game.
instead I sit lightly by a table and pen
and wet the ink to page to table to thumb
and get it all out there
into the open, spread evenly across my desk
at twelve till the hour.

Thunder rumbles outside
and I should light a lamp in the darkness
since my eyes are failing with the morning light
at ten minutes to the hour I spoke of
and I can't see around me
not a couch
not a rug
and most certainly not the black cat
who could be anywhere
as I crease another line of words into the paper at my fingertips.

Nine minutes to the hour
and I'm finally woken on this almost-Spring morning.
It's been a long dream
and I am a lazy child
and often hesitant to face the day
for fear of what it holds
at eight minutes till the hour I spoke of.
The wind is whipping up
and thoughts I thought had been fastened down
are pulling up at the corners
and this rain is getting in my window
and the choices are flying about again even though I thought I'd got them settled.

I'll be rearranging them again at seven minutes to the hour
on this particular morning
with no sun
and threats of rain.
hopefully the canvasy stuff that blinds the mind to sentiment and makes it easier to tackle this monstrous and unstructured thing has been placed here
in the dark where I can find it.

I'm getting a bit dizzy.
My tea is cooling in a corner undrunk
at six minutes to the hour
and I am floating my pen over the page
leaking ink
and trying not to write or decide
and trying to stay strong
even though a tempest rages
and I cannot imagine how to keep this habitation dry
under the force of it and its perverse wetness
at five minutes to the hour.

And here's where I stop writing and face it,
the coming storm that swallowed the sun
and the swirling tempest of tent peg choices.

I'm setting my face toward it
though the birds have shown forethought
and hid themsleves,
I won't. With so and so many minutes left to go
before the day begins.
This tent is mine
and choices
and rainstorm
and though I do not see the sun
I know it's there.
With such-and-such minutes left to go.

integrity

2006-03-13T08:17:00.000-05:00

there is a promise
more frightening to keep than to make.
there are words
more terrifying spoken than thought.

bend backwards
your heartfelt promise
and see if it will break.

pronounce
your irrevocable words
and see if they are true.

you cannot take back your words
without lieing to yourself.

you cannot renig your vow
without hollowing your heart.

but though you try
for selfish sake
to lie or cheat or deal...

you are under lock and key.
you belong to integrity.

Scuttle

2005-12-06T14:30:00.000-05:00

Scuttle was a cat
sunk into a vat
of saturated fat
and left there
until Christmas

little birds bite the hardest

2005-11-23T14:25:00.000-05:00

where are you now, little one,

where have you flown

are you eagle-eyed lonely

are you all about grown

where have you gone, little one,

and where are your teeth

I saw you crumbling

for want of air beneath

a mountain of trouble

smothered and tried

and here christmas is coming

and your mother’s just died

why didn’t you fight, little one,

why didn’t you run

from rapists and ex-cons

with their waistcoats undone

I would give you shelter

I would be your friend

why are you defending

these undefendable men

Auntie Rita

2005-11-21T09:33:00.000-05:00

This morning I dreamt
I had a butterball turkey
in the oven...
(should they eat together?
No , they meet a different way.)
And I was riding the bus -
there are always buses in my dreams -
that had queers and prune women
and winter coats with fraying edges
and everyone on them remembered
winter’s anger from last year
and everyone felt chastised
for enjoying summer and we made ourselves
regret the smiles we wore
when the sun was hot and loving.

Ah. The turkey's almost done.

clever

2005-11-10T14:52:00.000-05:00

i mostly aim for clever
don't always hit it
and that makes me cute
instead
cuz I'm a girl

Go Away and Don't Ask For Anything

2005-10-12T14:56:00.000-04:00

On Needles and Haystacks

2005-10-10T08:49:00.000-04:00

It's not lost, because I never had it
But still I feel it missing
and I've seen the finger pointing
in the vague direction
of an endless silo
I've followed that sign
and found a world of straw
and though I've never seen it,
I am told there are needles here
for the taking
if one can only find them.

"How am I to do such a thing?"
But receiving no clear answer,
like everyone else, I pick up a handful and sort
and then another
and another
and then in desperation
crush the straw with my bare hands
hoping to be hurt
by the point
and thus discover what it is I want
but haven't found.

"How does one find a needle?" I ask again

A friend responds,
"soak the hay in water.
The hay will float,
the needle sink."

