Give Me a Call Sometime

It will be way away
in that future when
everything burns too bright:
a call to arms is still
a call; call to see
what's our next move:
make a coded call
for future action, or
cool off and call in the morning.

The Finger

Midnight: Coastal Connecticut,
and Lucas finds the finger.

The corners of the porch define
our borders;

on Monday our Holiday Road
will take us home,

but tonight the Sound is sweet.
Montauk waits quietly across the water.

Tonight's the middle of the party,
for which Lucas has found a finger.

Give Me A Call Sometime

It will be 1979, and I will be king
of all the thin brown carpet
that I can see; all three feet of me
moving top speed down the stairs
to explore the wide cosmos of the courtyard.

Call me because never again
will I be as available as I am now
to talk about imaginary magic seeds
called "sesame."

Call me and maybe we'll hit the street;
take the cat down to Winn's
for a comic book, and when we're home,
I'll tell you how to get to Houston,
Left on I-10 and go straight.

NaPoWriMo 04/30/09

HELLO DENVER

Hello Denver,
you might be glad to know
this is still your town to me
in so many ways.

Two years later,
you still find funny ways
to pop up -- in a night out,
in a back room.

I am happy to report
that two years later
a late-night robot
can make me smile.

NaPoWriMo 04/29/09

BEWARE THE FUNNY HAT

Be wary of the funny hat
late at night on the streets of Brooklyn
when any amount of attention
is unwanted: our anonymity
is our best friend tonight;
it is different from hours ago
when all eyes were on you;
you were a star.

It is right to move from constellation
to bandit and back again,
our unknownness is our time
to do the little things: to move
from one place to another,
to play a game, to eat some chips.

Tomorrow we'll feel like
we've gotten away with something
if only tonight we get away with it.

NaPoWriMo 04/28/09

THE REALITY OF OUR SISTER GRACE

Our sister Grace is not,
strictly speaking, our sister:
we found her one night
in a Corpus Christi bus station;
she was fully formed
as if hatched from an egg.

My brother Dick and I
knew we HAD to have her,
so beautiful and wild!

But if course
she wasn't our decision,
she followed us home,
she felt right beside us,
as if she'd been there
the whole time.

Our parents knew it too;
there was no "can we keep her
PLLEEEASE," it was just
"hello Grace, welcome home."

NaPoWriMo 04/27/09

SAXOPHONE SOUNDS

Hello Saturday, hear
my saxophone sounds,
our bleat-bop style is fly
on the wall of this truck,
I'll make this alley mine.

NaPoWriMo 04/26/09

PINK HEAVY

Oppressive Spring
is upon me, branches bent
with heavy pink beauty.

We are slowing down
beneath the trees,
bony December far away.

NaPoWriMo 04/25/09

sucking on a beer:
John Cotter from New England
happy Spring indeed

NaPoWriMo 04/24/09

MY NEON II

An orange-red radar beeps
in the darkness -- my night vision
blurrrs a halo onto every corner;
an insectine chirr catches my ear:
a sign pops into my sight,
and so begins my Friday night.

NaPoWriMo 04/23/09

MY NEON

Neon is not always neon;
electricity arcs to excite
other noble gases
to make light and color:
orange-red for neon,
blue for argon (with mercury)
and xenon is purple-white.

But fluorescents can be deceitful,
do not look to these signs
for noble gases; look for
"dinner," or look for "subway."

NaPoWriMo 04/22/09

FROM WHERE POEMS COME

From where do poems come?
Last night John Wieners' voice
leaked out of the internet
and into my ears. Did that poem
come from John Wieners,
or did it come from the internet?
Paul Killebrew sent me the link;
there is abundant evidence
that poems come from Paul.
And are there poems
without my ears and eyes?

A blueprint for poetry:
John --> internet --> Paul
--> eyes --> ears

NaPoWriMo 04/21/09

A PURPLE HOUSE PERSON

This is my purple house
where I talk to birds -- hey
bird! and where I talk
to plants -- hey plant!

My lady is asleep upstairs;
she is an uncommon girl
with whom I have a common
relationship: it's amazing
the things you can do
with a cell phone.

When she awakes,
we will walk from our purple
house out into the green
world. Our love is law;
our rituals are old
and well-tested.

NaPoWriMo 04/20/09

GOOD EVENING SUNSHINE

Long after happy hour,
our smiles remain here
where the friendly folks
congregate, on the
North side of Monday,
on the South side
of Manhattan, on the
wooden side of the bar.

Sink side, Shafer's working,
and his eyes are so thankful
when we help him
take the trash out,
or bus some tables.

Shafer growls, Teejay
smiles, and we all remain
through the evening,
long after happy hour.

NaPoWriMo 04/19/09

THE WILDEST CAT IN KANSAS

Oh great ounces
of bourbon, oh
wild cat of
The Great Plains,
your name is known
from Manhattan, KS
to Manhattan, NY.

Our love for you
is near as the burn
of whiskey in the backs
of our throats.

Keep yourself safe
and wing it back to Brooklyn
to us and to the bottle
we will keep safe for you.

NaPoWriMo 04/18/09

AS THE CROW SMILES

Aurorites unite
behind the firm front
of Brendan and Tracey:
thank them for
a nurturing mother
ship to dry off
when we're logged
with rain and to cool
off when we're dry.

And seventeen issues
from now, may your smiles
still be finely flecked with crow.

NaPoWriMo 04/17/09

THEORY OF FORMS: MONKEY LAMP

I light, and therefore I am Monkey Lamp,
and back here in the shadows in the back
of Jamison's bar, that which I illuminate
is often all that is; when Jamison
clicks me off, there is nothing, and
I am Monkey Lamp no more.

[click] Monkey Lamp [click]
not Monkey Lamp [click]
Hey there are two people
making out on the "leather"
couch; that is too much
for my Monkey Lamp eyes [click]

No daylight filters back
into my little Monkey Lamp room,
but Jamison sometimes sits
and tells me of the big world
out there, a world with as many
lights as there are monkeys [click]
Monkey Lamp [click] no Monkey Lamp

NaPoWriMo 04/16/09

BROOKLYN DAWN

Dawn's rosy fingers touched
my Clifton Place this morning;
my feet were all over the street
and the stoplight kept us all safe.

I traced a path to the corner store

to search for grapefruit soda,
I tried to tell the fellas there
about a drink called Ting.

But our English wasn't enough
for us, we agreed to give it up;
I said "go Mets," and he said
"ayyyy," and home went
my Gatorade and I.

NaPoWriMo 04/15/09

LOVE TO BURN

America lives out West
in western Wisconsin --
"the Land of Trees Touching"
to the natives.

Power is plentiful here,
so our extension chords
are curled up on bumpers
decorating our purple buses.

The snow is a museum;
come inside where it is warm.
We will show you our animals,
our drinks, and our guitars.

Later on, someone's target
practice might tear up
the evening, but for now
our boots are freezing on the hood.

You can decide on your own
omens when the bus begins
to move again; tell us
what it tells you -- if it burns.

NaPoWriMo 04/14/09

Big confetti busts
out above West Fourth; April's
cruel chill continues.