No Team In I


Prepare for trouble.

under exacting forms / contracts

of heresy

where spirits

confide in faintest hearts

tightening, silencing, confounding.

pro-paranoia

in a pickle,

jarred.

*

Make that double.

no more partial revolutions.

death to phenomenon

of

‘that’s what people do’

recognizable                            reputation

changes with

the season.

as the shadow of death adjusts with the sun.

oh hero

how lonely the valley is alone

but unbeatable if together,

indivisible,

on display

united. never fronting.

on the real

upwards

from the plague that raised some

distant from gold

on streets broken – at fault –

falsified.

relying on the testimony

of asphalt for freedom

from catching a case

which is more deadly than

the feelings which caught

will pass

as diseases do

with time

or death.

*

To protect the world from devastation!

cold war left sweat stains on the ghetto,

thawed out in sands and mountains

halfway around the globe.

what is there for defense

besides a sigh and hashtag?

how pure does a policy want to be

before it dies

on the grandstand?

– a parasite feasting

on dreams

always on the mind,

holding

thoughts

at determined

length.

*

To unite all peoples within our nation.

never forgetting solidity

of Pangaea

past solidarity –

so old it’s

no longer familiar

other than as

blood memories

among

siblings scattered

scrambling for milk.

*

To denounce the evils of truth and love.

game is fixed. rigged. house made

its own set of rules

subject to change

as subjects change.

don’t count on karma,

beg for blessings.

*

To extend our reach to the stars above.

where only serenity is complete

in emptiness, cold,

no gravity

of any sort

to drag

a situation

to extremes.

high as meaningless as low –

coming down

impossible

but the rush didn’t do much

for getting away

anyway

where wishes vaporize

into gas and light

set planets ablaze in life

starting the cycle that

the hopes of these hands

refuse.

*

Blast off at the speed of light.

drink past closing time. past full.

take glory in the slowness of the night

while fantasies fix their engines

set course,

set sights,

load guns –

Surrender now

lose compromise

Or prepare

cast negotiations aside

To fight!

may fortune favor the ridiculous.

That’s right.

and add chorus to the cheers of the home team

– ROCKET

From Not So Fast


Not So Fast

But there is a chasm
filled with scripts
or screenplays.
Somewhere there’s a rusty
RCA Victor mike
And a Yamaha amp
with peculiar buzz
of mosquito secrets
And no one has been able
to fill the ad.
Openings and closings delayed
with the same repartee of one of these
shows.
* * *
Can’t both stare in the mirror
in the same moment.
Two wholly wholes
halfway blended
Connected – a point just beyond
the brain.
Craniums fused into one –
crammed
with lyrics
of cowboy songs.
A multi-appended chimera
facing two ways
into compromise
And when one goes
I’ll have to carry
that load
too.
String arrangements.

To read the home poem click here

or go the Chapbooks and Long Poems page

So Long


And all will pass

into the indivisible love

Andre Breton

Remember that -oh so long

ago when we were

ships whose sails

were not made

that day hour by

hour

And ‘oh these things happen’

But now, the winged

octopus will no longer

guide this —!

For life is not always a cabaret

Sometimes it’s just pitching

coffee cups at the trash

after consuming endless days

of creamy middles

and no wafers

in sight.

* *

Or incognito

as the signs

we’re waiting

to receive

while the unspoken words

are put out to sea

And what a shanty they’ll make

And the scurvy they’ll cure

And the doldrums they’ll surpass

And oh the cargo hulls

they’ll begin to fill

So soon they’ll

throw unnecessary passengers overboard.

(written 2010)

Should Beware


The gentle caresses of a curse lull to sleep both grace and karma neither quick to action and fate is just another name for coincidence.

Foolish thing desire,

A hollow bell summoning attachment to the feast but there are no silver grains of rice and apricots with emerald pits but empty as coconut relieved of its juice.

A cocoon  leading to metamorphosis or worse yet, back to caterpillar, crawling up branch to find that particular leaf.

There is some happiness stolen from it bite by bite.

Eating without satisfaction but not eager to see Ramadan or Lent. The fast seasons leaving one begging for dates devoid of tahini or just a scrap of meat and wants feel more like needs.

But this could push moth into being

Then the sweaters should beware.