POEM

coral or old wine
i can't look out the
window without
hearing you run
up the stairs in a
rush to give me
that welcome
shuffle knock
o my girl of the
evening primroses!

REAL LOVE

i know something about love
hate & love are clarifications enough
of themselves, pleasure in the
collision & juxtaposition, when
you think about it what else is there?
the simultaneous coherent incoherency,
whole days drenched in sheets, twisted,
the air an avalanche shot with golden dust--

the morning flows like twilight in reverse,
sodden thoughts, the white arm on the
pillow, sweet in some natural way--
the sudden desire to do some manly deed,
like rustling breakfast despite the uncertain weather:
everyone knows it's windy

A WHITE BIRD

Gnarled briar pipe
On the shelf with
I-Ching coins,
Caller ID, nail
Clippers, green
Deco ashtray full
Of change, the
Bettie Page baseball
Card tilted to it,
A roach, mostly
Smoked, at her feet.

My girlfriend's hand
Passes over it, caught
In the lamp's halo,
A white bird dipping
Down so delicately down
Then upon the orange
Zig-Zags. And is gone.

HEADLONG INTO THE FLAME

it brings terrible risks (they warn)
i do not see them, only currents
of fire and air consuming me
gladly here now

it is ordinary, like smoke
although i cannot sleep
and long to burn the cities
of the earth in your name

or lay roses at your feet
love and drink and song
a madrigal to you o mine
fair damoiselle, dark like the burning sun

DINER POEM 5 A.M.

Morning rattles again
Takes a deep breath
Stirs up some early light
Along the street, blue
A little, as if a hand
Somewhere had thrown a switch
The sound rising to meet
The blue dawn light
Venus there suddenly remembered.

HOW ENTIRELY MORTAL IS THE LOVE I BEAR FOR YOU

forgive me, i am dazzled
by your sorrow darling
girl! washed away by all
this icy rain, caught up in it

my world's the blue crown
on the throne of my
kingdom of yearning, there
forg'd by tongs of hunger for you

holy and fine the pulse of
breath on your lips each
day, hope roaring out from
my excellent prayers toward you

and yet it's you. you. i ache
for love of the holy and luminous
sea, which is you, which is
the dawn there above the waves

XMAS POEM

For my sins I live in the city of Fayetteville--
Everything is clear from here at the center
To the end of my block, I can see thru the trees
Past the house with the mannikins
At seventy miles an hour--
This is my certain place, a pleasant smell of
Apples often fills the air.

June night exists, June night exists,
Even here in our December and the rain--
O you who are wrapt in velvet
Drop by sometime with a peach
In one hand & a firefly in the other,
Come sing old Cole Porter songs to me--

PERSONAL POEM

Every possible thought charged with sudden
Meaning, loose high energy, leaves skittering
In a gust American Beauty-style across the pavement
Like little children, laughing, then up up a big
Yellow lemon balloon into the blue wide sky
Right out of sight. Terrific!
Out of two eyes gazing amazed and welcoming at
Me, up late, impossible to misplace
Under this light and anticipated light--
Not: come live on the floor with me, she said, and I
Did--she didn't say that, but I would, I would

THE MILK OF YOUR LIGHT

You go too far, but what to do?
The trees are indifferent to each of us,
The faces of virgins white boats, oars tucked

Waiting (Your being beautiful, say,
Younger than the trees, morning
Fed on explicit song: the other

Morning a clue to the question of
My angel which I take enormously
Seriously. You should know. To know this

You can navigate the river of night.
Think about it. Strange birds sing
Red-faced and shy, a regular fleet in

Expectation. I love this strange life.
I love crying in the kitchen, what am I
To do now? Call me please when you get this.

9/17

crickets outside and rain. slept 11 hours. diet dr.

pepper. brain hurts. today my life consists of: a

ceiling fan with a broken blade, the sound of rain, no

money. books. unrequited love. a taxi shift every

day at 5. drunken sorority girls who overtip. a tarot

deck (the prince of wands: "intensity; blossoming

love; intuitive creativity; out of darkness into light"--

maybe). absent friends. poems. the girl with the

limp who never tips and always tells me what movie

she just saw. she doesn't like pretty actresses. they

"annoy" her. i try to imagine what her life is like.

staying on top of the movies like that must be a full

time job.

