Homecoming Haiku

Times up unfurled fear
a snug kind of homecoming
snuck into season

Busy Little Bees...

Moira did it.

Wrapping Paper

Breathing deeply
her shoulders heaving
my mind drifts back to fritillaries-
road-side romping
chasing painted ladies
and the victorious possession of beauty.

These days, embittered
by the fleeting nature of collections-
how they tarnish and dull with time-
the urge arises
to arrest her for poetry
and for conspiring to steal my crime.

Final Exam

The letter "f" she said
"f' is the answer
"f" like frank, like free,
like foxtrot
like feel or follow or fuck
she said
like flying a kite
without strings
without fiends
without friends
or feelings, she said
without fear
she said
"f'"

Screwdriver

C'mon, c'mon, c'mon
peel your citrus love
and pass it out in sections
one succulent mouthful
to the next...

Yeah I know this ain't no Julep
but I ain't been juiced in weeks
and the shakes got me
turning for your nectar napalm
noose.

First appeared in "The HazMat Review," Vol. 2, Issue 2, Fall/Winter 1997

sister 2

ten

Oh yeah
crank it up
another notch is nothing now
another scotch will show me how.

Its loud
so loud, in here
where these come from-
the clang and the clatter
of traffic snarled
and small arms exchanging blows
yeah, crank it up
to ten.

Macular Degeneration

"Sol" hide and seek this is
roller coasting with light
the pupils, pliant
yet knotting and clenching
in hopes of salient sight.

Mess-- In Memory

My patriotism was wrung
from behind calloused eyes
for damn near twenty-one days straight.
I felt nihilistic and numbed
at times manic even,
but normal, and neither free nor brave.

The time seemed right for escape or diversion
and Beethoven was headlining the Eastman
So we reserved, donned costumes,
made a bid for Culture
made the rounds and finally arrived.

The conductor's arrival, later than ours
seemed staged, for he was in no hurry.
Nonchalantly a wave
and a flick of the wrist
and Old Glory's great anthem revived.

We stood, we sang, patriots all,
hands on hearts bursting with something like pride.
Then silence and the breath
of a collective sigh
uneasy but willing to take even a lie.

Beethoven's Fifth,
the Rumble in Romanticism
seemed soundtrack apropos in my state.
But by the time the cello's lurched into the sublime
I felt naked with only my hate.

So its cheapened
I'm cheapened
but not as much as life
in the wake of the Mess in Manahattan.
Yet I'm struck by the colors
red, white and blue
as I'm stuck
mouthing the prayers of the masses.

Immaculate Conception

She's got too many cooks in the kitchen
but not enough peas in the pod
I've seen her dance with herself
and tango with the Devil
But I've not seen her waltz with God.

Gypsy's Tracks

Union II

Whether we quiver chaos purple
and liberate blushless dreams
or dive down easy
and shudder swell serene-
repose has but stoicly potent union.

Emanation 1

Fall

This again
inevitable as the next war
the next wash
the next rain-
this.

I've been waiting
with tuned up tension
like the exquisite anticipation
of the next
drip
startling, though expected-

and now you've come
and gone
ane left me in shame
of having feared
what I have known.

Untitled #2

Her cowboy without a horse
is wiser than waking
except her rebel without a cause
is in his seventh duplication.

He bristles blue like an indigo snake
flexing his artichoke mane
while shaking his tumbler
from the post-ecclectic days
he mumbles
Faith Burns...hell of a name.