Tuesday, September 29, 2009
leaves is breaking
on my bedroom window,
here -- morning's last moan
as the minute hand
ticks up toward twelve.
At noontime, to "laze"
becomes to "languish,"
so, to keep appearances afloat,
I will write a poem.
Let no one think me languishy.
And, when I've squeezed
into Tuesday evening,
and we are saying "so long"
to Sybil, my sycamores
will sweetly swish till my return,
when they will suspirate me
once more to sleep.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Woe is the window. Thin as an eyelid.
Think of it: it is maybe more there
in your mind than it is here, in between us
and the street. A wash with a wet rag
and it is gone. An outstretched arm
and it is back again.
How comfortable is your house?
Are you safe enough inside to fear
the outside? We cannot be protected
unless there is danger, otherwise
we just are. I fear the world,
so I do not have to fear in here.
When the window winks
with the light of dawn, I will rise
and remove myself from my handy home;
my conveniences will wait for me.
The liquid glass in my window
will sag historically.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Sing a song of six-gun,
a pocket full of hair.
If you hope to survive the night,
you'd better learn to swear:
"Play some fuckin' country!"
and scam another pie --
most of us have done this before.
The Guns have done it thrice.
Gather round us kiddos,
we'll keep you safe and warm;
slide the strings of a Telecaster guitar
and mind the swinging arms.