So I plunge an armful
of dry stalks
into a tub of water
and wait,
and sift,
and look.
I find no needle drowning
in the bottom of my tub.
And what use, anyways,
was a thing I myself
had drown to find?

After time has slipped
I lie down near the floor
determined to find what
I am looking for.
I begin again in earnest.
One straw, one straw, one straw...
time consuming, this.
I feel fevered
I almost collapse
I can not tell
if the straw
is moving
or I am
but I fall
and lay
in the
straw
and
sleep.

And I'm still sleeping
and in this sleep I am looking
always looking
and finding straw
that looks like needles
and needles that look like straw
half-breeds: both straw and needle
and other bits of shiny rubbish
smoldering beneath the hay
beckoning the eye,
but nothing, nothing
like the thing I'm looking for.

and then in half-punctured sleep
of purpose I remember
softly folded
in my eyes
a mystery
or a puzzle
or a rhyme I haven't
sorted
and it resolves into a thought,
a voice that says,
"It's a man, not a needle."

And men are waiting everywhere
to be considered
sifted
looked at
begged
ignored
caressed
but also they are looking,
sifting, seeing
as though dreaming
and I am not alone
in this search.
And I am not a needle
but I am also
being searched for
only half a needle
an eye
or a point
unhinged
whole, yet broken
and waiting to be fused.

State of the Union

2005-09-12T16:25:00.000-04:00

and just like that, the farce
stopped and they
were looking at each other
not through time
just through eyes
neither one knew what to do
it was as if they
had deported their own pretenses
into the soul of the other
and both were now confederates and
yankees
of the same small union
at the same time.

high wire

2005-08-08T11:51:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to be honest
I'm trying to be fair
I'm trying to see every side
I'm trying to help you
I'm trying to keep positive
I'm trying to smile
I'm trying to forgive myself
for regretting not giving myself
permission to love myself
enough to grow up into "myself"
that I knew/that I know
that I sometimes want to be.

Round Trip

2005-06-28T10:14:00.000-04:00

If I forget
or lose the number
or get hit by a bus
or am trampled by geese
or fall down a hole
or sprain my ankle in the dark
or close up my windows and doors
to sit quietly on my floor,
knees to corners,
heart to wall,
I am still thinking
about walking to your house,
kissing your mouth
and walking home again.

Thread

2005-04-28T10:29:00.000-04:00

A spool of thread,
or so it's said,
can cross the widest ocean.
But could that string
come back again
if it took the notion?

2005-04-28T10:26:00.000-04:00

that You were from nothing
holding silence
like a babe
in your eternal arms
in unmade heaven
the crash cloud stars
seem patiently waiting
watching spinning burning
breaking calm at last

2005-04-28T10:20:00.000-04:00

you wait for the extroardinary to happen
the sides of eyes to show you light
reflected back from god's face
and each twisting falling star
brings you back to lingering
as elsewhere Northern Lights run along
that particular nerve of heaven

2005-04-28T10:19:00.000-04:00

Glistening gray mirror harbour
sun bobbing on its mooring
dirty yellow like rivercat boats
in wan summer

2005-04-28T10:17:00.000-04:00

Scant little squirrels
we've found memories to be
listening, looking, storing
still hungry in winter

Gone

2005-04-22T10:10:00.000-04:00

It's supposed to open you up,
give you hope,
sharpen your senses.
But instead it just clutters
your already little world
with sharp glass bits
that sparkle and cut,
wounding joys that slice
deep as you smile and sigh
(you'll feel it later)
and mercenary giddiness,
sweeps you sideways
under the current
and before you realize
you can't breathe
you're gone.

the in-between land

2005-02-28T15:45:00.000-05:00

the in-between land
all hazy from smoke
of regret and lost chances
forested in trees of longing
whose shadows grow out
in ever widening circles
each breeze reeks of
shit that grows
in piles outside the rancid
cottages of thought
where miserable inhabitants
faces cold and angry
shuffle to and from the door
and watch for rain.

