Thursday, April 29, 2010


You may be seeing deafness, energy
And charm as one, and may choose my Jane Doe
As your charm, but decay will say hello.
It stems, as anybody will agree,
From hoping cueball heads are like the sea,
Their destiny to shine, all steam and flow.
You veer away from ecstasy: you know
Her double, you don't know why you are three.

So this is education. What you read
Remains with you. The songs you hear, the shows
You see — all evanescent, like the snows
Of April in the city. What you need
Is someone to resist. Follow my lead:
Peruse her from her head down to her toes.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Defeat As a Mere Figure of Speech

I'm running out of adjectives tonight,
Recklessly challenging the castle walls
With pigments, figments, budgerigar calls,
And trebuchets, despite a line of sight
That's hampered by inadequate time, light,
And clarity of vision, with snow squalls
Beginning just past six, and as night falls
I stare blankly. I may give up the fight.

A drifting overlay of flake-dry snow,
Our outpost covered, isolated, stark
In deepest gloom, a ripening, fell dark,
Compounded by dim dread of what we know
About our awkward trebuchet's weak throw
Keeps us from hitting our intended mark.

Sunday, April 11, 2010


The trouble with the way we fold our coats
When we arrive, to throw them on the bed
Before we join the party, to be fed
And liquored up on gin and ice cream floats,
Is that while we've been opening our throats
And calling out whole poems that we've read
Somebody took our stuff, and left instead
A flimsy cape made from the skins of goats.

I find that I can tolerate the theft
Except for one thing: not my allergies,
In spite of how the goatskin made me sneeze,
But rather that the cape lacked any heft,
And I was so cold, when we dressed and left,
That I stole all of the imported cheese.

Monday, April 05, 2010

Me and My Mistakes

I am impossible; you are a saint.
Improbable, impassive, I impugn
Your capability to hold a tune;
You drink a fairy sherry, feeling faint,
As quaint as quietism. I drink paint,
Embracing the embarrassments of June
(Some doltish drivel underneath the moon),
And you, revolting, will resist restraint.

You have avoided me and my mistakes,
The residue of resin where I sit
That keeps me where I am: I stick to it,
You fly from fallen love, for both our sakes,
And, somewhere in the snickering of snakes,
I'm pretty sure I also heard you spit.