Selected Poems 
 

I 

After a team of super cleaners 
duper the whole house 
from blackened cellar to roof beams, 
the front rooms finally look 
as if something's accomplished ! 

Portraits of our grandfathers 
(or is it their grandmothers?) smile 
through sepia curtains, 
every bit as vague and sneaky 
as when they forbade us marry. 

Impossible to retain 
perfect midsummer petals here 
more than a half hour - 
they fall over the Persian carpet 
in a blizzard of pure white. 

Dream children weep themselves to sleep 
in their lampless cubbyholes, 
take little nourishment, if any. When 
the gas & electricity is shut down, 
they'll notice nothing. 

  
 II 

1 

Sitting here in the best (the only) 
dive in town, a whore's brassiere 
languishing over my head and ears, 
nursing a third boiler maker: 
my future unrolls beneath me. 

A red carpet glows warmer and warmer 
as bare feet blacken; tortured nerves 
catch my whole brainpan in a vise 
tightens into a sickening crunch 
I will live to hear. 
 

                2 

In the middle of the night 
using finger language and grunts 
the man without a face 
smiles up from my deepest sofa corner 
trying to communicate. 

I prefer teasing Mister Cat mercilessly 
until hands and arms bleed, 
and it lies forgotten, curled up 
in the darkest corner, delicate spine 
forming a crude question mark. 

On the day all my dreams come true 
I ride a borrowed motorcycle at speed 
into one of a row of mighty oaks 
(among several sorts possible), 
they don't share my sense of fun. 

                3 

I will always be the scary one 
enters from a side door; the quiet one 
puts his finger on every problem 
to crush it to death. 

At innocent gatherings of our peers 
someone has to arrive 
obscenely late, and leave 
insultingly early: why not me? 

I don't mind their genial indifference 
collects as buried treasure 
in this life of the dispirited; 
whoever smiles here shows me bones. 
 

III. Night Scene 

Lights lit bushes of flaming azaleas 
outside your mother's house. 
A ginger cat smiled from the safety of its fence, 
casting us for leading roles in its next piece. 

We sat together in your car 
and talked together for hours, 
until I casually smiled, began 
running my fingers up your bare arm. 

And what does it matter 
that I could cover your thin body 
in hundreds of gentle kisses 
until we burst into bloom ? 

Still, you would rise late at night, 
place the remnants of dinner in the icebox, 
dress and go, smiling radiantly 
as you cross my threshold. 

I have seen the wonders of the world: 
The Capitoline Hill rising vertically beneath me 
taking my breath away, cool rainwater 
rolling merrily downhill to sea. 

And held a child senseless 
as nails were driven into her flesh - 
yet never cease remembering those 
azaleas a-flame outside your mother's house. 
 

IV 

Why, with the finest clothing, 
executive toys in abundance 
strewn 'round our hotel suite, 
the most beautiful girl in the world 
(and I) can find nothing to do 
through long, sad afternoons 
of that single weekend we have between us 

But sit naked on our water-bed 
with all its bubble pack wrapping 
shared fair and square between us 
(which our fingernails pop like lice), 
emitting, wild, barbaric laughter 
together and separately 
until the management removes us ! 

  

 V. New Poem 

One poet & one poet only 
in all history of recorded time 
bends absorbed over 
a scrap of paper on a table 
as the world outside 
appears and disappears in 
its most brilliant colors. 

One poet and one poet only 
lets another poem wrap itself 
snugly about him, 
tightening imperceptibly 
till he's unable to breathe - 
gazing into his own pine coffin 
until it's finished. 

VI 

As he takes her cool hand 
crossing an intersection 
everything changes; as 
he takes her cool hand 
it doesn't break off or chip, 
nor seem to mind much 
being taken in custody. 

Only chutney in her fridge 
with gold seals & testimonials, 
as served in Buckingham Palace. 

Their muddy soundtrack 
whirling into place, 
churning in the specious shadows: 
she enters a pool of green felt, 
chalking her spear to strike 
his white whale stone-dead 
in the right corner pocket. 
 

VII 

In the act all lovers see was sunlight 
(oh happy me - happy to be me)  
flowering trees guide life by, 
yet all love saw 
was a solid, brick wall 
blocking windows and entries 
reaches the very roof tops. 

A darkness down to the foundations 
joys should dig and fill, 
not splendid company, new professions 
built only on loss; conversations 
among perfect strangers begin: 
"Oh happy me - happy to be me!" 

VII 

The screen door closes upon you 
while she's still recalling your name 
(the only thing ever happened.) 

The Christmas garland outside 
sprinkled ingeniously 
with fresh, fallen snow 
casts off its camouflage. 

Remember her standing there 
at some remarkable distance 
from where you last met: 

Near finished with her packing, 
your disorderly letters strewn 
across her perfect bedspread 
await one last dash of effort. 

The screen door closes behind you 
while she's calling out your name: 
your short, little life together is over.