Wonderful Eye

2005-02-22T12:24:00.000-05:00

can’t be sure of any step
I’m on ice, rocks of ice
with pockets of snow
where my slender ankle goes
and hand in hand you find me
lying there
camera pointed off in the air
to commemorate
for posterity
the sanguine tree,
the cross, the sky -
my weary, wonderful eye -
as big jets fly by
and hand in hand you enjoy
the sight
hearts and minds take flight

Each Estuary a River

2005-02-12T11:03:00.000-05:00

I live my life in syllables *(come ran flit drink believe)
each day as long as a year
a week no shorter than a month - February has March beat -
each syllable a measured stick of time
that builds my life into a heap, a pile, a record.
Soon brackets and (parenthesis) holding all
the other words in check
to keep them from (bleeding out) into
the open, will break down
and syllable upon syllable will
come flooding in. And I have no mop to stop it.

A pencil is a godess made of wood and lead,
speaking life into the page
and understanding rage in a cage (gauge)
and I am a dream maker with a funny tie
who bends the bars to let her through.
(worship footstool)* And syllable -
my sanctuary, my metronome -
calls me home each night
and in my unlit dreams
forgives my silent.

In which the Dog Returns to its Vomit

2005-02-12T10:27:00.000-05:00

Interesting moment this
where I sit and reminisce
holding seashells in my hand,
a folded note, a jar of sand,
felt snowflakes
that fell last winter
in my room.
The bubble light reminds me
that the worst is now behind me
and the Christmas lights sag overhead
till June.

2005-01-25T14:54:00.000-05:00

Absenteeism

2005-01-25T14:24:00.000-05:00

six menu options
three toolbars
fifteen quicktip options
four open applications
one scrollbar
one mouse
one blinking cursor
two hours left

A Poem for Quitters

2005-01-25T13:56:00.000-05:00

I don't want to know so much
about your life
who you are
what you think
how you fold your shirts
what kind of soap you use
the color of your eyes at twilight
that secret smile you have
when you're trying not to laugh
how you feel when someone
yells at you
whether you are a good friend
or a bad friend
how many times you've been drunk
who you've loved before
the kind of lunches they served
to you in middle school
because if I know these things
and I know who you are
and I love you
but you don't love me back
my heart will break
it's breaking
no, it already broke

stunning surrender

2005-01-20T09:52:00.000-05:00

you're not happy
it shows on your face
everyone can see it,
even the one
who helped you
reach this point

and you're open
like a body on the table
naked
and you can't cover yourself.
you lack the strength

you look
only at the ceiling.
you try
to ignore the shame
the confusion

you fail at polite
conversation
your mouth is
always dry
people are afraid of
your agony
and leave you alone

you tried to leave markers
bread crumbs
on the trail
that brought you here
but you can't find them now
they've blown away
or were eaten

you are dizzyingly alone.

and, perversely,
in the quietness
of this isolation
you feel a smile start
just inside your mind
and another
in your chest
aching and twisting up
to your empty, carved face.

it's not joy and
it won't reach your eyes
for a while yet.
you still have a day or two
more of this pain.

but the smile is there
and it won't go away.

Poem for the Bus

2005-01-19T13:11:00.000-05:00

I wrote a poem for the bus this morning,
but I can't find it now.
maybe I dropped it between the seats
maybe it's still where I sat
by the window.
maybe it fell into the street
as I got off the bus
or perhaps it's still
there
in some deep corner of my bag.

Embrace

2005-01-11T10:46:00.000-05:00

I fold my napkin on my knee
and sink into the plate,
the cup, the tea,
the sparkling wine,
the candlelight,
the well-planned night
and resist the urge to see you
smile at me.

my black dress strap has slid
my shoe makes blisters on my heel.
I watch you as you kneel
and hold a velvet box to me:
will you
would you
could you
marry me?

of course I could
I would I will
what difference will it make,
I wonder,
since we're made for hurting others?
So here's to us
and all our blunders;
we'll make each other pay,
we each will say
words we wouldn't want to say.
And I'm sure it all will work out for the best
although you've yet to see me at my worst.
Who's to say you'll even love me
when you see me less than lovely.

The glass of wine
is holding light
and suddenly I know
the answer's 'no.'
I cannot say it though
and so
I nod my head and smile
relieved to turn another
of nature's corners.
And we embrace,
as foreigners.

