It's either
something metal ticking
or a tiny bird.

A yellow petal
visited my notebook
along with a translucent
ant.

You can always
cut it off
he said.

Finding my Brother

. . . and here you are

      trashing in the hood

      stunned by the hidden notes.

The raven flew by laughing.
How do I know?
I've done the same thing.

You're not supposed to tell on me
when I do something like that.
It's my job to tell on you.

16 September 2011

Walking down
the WPA cement,
I pass the fence
of the woman
kidnapped by aliens.
It's almost
5 PM.
The college librarian
wants me to dress
as a robot.
I will comply.

Snagging the Night Man

Oh my anarchistic Love,
what have you gotten me into now?
What never started can't be stopped,
and I'm thirty-nine years
on a rooftop in Cincinnati
howling at the moon.

17 September 2011

They know all the trajectories of night
except the one that leads to day.
That's all right.  It comes anyway.

dear Rick

this rings out with fulfillment
a wonderful resonance !

silent lotus
~

Yes.  Glad it does.

i grew up in a WPA community designed by Louis Kahn

http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2009-03-19-roosevelt_N.htm

http://www.libraries.rutgers.edu/rul/libs/scua/roosevelt/rstory.shtml


the town is just about 8 miles from Grovers Mill where Orson Welles announced that the aliens had landed !

http://www.war-ofthe-worlds.co.uk/grovers_mill.htm

~

Stump Speech

Seventeen years
I've walked by it
     sat on it
        leaned against it on the ground.

I've looked at its cracks and squiggles
marked the slow, pleasant decay.

It's all here
says the stump,
and when I listen
I must agree.

Death drives a locomotive
but slowly, giving me time
and a lot of horn.

Death runs a rolling mill,
but courteously,
giving me time to
cross the track.

Deathe sits in my office chair
reading Susan Sontag.
Don't mind me,
Death says.
You're not on the list today.