DREAM

I mean I don't know what you mean
Stopping me like that when I was just
Getting to the good part where the
Procession of my Ancestors was walking
By, real or imaginary, great-aunts and
-Uncles, from my childhood and they
Still knew me bearded and almost forty.
You threw me the golden dagger to cut
Through my bonds which turned into
The pearl-handled little pocket knife
Aunt Mazie gave me when I was just
Six, that I lost in the yard and
Never could find though I searched
For days. I cried and cried over that.

ALBA LONGA

Women get under things. In the shadow
Of the pink moon carving ice like the
Night sky, ice grinding stone,
Carving strange signs there into it.

Never the same later. Wouldn't want to be.
Flesh is real, transitory, we are made
Of it. The marks show. Even in the
Dim moon light, even then, if you look.

Looking back, almost seen, never quite.
Finger tips feel the grooves in it--
Trace ahead, try to guess. Never guess.
It never shows that way. Flesh is frail.

POEM NOT BEGINNING WITH A LINE FROM PINDAR

By their high & ancient light
You saw the nature of yourself--
You are not a pinnacle
Of creation beneath a protected
Veil of sky, you are
A fierce bright atom of
Self-hood encircled by fire.

I stand in doubt, surrounded
By holy wood--it is this
Hand hiding in smoke,
A cherry button heart,
A blazing circle of rum--
You are here, shaping
Suns & arrows, a halo
Of moon-rays, bright at 2 a.m.

Thing is to cut a shape in time,
A shape that's the shape of you--
No goddess, you must be revived,
Devin among the grasses--
Hearts revive with you:
Every moment then is light.

BIRTHDAY 38 POEM

Puerto-Rican girls are terrific!
But I don't know any
Puerto-Rican girls
Here in the pool hall:

I will pretend you are
The Puerto-Rican girl--
You look that good
In your little dress
And your eyes sparkle chica!

A WAY OF SHOWING FEALTY TO THE POETRY GODS,

Taking cabs all over
Town on a Friday
Afternoon sick with
Hay fever & love.

SONNET AFTER ALICE NOTLEY

Certain gestures repeat endlessly in recollection.
It is night and you are sleeping. The big cold
Night is singing softly to itself. In my dream
You are on a balcony--there is sea-air
And bougainvillea. Now in the alley I am
Singing to myself--I hear the night sing too.
I am alone in the wet and purple night, so sweet
Like air, and not discontent: hands in pockets, happily cold.

We got our feet wet in things, didn't we? and so are
Formed like angels, like bougainvillea. Really
I'm glad. Certain gestures repeat endlessly
In recollection, in dreams. My shoes scuff
The paving stones, marked by moonlight. You are marked
By moonlight, too--so sweet like air, so fair.

SONNET

At a party I went because,
I went because I don't go enough,
Out, usually I just go home, I do
Remember distinctly faces, music--
Across the house you were there
I saw you elegant in furs distinctly
There poised I thought in the distance
Across the faces past them on the other side.
I thought standing across the house
By the music then mostly of your
Lavender sock, and mostly then
I wished I had it back, and was
Back home looking right then at it
On my chair.

NEW POEM FOR SABRINA

Medea's a Phoenician wench, Sabrina's
Pasadenan/ hails from boulevards &
Constellations, surface undersea Galaxies
Near the beach

My world has made/ an Oriental turn
Meaning: mysterious! orphic! fun!
And I walk my day on Fu Manchu
Standard Time/ Have come to
A fork in the road/ & am taking it

Things whip toward the center
Sweeping me down/ to the floor
After my Odyssey up & later
Further down below

My angels were losing/ patience,
Christmastime so near, trees
Standing stark naked/ On my street
In a line. It is December 6. I'm 39.