Degrees of darkness

2005-01-10T14:49:00.000-05:00

upstairs a cough emerges unscathed from the hall
a sadistic strip of light shows from the edge of the window shade
sickness needs its space
and privacy is its own reward
blood-red and baby-blue look the same in the dark
dangerous with her eyes
closed, curled up in front of the
flat walls:
blank and clean and willing

Whistler's Mother

2005-01-05T15:46:00.000-05:00

Schopenhauer was on the news
and Schroedinger
and Chopin
and Schultz and Scherwinski
all of them
on the news
bit off more than they could chew tonight
I wasn't paying attention

upset fruit basket

2005-01-05T14:48:00.000-05:00

you're off the clock
you can go home
you don't have to be here
you don't have to stand there
you don't have to look at me
you are free
you are not in love
you can run out
you can walk out
you can crawl out
it's over
the timers run out
the door is opened
you are free

around noon

2005-01-04T14:22:00.000-05:00

escalator equals mounting debt
second level beckons
but she's not beaten
gonna beat this mall yet
sloppy-lopsided doll
swisher sweets, ripped up jeans,
stunted sleep-face marinated in
lipstick kohl-pencil pusher
two for one earring sale she
hears the air around
the music around
the voices around her
and her child
the air that is
around them all
around the mall

around noon.

stiFle

2004-12-29T16:37:00.000-05:00

I am a plastic head
saran wrapped teeth.
I should have rolled it back on myself
when I was suffocating
and awakened in panic
from my sleep.

Did you hear my stifled cry?
I know you weren't there
beside me on that metal chair
because you never are.
It's not your fault, I know.
It wasn't you who locked the door.

I broke ranks before I was born
I turned the tables on my own
good sense and decency
my secret-agent mind
went in and rerouted,
rewired, triggered
and flipped the switches
so far back
I can't even see when.
and I can't really breathe
the air you're feeding into me.
but it feels nice in the darkness
of this room.

I am a plastic head
flattened nose
saran wrapped teeth
and eyes full wide and glistening.

I'm dying.
please cut me loose

Reasons to Write

2004-12-27T09:25:00.000-05:00

I can't think of many
only twelve
or maybe a dozen
or so
they all end in words
like "damn"
or "shit"
and a helpless sigh
and a crumpled kleenex
and useless hands
on useless legs
sitting in a chair
that won't move
from the center of my thoughts
where I spent hours with you

damn

You remind me of a boy I knew

2004-11-11T09:34:00.000-05:00

You remind me of a boy I knew
when I was nineteen
(and he was 19)
with a delicate mouth that carved
sweet words out of nothing -
I saw whole sonnets of love
in the eyes of that child
and My world shook

II

It breaks me this longing
this remembering that we come
from a world of love
from a better home than this one
a world of floating gods
and unrestraint
we come from a cry of joy
that melts you down
and doesn't say "I'm sorry"

I live each day
in a world of : eating lunch,
fixing shoes,
buying a pass
to get to and from work.
Boring dead everyday life
I forget magic,
I forget who I am,
I forget where I came from.

I

I loved that boy
for himself
for who I was
when I was with him
I never told him that
But maybe if I confess it to you -
how he arranged
my covers on the angle
or how he linked
our drinks with the wrapper
of a straw, bridging
more than our two glasses -
it will make up for
the long long years that
keep me from him,
the "why didn't I say something"s
and the dull ache
when I read his letters
all over again
heart banging
to be let out.

Scribbled on the Bathroom Wall

2004-11-10T11:33:00.000-05:00

TO: Every
one Who
wrote on
the
door...

Get a
Life & Stop
vandalizing
other's property!!

DUMMIES

Stunt

2004-11-04T14:34:00.000-05:00

It's when the clock strikes
and the horn blows
and whistle whistles
and the brake lights glow
and the streets gleam
and the clouds darken
and the weather stops
and I cross the street
and the traffic cop stares
and the puddles deepen
and the roof of the world won't let up
until it's time for the whole
day to end
until it's finally over.

As we reach the end of our wick

2004-10-25T13:38:00.000-04:00

As we reach the end of our wick
hearts made shallow and clear from heat
lit from within
like a woman with three hearts
who melts forward on her stem
we sink down
and burn the last small ounce around us
holding, expiring,
drowning
on a pedastal of tin.

Why Not?

2004-10-25T13:33:00.000-04:00

"I want out," I say.

Of what - I reply

"Of me," I answer.

No one's stopping you - I retort

"Will you come with me?" I ask.

