flightless

torn between fuck off
and love you
mulling the in-between
attracted to your anger
repelled by your mean
loving that you’re different
though you poke too hard at seams
we speak a language
not unlike
the spectre in our dreams
age and distance
ego’s wounds
rip apart the wind
i’m open, easy, undefined
let’s put aside the win
pace our growling
to the finish
not your style?
rather diminish?
silly woman
so inclined
check the map and
you will find
I’m on the road you
advertised
I don’t leave
without the prize

Zoo Thoughts

Written on bourbon in tea and conversation at Neal’s kitchen table

the zookeeper came to clean my cage
            put things in order
            swept away the
            manure of me

I watched
            allowed him a certain freedom about
            the jail, though I rumbled a
            bit and showed my yellow
            teeth when he got too close

the Grey and the Cold started to give up

the People, the Greys started
bleeding towards us

                        the sun came out
                       
            I ate the zookeeper

“Let’s give the folks a show, I thought.

June 1976 nyc

Stray Cats

in secret, in public
            in a black dress and
                        new skin
she was near him
                        in public
he was in her
                        in secret
in secret, in public
            in a black dress and
                        white skin

straying, like a cat
            in an alley, in secret
            white hand on the black dress
                        in secret
            through the public music
when it strayed from the stage
this public secret
            came, white-fingered
            on a black dress to
                        her secret

in secret, in public
            she was near him
in secret, her neck bent
            and she took him
in public, this music
            was sex, a secret
            on white skin
            in a black dress

and she knew
                        the secret
                        in public

6.30.89 nyc

I DON’T WANNA

grow up
go to bed
see people go hungry
wear shoes
wear red
worry about money
start fighting
stop writing
life without the carney
I don’t wanna
pay rent
ever repent
sing the songs of blarney
eat meat
tell a lie
misplace the love of wonder
kill love
wear gloves
sky with silent thunder
I don’t wanna
useless trend
dry riverbed
sky cross hatched with warning
fleeting friend
limp handshake
I don’t wanna
make mistakes
plead amends
I will though I don’t wanna

CHARLES BUKOWSKI

August 16, 1920

Woodcut 

Some Poets Have It Made

POEM FOR MY BRIEF BRUSH WITH THE POET  mid 70s NYC

my night

your morning
you’re right
my warning
your might
my dawning
your delight
my yearning
my night
your morning

I need you like

a pencil needs a sharpener

I need you like 

a bouy with no sea

I need you like a

bar with no alcohol

I need you like

a bird with no bee

I need you like a war

with no end

and a story with no pen

I need you like the weather

needs a course

and the soul craves force

I need you like the

morning needs reason

the night feels excusing

I need you like

stuff we ignore

until it is more

like barnacles and mold

a bit left unsold

a remnant

a creeping lie 

yet unresolved

I need you forever

and never

if truth be told

I need you

I don’t need you

I need you

Let’s grow old