one week

one week

monday:

his eyes always followed women
it wasn't lust, or body envy
but, rather the love of movement
and of the stillness within

tuesday:

he remembered when he met her
it was in hollywood, at a deli
she was ordering pastrami on rye
he ordered corn beef on a kaiser
she was drinking coffee, while
he had ice tea with lemon, sour lemon

wednesday:

his story began with a statement
"I lie" it was an autobiography

thursday:

at first he only dreamed of her on weekends
they were dada dreams starring parts of her
after she left him she appeared almost nightly
she was always naked and wreathed in snow


friday:

this was the day he ate fish
since a child, he had eaten fish on friday
he saw no reason to change
but now that the cod were gone, he wondered


saturday:

the traffic on main was leaden
pedestrians wove slowly through the cars
people chatted window to window
waiting for the light to change
he stood and drank his coffee
pigeons sat on his shoulders, pecked his eyes

sunday:

this was the day he worshiped god
his one eye aimed at heaven
one hand holding a dream
he waited for the moment
when god would arrive

recent writing from the vertin building

January 15, 06

Cribbage (tanka)

thunder rolls
rain patters down
on our tent
in dim light
you count 15-2


(an isle royale poem)

heavy fog suddenly lifts
ahead, isle royale
gulls fly out to greet us
the lake is a choppy green
we stand at the rail
wrapped in a blanket
shore pines, distant ridges
lit by the dim sun


Jan. 19 06 what i salvaged from the day's writings


an architecture of lust

like a giant panda on automatic

"YOU!"
she screams
"Dance in context!"

you must dance
with the woman
with the revolver
she haunts the
escalator of fate


objects of ancient offal

wild horses of smoke
curled from the house


pissing in the alley
soaked by rain
i think about you
oh! god!


hemmoroids
i wish i could write
standing up


when she came out of the shower
she said
"when you love
the bones show thru"

Jan 23 06

as daylight breaks
the cold winds blow
dark clouds to the ends
of my heartache

first tears, then rain
from the cold stone
of your angry heart
soak my shirt sleeves


*

when i first
saw her
she was the most
gorgeous woman
i had ever seen

please,
don't confuse
beauty
with lust
i know
untouchable
when i see it

now,
thirty years
later
we are both
nearing sixty
overweight
gray
and tired

but,
still
her eyes
oh!
her eyes


an erotic poem

with a gentle touch
the oyster blooms