I can't - I respond

"Why not?" I query.

It's not done - I sigh

"Well then, let's have lunch."

The Exceptional Beast...

2004-10-19T13:56:00.000-04:00

is square in the roundabout
lolls its head
and yet never shakes it
remembers to brush
up against its neighbors
sighs contentedly when petted
is quick-witted and practices
exceptional
slight-of-hand
maintains an aura
of silk, cold silk
in June
makes monkeys of the competition
needs sugar lumps on a daily basis
fashions its fur stylishly
never undoes its gear for anyone
makes appointments
keeps some of them
ruminates
can keep up a trot for hours
moves at the speed of light
rejoices
cries
sleeps each night on an empty pillow
polishes its own horn
always knows what day it is
knows that solitude is necessary
even a necessary evil
takes notes on good fiction
burns them

is 4 foot 12 inches
can deck a grown man
has tubes in its nose
relays information via semaphores
never repeats secrets
installs software
removes kinks with massage
manages to pull a 3.8 GPA
has excellent credit rating
has met the Prime Minister
never doubts its heritage
plays harmonica
knows braille
makes friends easily
shares its toys with other children
gives “donkey” rides for free
does construction of all types
votes Democratic
owns a pair of thigh high boots
speaks softly but carries a big stick
of gum

answers most geographic queries
correctly
handles tax and IRS forms properly
blows nose quietly
can shoot a rifle or .38 Magnum
is never ambushed
or surprised by anything
predicts the horrific and
the beautiful Future
depends on the horoscope
kicks assailants in teeth
burns bridges
tailgates jerks
visits the pet store
buys lizards
whinnies to perfection
determines employees’ salaries
states the truth even when unpopular
dodges cheap shots
makes enemies easily
maintains a dignified presence
wears black
except in Summer
has cavities filled semi-annually
marshals reserves against self-doubt
trusts no one
made the “honors” club
rejects junk mail
plays Mah jong
trounces opponents
negotiates physical spaces
shows decided preferences for ginger

memorizes and quotes large portions of Shakespeare
doesn’t snore
restlessly moves in case someone is near
feeds three meals a day
corners on a dime
shops thriftily
consumes only what is needed
never takes flight in front of children
grabs only during organized sports
dreams about driving and swimming
at the same time
makes a point of bathing
in public
doesn’t smoke a cigarette
in bed
rows its boat down the stream
merrily
has a vivid imagination
has a miasmic personality
rejects liver donations
wounds easily but never quits
has a watch tower
with an elevator

stunts its growth with coffee
rewinds certain songs over and over
reflects on the kindness of strangers
remembers the past with equilibrium
stays on top of the bills
while sleeping
does not know what “cud” is
would never chew it
reorganizes the file cabinet before bedtime
watched a little daytime television
fell asleep momentarily during Jeopardy
aspires to be an even more exceptional beast

Confusion

2004-10-19T13:53:00.000-04:00

Confusion is like a piece of pie
with a cherry on top.
It spreads everywhere
so you have to use a mop.

(written by Isaac)

Close

2004-10-19T13:45:00.000-04:00

Hot in here.
The air is close
Like winter
And t-shrts with whiteness.
There are cups in here
Holding bits of water
With strong teeth. We
Hold each his own.

Sit here
For forty five minutes
There’s tea and cookies
And a look with
Sigh
That tells me I
Am watched
Embrace me,
Don’t waste me, don’t store, or fold or cajole me.
Take me up, your favorite sweater.
Wear me out
Inside
And out.

Wednesday

2004-10-19T13:42:00.000-04:00

Doors keep slipping
and breaking
from my fingers.

They slide all one-sided
and hot like tallow
onto the floor to crack.
I’ve pushed them
further harder
they always break, these doors.

I walked the edge
of my seat,
worn out the pattern on my shoes,
served dry-heat
and belly-tossing cards around
to a circle of dead red
faces.

And I can’t find one of them now.
Buried or gone
to sea or
hatched from Febuary.

I broke a promise
to the church
forgetting handles
and locks
leaving keys unattended
on pews or
on dressers.

I broke through doors before,
but never one like this one.
This one has:
luck, beauty, grace
like a dandelion.

You should see the way I smile these days
all knock knees and glue.
No grit.
My dreams of rotten teeth
and harnesses
that cut
will flock to perch
all dark and angry
over sleep.

