Gratification

We were hoping it would be here by now

but ma'am you will have to wait,

your gratification has been....

delayed.

We are terribly sorry. 

Normally the gratification is right on time.

We are dreadfully sorry.

Would you like a cold glass of water while you wait?

Perhaps we could entertain you,

juggling oranges or telling jokes?

There is really no excuse for this

and we think there may have been a thunderstorm

a bomb threat

or an arrow which was aimed at an apple

missed.

We are not sure when gratification will 

arrive

in the meantime

may we suggest you read a book 

from our library

and sit here by the window.

Gratification will be with you shortly.

May I hang your coat in the

meantime?

Ode to Pilsen

Passages from broken poems 

pathways back to my home

my bending backbone beckons

pigeons peck the corn filled ground

the graffiti and the engines

of the rushing buses

the frozen man with a cigar

his shadow on the black tar

smoke bellows up

while strobe lights flash

and coffee cups clank 

at the Jumping Bean

Give Me Hips

Audience dance 

happenstance chance

Glance 

at the fancy pants

fall 

into a trance

keep 

your balance

hold out your hands

spin and shaman luck shape shift grin

rip and ruby press hold this in

heart love cramp passion slip my lip

change my pockets give me hips

Moot

Black on black

suffering fool

Rip me apart

it will be cool

Heartbeat Betty

scoops the loop

It's sorty heavy

war cry whoops

Harley Davidson

Grand Canyon Boots

I took my vacation

then I fell moot

Blue Fire

 In my past life I was a passion flower

pink and rosy blue with yellow insides

melting in the heat of a jungle

in the Amazon

In my god days I was a monk

silent and ringing in that silence

the halls of stone

the mountain of grace

In my glory days I was a ball player

shooting baskets at the buzzer

popping champagne

In my zombie apocalypse years

I was living in a bunker

face covered with dry blood

trying to connect the wires for the bomb

In my jazz days I was a rhumba player

tapping the skins outside in the firelight

by the cafe it was so poetic

it would make Van Gogh swoon

his red hair glistening

under the lights

his eyes

on blue fire

My Imagination

Do the details matter, he looked at me

sideways and sinewy like the seaweed floats on the surface.

Climbing into my soul like a germ into a cadaver,

he escaped me only to find himself on the forest floor,

looking up where the sun breaks through the trees.

Did he kneel for me?

Or was that just my imagination.

$127 Million

Written while listening to Youtube...

Millions of dollars in the pockets of several federal judges 

hand picking files and complying with selected directions,

and the FBI is going through the sealed transcript.

Someone will selectively prosecute the leader of Congress

the communications from the deadlines show executive

complications became contemptuous

and seniority obstructed the court.

Crayons So Thin

These crayons so thin, like my fingers get

long like shadows on the canyon walls

I roll the ring around in circles the silver lining of the clouds

spinning around and around

this thing of dreams this Rubix Cube

clicking this way and that

the ears of the fox twitching

as the clouds like giant white mice

race across the sky

The stones in the river, a thousand colors of a rainbow

get rounder and rounder as time passes them

wet, sweet and clear

I dip in my hand and drink

my long fingers hold the water

if I hold them tight together 

and lift life to my mouth

I get on my belly and drink more

my knees are sore

I close my eyes

I have been painting pictures on the rocks

the caves and crannies of this world

In the colors I find the breadth of fire

and talk to the sky

in my own language

my fingers

this charred earth

makes lines

running my fingers across the walls of the cave

these crayons so thin

make a thick connection

to the other side

it pulls at my guts

Today

The cat is attacking itself in the mirror.

I can relate. 

Creeping Fox

Update the scotch and whiskey and pour it on my mind

I've been deranged and hungry and it's almost supper time

The nuances are lost like lambs I haven't got the fingerprints to touch

the edge of the glass sitting next to the couch

I'm tired and I'm old and made of gold and rubber stamps

Climbing all the walls at once I haven't got a chance

To leave my home in disrepair to fly into the wind

the hen escapes the henhouse

when the fox comes creeping in

Fairy of Peace

I long to be

The Fairy of Peace 

To move men's hearts to paint canvas

And not draw blood.