loving caregivers thrived

not in her lifetime no

they conspired against her

autonomous tribes

seeking redress in the here and now

she wanted revenge

that simpering weapon

the thing in her holster was wide-eyed

and then some

hovering underage gloves

gorm-free of his undertow

how the river defends her

blatant-filled rides

making her way through a field of cows

she wanted return

her heart fully open

rivers of lust bled the big sky

and then some

shout-worthy jokes undermined

requests for a bleaker unknown

are we ancient or grounded

surrounded by lies

stomping on things under perfect duress

there is no regress

herself well unspoken

trust although token exemplified

and then some

nyc ues 10.31.24

Man Ray

wrapped tonight in

autumnal luster

vulgar notions of

aging creep ever closer

soft urgent crossings

in the tide below

cars full of waves

wet the road with laughter

imagine the poet

that outruns danger

the glare of the laptop

a green-shaded lamp

books stacked with abandon

daring Sisyphus to climb

the cat’s cry distracts from

a weighty mantle

night bus below

dusts off an urge to travel

the cat pulls himself

into protective sleep

whatever his night fears

the mourning dove’s keep

on the back fire escape

will return him to gentle

whatever his night fears

he’ll reject sentimental

laughter below

is it mad or cruel

the mantle slips from my

shoulders as usual

I write like the tide

it knows no refusal

no excuse

no regret

no answers

no muscle

whatever my fears

I reject sentimental

unwrapped tonight from

autumnal luster

9.28.16

nyc

CLICK ON PHOTO FOR BETTER VIEWING

Photo: Tim Tapling Autumn [ in one shot ] : Egerton Dock : Birkenhead : Wirral : 26:Oct:2024.

 

 

KEROUAC

I am on that road again
the one that was sure
he was wrong
that he was fake crazy and
masculine magic
and everything that is
anathema to a woman
like me
So, I buy the book at Strand
in a worldy questioning way
it was on the pile
under the sign
classics it said
and I was ready to
throw down the gauntlet
narrow the writer
into the stuff that
is easily dismissed
until it is not
when the crucial insanity
is not male or female
when it gets all bogged
into a bisexual damn
that the beavers of life
keep building and destroying
when the childy sorrow
of a hundred past thieves
steal the memory
of yourself
and refuse to deceive
what and who you are
why you see that far
and never regret
what you have to forget
to write what you know
in patience and anger
in still and sparkling
in lightness that darkens
he roared through me
and splintered the rickety
he wrote what I hated
he wrote what I loved
the argument endures
the hand fits the glove

9.17.14

New Mexico early 70s

 

MARIO’S STUDY

Angry centuries on the bookshelves.

Electric sharpener filled to its grisly

death teeth with skin and bones.

He belonged to the second group; he

says he believes in the Silence of the Light.

It goes with the dust here, she says.

She flies erratically on the back of her

thoughts of waiting women to

the velvet tongue across turned wood,

to settle like wine on the evening

shadows, to relieve a bloodless

tension, to say why care?

When an aching distant throat jumped

into her goblet and cried, as tiny as

a stillborn diamond.

Listen, it said

silence is not yet a dead subject.

3.5.76

nyc

photo: Dan Brinzac ca '76

 

knock me down 

with a feather

I dare you

my heart wears 

boxing gloves

my feet dance 

like a woman 

who knows the score

knock me down 

with a feather

don’t spare me

all the love you bring me

will just bring me more 

nyc 8.2.13

monoprint nyc

 

 partial as she is to escape

here or there or in outer space

landscapes draw blanks on pages

she rages 

when lovers go fretful in

gardens wet full of

evil poetry

tears perfected butterfly wings

slander left her feet in the race

drunk and spare 

on the garden settee

partial as she is to escape

here or there or in outer space

she’ll sit on a bench

in a conservatory garden

noting seeds racing for glory

blooming like fuck in an uneasy climate

urban and starlike and owned

by those outside of her

she’s older now and wiser by none

keeps to herself

now that life has gone faster

than her

nothing more has to rhyme

partial as she is to relate

handshakes don’t remember when

she wasn’t in love

when she wasn’t disarming

in a garden so public and hidden as well

she’s thick as the hide on a sacred cow pelt

her limbs are like spiders on speed

she leans into the work counting out loud

the marvelous presence of seed

she’ll sit on a bench

in the conservatory garden

noting seeds racing for glory

 

bent over records she’s meant to keep

a gleaner of seeds like you and me

from well-armed consultants those fucking bastards

she bends with a dancer’s knee

full throttle ecstasy

leaving pain in the holding position

again

nyc 10.1.24

 NORTHERN LIGHTS 

the cat creeps beside me

his eyes all aglow

what more do I need
what more can I know

evil is written in stone
and in snow

in rivers that rage
deserts I don’t know 

urban cliff dweller am I

with the soul of a hermit

searching the light
in an alien sky
I am home with my light

my river that flows

my witness to self that

continues to grow
my desert that kills

each passing word

I live by the light of an
unknown northern night

I wonder what’s next

shall I stay shall I fly

I wonder what’s next in

my northern light

urban cliff dweller am I

with the soul of a hermit

searching the light
in an alien sky
I’ve been warned of the storms
considered regret
I wander in restless
celestial deterrent
sit at my desk
and wonder what’s next

I pound keys into stars

words land uneasily
the rest of my scars

are stories told freely
I wanted to witness
that unearthly glow

cramped as I am here

in darkness below

 

3.18.15

nyc

Photo: nyc 3.25.2019

 

she’s falling away from herself
like an outgoing breath
carrying an eyelash in her purse
her ready change for an ask

small windows betray what’s been felt
when the right meets the left
querying a rehash in the room
where nothing fears of the past

she’s mauling intent to begin
a romantic reset
hovering with bees in their hive
a queenly regard for her sins

she’s on a street corner
forever a loner
armed for the wars
madness is born for

she’s fond of old captains
replacing the mourners
dump them in seas
sailed on by coroners

she’s falling away from herself
shoves her trash to the curb
with discouraging words
meant to be buried in ancient tombs

nothing is fearful past
when death moves to the curb
like a cyclone at last
and not a cruel word was heard
she’s on a street corner
forever a loner
armed for the wars
madness is born for

nyc 9.18.2

 

AGING

 

then her bones were

all about escape

untied choked without

clever marrow

bloated and unseemly

drinking in

a thing or two 

the fiction that follows

each truthful denial

a misdirection

that craven fear of words

stoked by inflection

bigger than she

revealing the personal

angry in place

cross-eyed kittens she cries

it is time to get drowned

a moment before

she laughs out loud

when her teeth collapse

those mad fucking dancers

free with the questions

done as well with the answers

she takes stock of herself

fakes shedding a tear

it’s like fucking Gray Gardens in here

she is literally downed 

by the park of reminders

wanting isn’t always doing nothing

hanging never solved a problem

crosses come and go in tandem

when her bones are all

about escape

untied and without

clever marrow

she will climb the cross again

quietened no doubt

by discomfort from the razor’s edge

she will climb the cross again

she will no longer pledge.

She will climb the cross again

waving from the edge.

 

6.18.19

nyc