Suspiciously one like another,
to tussle with
on a good day that WILL go bad,
moves and marks,
benches, parks
and me.

Thames

2004-10-19T13:40:00.000-04:00

Oh it’s time for dizzy days
In:
the breath remembers
the guts rip newly
plastic floats
in caps and caps
on the shallow shore
of the Thames

Dizzy days
Out:
almost time to make
the escape
from one the entrance
in the other.
Splits the middle,
opens wide
the tide, the sling,
slips, the gulls
that fall, the
boats dock
restless in the
shallow water
of the Thames.

Oh it’s almost time
and I’m in
and out.

My Orchard

2004-10-19T13:38:00.000-04:00

Someone else
was there
before me
before I could get in
before I could arrive
before I existed
before my chance
someone was there.
The golden apple
the prize
was stolen.
And I am left
the orchard.

Monument

2004-10-14T15:55:00.000-04:00

Build a monument
of stones
Piled loose and jagged
one onanother.

Set flowers,
all little Yellow
~Some call them Gold~
into places
where rocks
can close lock hands.

Hold me
here
onthisplace.

Anchor
these things
with oil
smooth, touchanddrip.
armsandlegs
and Souls far far far away.

Set to me A Flame
whose honeyed hands
and soft dove voice
break all my resistance down.

Me, this pool of blood,
your human domain,
your sacrifice of
Flesh and Bone.
I’ll be your first born,
foundling, amateur,
disgrace,
your sacred wrong
broken down
upon this place
this
mountainside
of stone.

Poem

2004-10-14T10:13:00.000-04:00

Poetry belongs in a room all alone
Poets under the bed
And poems the very minute they're written
Should be locked in a dresser unread.

Apple Ate

2004-10-12T10:09:00.000-04:00

I apple ate for
winter time
festive red lit cheeks and
amber cores for eyes,
burning coals,
carol cries.

I apple ate for
harvest time
blue moon sank beneath
my window's wink
jumping dish
& fiddle dog
leapt to laugh to see to sport.

I apple ate for
summer time
winking sun
and daisy rope
chained unchained
hanging.

I apple ate for
early may
or was it april
disheveled
alone, unmade
untold
my apples eaten,
unripe and rotten
on the ground.

Bricks

2004-10-11T13:17:00.000-04:00

Bricks
once falling
can stop their
progress
with a mound of dirt
a tree
grass, a tail,
or a head.

Here we go,

falling

falling

falling

trying to miss the
fragile things.

We are

2004-10-11T13:09:00.000-04:00

two warriors
met on even ground
strong shields
to cover
blades to strike down.
Together
we decided
to destroy these artifacts
of war.
First we destroyed
my shield
and then my blade.
Can you
now deny me yours?

Little Wet

2004-10-07T15:37:00.000-04:00

Mother's visiting
and I can't see my feet.
Left foot, then right.
There's juice in the fridge, she says,
If you need it.
Her sad sideways look
when she sits here visiting.
I shift in my gown,
in my hospitalChair.
Mother with her raincoat
sitting,
saying,
It's a little wet.

Intrinsic To Space

2004-10-07T15:29:00.000-04:00

The whole glide by night
frame of the universe
the action-revealing distance
of west to east
is all in the eye of the dime-store lens.
We sit on coincidal grasses
laughing
taking turns to look
in passes
at the sky that binds the
far and near horizon.

I look to the moon
and you
to see reflected light.

Able-Bodied

2004-10-07T15:26:00.000-04:00

Choose the hyphen or the rose
choose the right man or the beaus
the ease of war
the laugh from shore
and every day it grows.
Resurrected Catalyst
the fist of fury
through the mist
Broken hero choked in doubt,
"It wasn't me who drove them out!
It wasn't me she kissed."
There's a shilling in the sun
It burns and burns
the last of none
While ragweed lays in piles undone
and I am left the only one
the Able-Bodied Mare.

If, I

2004-10-06T13:00:00.000-04:00

by pressing you close
to me, could
make you
understand the
twigs of all the
forest
that I am
I would.

The Plan

2004-10-06T11:29:00.000-04:00

I counted all the
abrasions
and the cuts,
bruises, tears,
dents
that you left
so that at our next
tender meeting
you could bandage me.