In a certain mind

I wipe the condensation
off the bottom
of the glass with my palm,
place the glass back
on the coaster,
to which it sticks
meaning that it will probably rise up
off the desk
when I next lift the glass
to take a sip.

A slight tilting
and pressing downwards
at an angle
will break the seal
formed between two hard smooth surfaces
by the liquid
in between.

For millennium before and after
this is something that
in a certain mind
is noticed.


Cheap memories

In the movie of the picture show
your unbuttoning was over quick,
you zipped her down and the years were gone.
One war after another—call me Caesar,
call me the son of God! I leave it all
to go back to those theatre seats
and the dumb matters we felt, high on ignorance
and desire, pushing the boundaries
that are now so far from us in every direction.
It’s a new country for old men, undiscovered
by you lot, but you’ll keep pushing until
you find it and ache for the memory
and feel of those buttons…
What bargain shoppers we become
when we’ve recklessly spent it all.


Oh sweet Lysidice

I’m a deviant,
I lust for Lysidice
and her see-through muslin dress
revealing her star-blessed tits,
her earth-kissed mound
—oh sacred triangle!

I kneel to pray
but there’s nothing there,
only the pages
of an anthology of Greek poetry
open wide on my desk.

Lysidice has been gone
for some 2,000 years
—but boy, is she still hot…

I’m a sicko
to get all worked up
over a translation.
Fleur, you’re cruel!


Witches’ brew

Poisonous hurt, fiery anger
and painful embarrassment,
she mixed them all

each word she spoke
was like air over burning coals
making the pot boil

each new sentence stirred
the potion, each accusation
fiendishly devised

she plunged her word cup deep
presented it to him full
and overflowing

he drank of her words
but they had no effect,
his indifference was a spell
he’d already cast to protect him.


Our dog is like Frank O’Hara

our dog is like Frank O’Hara
aaaaaaalover of gregarious freedom!
we don’t want to train him—he’s untrainable
half wild, like a Coltrane solo
he takes free rein, takes it where it will go
he barks at everyone he sees        with no malice
he just wants to say hello
and tell everyone        he loves them
he can jump up in the air in crazy yelping pirouettes
he’s a bit of a show-off

he’s too quick footed for the big slow dogs
who can’t pin him down        there’s no easy walk
trotting along beside in regular rhythm
it’s all full tilt, nose down, tail up, pulling forward
choking against the collar—sudden stops
deviations         instant enthusiasms
abandoned for the next delicious scent        tiring
and exhilarating, like keeping up with Peter
when his brain’s exploding
T.S.Eliot mixed with obscenities

he sleeps close to us on the bed
any noise, 2am, 5am, and he’ll leap off
and run around barking in circles       it’s idiotic
and pisses us off
he wants to lick your ears in the morning
loves it when you scratch his head
he hardly eats, but likes to clean your plate
flies annoy him       (he’s mostly content)

he escapes often, being small and agile
always finding a new way to get out
we’re lucky he hasn’t been hit by a car
we would miss him a lot
aaaaaabecause he’s full of the genius of life
our dog
a destroyer of shallow boredom
like Frank O’Hara.

Art, Poetry

I wish

I wish I was in Greenwich Village
reading Macbeth, legs crossed, a glass of wine at my ear.

Or in the Sistine Chapel
seeing Adam raise his dandy arm to bearded God.

Or in front of Socrates proclaiming
the revolution of reason, reaching for his cup.

Or in a Parisian café drinking absinthe
with poets, painters and philosopher junkies
in wrinkled collar shirts.

Or eating fruit with Manet and his companions by a lake.

Or crossing a bridge over the Sumida River in the rain.

Or shopping at Macy’s and seeing Adrian Piper
with WET PAINT on her top.

Or driving a bulldozer for the first time
through the Nevada Desert.

Or side-by-side with children flying their kites
through a hole in the prison wall.