Don't Let Me Drink Apple Juice Anymore

what use be song says the breeze
along the cleft of mine vision hanging
as the branch lags close to the ground
and as the sound invites the morning
to linger around the boundaries of night?

what use be vision if eyes see not the breeze
along the branches that close the path hanging
like a choir of sound beneath the sky, the ground
acts in a healing mood to nurture the eyes of morning
into the absence and void this desolate night.

what use be branches if trees feel not the breeze
and sound hears no echo and syllables hang
on syllables and all that was taught
was a dream of what was known
and the morning found the night
and the night the morning
and the song the vision
and the vision
scowling,
warning
the sound.

An Honest Day's Work

silocone synapse,
fiberoptic flirtations,
this job is getting me.

I looked the box
dead in the eye
and realized
I had nothing to say
.. it wanted
to hear

a trip to the store
a few tall beers -
now we're speaking
the same language

indecipherable

my purpose has deteriorated
all I want is free stuff:
call a record label, "Gimme
free release, I want to talk
to big time RnR guy,
make sound smart me"

go to sport event, "Gimme
free admission - me respectable
man of journalism"

look at box later, "Gimme
free Porn - big busty girls
blond, black, Russian -
anything that is not real

real is all
around me

When Spring Musings ?

encased in ennui -
cloaked in the shroud
..of self-importance,
it is not as it seems
today, or any other day

the tandem revolves
in circles
the body / the mind -
each with needs;
neither making progress

The days of unity seem
so far removed
from me
at my desk
in this unreal city at dusk

when Spring musings ?
elevated poesy, like a hiker -
whose own feet make him high,
.. carrying this burden,
like a mule - all-enduring
.. and content,
like an angel fallen
.. from Paradise
finally returned home.

these vagabond dreams
are not even memories, but concoctions
of desire and missed opportunity -

as in the time we planned
the Great Escape : We will leave
on July 4th, as the last glimmer
and rattle of pyrotechnics fade,
laced with booze and other inspiring
substances - we will bid adieu ...
Independence : Truth

.. A Broken Hope.
.. A Hollow Promise.

an empty billfold killed the poet
and the crowd could care less . . .

The Would Be

Never to ignore the day, to see not
the secret sway of the leave's quiet moods.
Ignore the dreams, the day swims in water
and drowns the moon as if only good
were of this promised nature and the chalice
as warm as the wine possessing the nerves.
The round curves of the skull, callous, curious,
deserving of a further horizon- a horizon without Words!
Who deserves and what deserves the soft chair beneath
must ill tempt the hours with sweet threats
and nourish the drunken fever of someday
and if not- what luck could ever be?
The mystery, anchored in midnight, the true Sun
blasting in black pulses- these windows, these galaxies!

Mary Jane's Lament

I sat up one night
awaiting her arrival;
alas - she came not.

I am not bitter
for having this spirit raised
in hope of delight;

Only tenderness,
all-encompassing, can save
a frayed soul tonight.


Mary Jane is gone
never to solicit me
again here on Earth.

The Mind cannot know
how e’er a lass could decieve
and strike a bad blow.

Poetry will die
like a flower in the moon
like tears from an eye.

Adieu (a passing thought)

In the morning
this mist
these eyes
seem sinister
beneath the dull gray blanket of the sky

Cars splash through
the street
like subliminal longings
of death

these are not
semantics, but
true thoughts
on Feb. 3, 2006

these corridors
only seem to shrink
by the day
and the rooms of the world
grow smaller
as the sober days pile

how long ? before
the imagination
again
can smile

and when she does,
embalm her countenance
in wax
and place her in the public square

as a testament
to these dreams - still lingering
amidst the dead