one more fucking post

all resolutions are wanting

she got peed on in a sex tape

oj simpson's lawyer

at an advanced stage of media fame

13 minutes, 8 minutes, what are you guilty for

what have you done

best moment? 

shall I say my regrets?

my friends, let me light on fire the room

the volcano under yellowstone pompeii is brewing

who will be our cicero

new pope old pope

venting time, venting time

"let's play the game!"

minutes til the dead were dead in another year

until a beginning

which isn't a beginning

everything is new to me

our friends who followed us to other states

and stayed there while we returned

are on speaker phone

and soon we'll toast 

laugh

breath in

out

wait 

ever

tonight, tomorrow

It's two days before the new year 2-0-1-4 (decimal. 11111011110 binary. so 2015 will be a binary palindrome)

anything but to the point (decimal. point. hah.)

two days and this day mostly done, tomorrow and the end of that is a change, which feels final, like a wall

which, really, walls are everywhere, hardly big news but some walls have 

something else on the other side

and its greener

and there's only so much time

to climb over

before

you can't

when I lived we showered ourselves

in hot water on cold days

for an hour if we wished

the wind that burned brown leaves from old oaks

could not penetrate our daily rites

church bells sound like clock parts
tick and coo -- keep regular time:
"all's well". Go bout your busy-ness
the Muezzin must be like that too
somewhere
but here it's rare enough
to be heard, and keep
meaning. Come away.
come away

this watch she gave me two years in, her grandfather made it
and she wanted it to stay in the family
lived on my desk when we stopped
over a decade made precise
til someone she never met spilled coffee
like the great flood
someday a rainbow

barnacle bill

been knocking at your door for-tea five minutes
breaking to stand back look up squinting
through the sun glare on your window
is there movement
were you expecting me
there's a cold breeze marks the hour
and a church bell
only part of the scene
more normal than the muezzin
calling someone - not i, not you
there's a bar not far off
warmest place to pray
"if only"
next year in jerusalem.

at the diner -same old thing with faces

server a table down is so much like
this girl from high school (which for me lasted 40 years in the desert)
she moved to new york became an actress in the promised land
this server wears seafoam colored T not actual seafoam
and our server is just as familiar but
not like anyone I can name
so I spend my time wondering who she could be
like casting a movie

when she danced though no one else was dancing

and I breathed harder than her though she sweat  from the effort

who had come with me there? who did I leave behind me to chase her star

and who else waited 

as though these women were cities 

and I was exiled

because that one night
you were leaving to travel
and your homeless guests were fighting
we mediated, when all I wanted was you alone
for a while we slept close together
and the city when I wandered home
seemed alien

at the door

                                                    stand here everyone's up there
                                                    their backs the same in suits
                                                facing front books to the same
                                                     page

stainedglassotherside

                                                                                                                                      silver tablets
                                                                                                                                      yellow lightning
                                                                                                                                      a mountain on fire

stainedglasssides

                                                                                         











clear star above                                                                  
green field
blue red lions
fill with the sun
or reflect candles

churchmiddleroom

                                                                panels and a heavy top
                                                                covered in velvet or linen or probably not denim
                                                        someone left a pencil last time they stood here
                                                                  accoutrement inside some candles mostly
                                                                             

churchtop

                                                               wood and shadows and accumulated smoke
                                                  if you could climb and press your nose to these beams
                                           the history would fill you

i'm furious - probably
furious about something
i suppose i am furious here
stewing alone
about whatever

winter's scoured the fields
the grass is powder dry and low
and hungry trees are aiming in their wills their seed and root
to fill the waste

a crow counts one and gets no second call
so scatters his scavenging where he hops
and watches more than speaks

parked cars could have been left a thousand years ago
without a sign to mark the time

measure for measure should be done in tiny claustrophobic sets
with barely room to move so every actor has to squeeze and squirm to pass another
and the very environment strangles and stifles the life out of the cast and audience

a dissapointing vice

is cowardice

not half the fun I think

as love for drink

and far less grand an affectation

than predilection for flirtation

shall we dance
oh shall we
you in the moon, i'll follow
to the ends of the phrase

describe something

Snow has gathered on the trees like cherry blossoms

The light of sunset
turns the snow on tree branches
pink like cherry blossoms

Through his window a stand of trees could be seen, swaying lazily in the evening breeze, their branch tips coated with snow turned pink as cherry blossoms by the sinking sun.

gray weather days dislike me
chattering the windows while the shedded tree sways
all one tree all one field all one cloud canopy
what passersby go - go with head nod down - no face - all one passer in one red hood
wolves, behind concrete embankments can't be bothered to spring slathering from brown leaf piles
steam heat furnaces refuse to smell of wood fire
neighbor windows dark or covered white - block any voyeuristic enterprise
snow fails to crystallize
perhaps that roiling cloud is born of doom - the horseman of exploding action
one sillhouetted bird before it, fleeing
something to pass or end the ennui