The Dip

It's intended, this dip.
The ghosts ragged and I'm ready,
here in this place of papered walls.
Death is somewhere, somewhere off
and the blind do ever wander.
A dusty cough. A glass of salt.
What would we do without short fingernails?
Or reread books? Or a million tiny threads
of tight spun cotton? The future may fray
and whatever was, ripped and burned
but this, these few moments,
they are holy. Hear the joke?
Hear the long, long laughter?

student's vacation

Student's Vacation

Men of paper,
magic numbers--
silver bullet past my eye.

Where the lion?
where the serpent?
all the urges and the lie.

who's to help us?
who's to know
and where pray tell am I.

All the hopes
I love to see them
how they pass me by.

In the meadows
streets and places
birds are singing and they fly.

The Darkness

Looking at children,

I sing sick, faint hearted

and ever thankful,

oh so full of joy that I

never need lose innocence again.

To see that joy, their pettiness,

little grins and real feeling

at learning letters and dance

and little lies, it's terrible. They can do it

once. Then to see it so many, many times

and still the world swallows.

We watch it together

and even they know:

Darkness opens up wide and ever,

all of our lives, it grows and glimmers.

The Turtle's Dance

The turtle dances too,

his legs stretch out long

and jig on and yes, jump!

See him, his smile, still here

after all these years,

these eons of carrying the blood

to carry through a new holocaust,

to show the next generation, the next

evolution, the turtle's dance.

mine

best years taken by what face
sarcastic smirk,
square-jawed lady.
her mustard-worded, tear gas tears
tore the poems, tore out the friends.

grey-eyed heart killer, drilled-out hope...killer
her hope did it, sparked a start in a room of tinder,
a youth's harvest, bone-dry, stoned dry to tender.
quiet conflagration. quiet coals. curses in quiet heart.

that paranoia. whose? that face. that
beautful, beautiful face. that future so ripe,
that hope that glowed. it promised
it, oh, what it gave taking
oh what it took and took.
took for five years. my five best years.
if only she'd wanted them.

heartblood poured out its vessel
isn't needed cold, sidewalk spilled.
isn't wanted crusting rusted, the smell
iron for everyone.
it was a cold cereal supper,
a cold pizza breakfast with last night's coffee.
then choice of tv alone or sex with a stranger
it's god gone, someday mom in her grave,
her epitaph lonely, alone on a stone.

The Ramshackle Beauty To Be

Where is that well-ordered place of which we dream?
And who can long live in it once they’ve found it
Out? It’s a hired liar’s lie, something like a hotel room
With all life ironed out smooth as sheets
So as we can finally get things done, finally
Get around to whatever we were really
Going to do with ourselves.
The worst thing in a story is to be expected.
And the worst thing in a story is to be
Expected. How do you expect
A happy end to be happy
And beautiful?

Resolution

Make a red glass sing,
Drink it down and think
About all the days you made
And all the debts you never paid.
You'll find an answer 
Tomorrow!

 It's a hard life for trying
In this kingdom of men and crying.
Fill up the cup up loud
Make a slanted sound
What questions are lost
Tonight?

 Sleep. Sleep and dream
Dream anew and it'll all seem
Better. Or wake,
Rise up, damn the others, shake,
Shake in a sunrise joyful,

Today, today and forever.