Separated Without Soul

ugly I wouldn’t say exactlystorm
black darkly somewhat

detached I wouldn’t say exactly
broken hurt maybe

the grocer stands within the rain
calling for cucumbers and watermelons
while gold and red flashes

the empire may be lost
where evil swallows raw breezes
leaving a looming apocalypse
it hurts

Yet the storm is beginning
for she is seething and flaring
trying to feed her soul
not lonely
in no pain

Separated Without Soul

Left Over Crazy

Behold, I am left-over crazycontainer
holding in a fragile container
a gourmet dinner of yesterday’s
giggles, punctuations and thoughts

opening carefully to the air of
controverted expectation
and the smiles and eyegleams
of hoped for contagious love

sipping the cold draught of a sweet
lingering winter-summer wine
within the dew of diverted
gleanings and the caress of memory

I will treat you to a cozy dessert
of fanatical fantastical fantasies
then bed with you among the daisies
of newly formed left over crazies

together we will store them in
blue and golden containers
some fragile, some not
to hold as long as

Left Over Crazy

Maybe If Ever

You know how this goes:
when there are star lashes on the mooncrescent moon
and I hold my breath longer than maybe
sometimes much longer than maybe
I find that you there within, not hiding

if I touch the tender cold stone of a
lonely, yet never forgotten apple slice
and warm myself in the memory
I find you there within, not hiding

if everything that exists were to be
stuffed one gram and another gram at a time
without a care for the outcome
I would find you there within, not hiding

it seems everything carries me to you
without wild horses, without ash fires
without slow dances on fast riders
and you are there within, not hiding

Well now, this is what it all comes down to:
if memory by moment by gram by dance
you ever stop loving me
then everything that exists
whether in thought or envelope or
even riding on a slow horse
will all disappear and go into hiding.

Maybe If Ever


Holding the letter in his hand, looselydaddy
tears sliding slowly down his cheek
“Damn it Dad, this doesn’t say anything
no ‘I love you’ or ‘You meant so much.’”
Staring beyond the letter into the past
he’s hearing his father’s voice in
phrases from other pieces
sifting carefully into place…

“When am I going to get another piece of cheesecake…”
“I always wanted a Cadillac, even when I was a little boy…”
“Mongiah! Mongiah!”
“Go honk yourself, idiot! You got another lane!”
“Aunt Hattie was strict, very strict, but I still loved her…”
“I was ten when I stopped going to school.”
“You should have seen me trying to jitterbug.”
“So the barber walks out right in the middle of my haircut.”

And there’s his old man
looking for an extra dessert
urging him to eat
yelling at traffic
telling stories about his childhood
the aunt who raised him like a son
while he yells at the traffic

Another time his dad is grasping
for an important, lost memory:
the accident that almost took his life
instead he always finds a special memory
of how he bumped into a girl
and not much later, married her
some memories fade in and out
grizzly D-day war stories
a twelve year old delivering milk
driving from New York to Chicago
getting lost in a blizzard

But now, there aren’t enough or them
and there are tears falling on the letter
because there aren’t enough memories
to say the words that will never be said.


A Few Minutes Past

A few minutes past eleven pmheavy drizzle at night
everyone’s sleeping
It’s cold and raining,
yet there are insects in the air.
I am sitting on the front porch of my in-laws house
hoping someone will find me here.

My wife, wide awake five minutes ago, must now be sound asleep
I am locked out, accidentally, of course…
stupidly, of course, when I went to get something from the car.

Should I sit and wait a little longer
Should I sit in the car?
I have the keys, thank God
and a blanket in there.

Should I start tapping on the door, gently
or a window hoping to wake, but not startle someone
Once before, ten years ago, I did this
but I don’t remember what I did.
but it was my mother-in-law who found me
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“Nothing, I was…”
“At two in the morning? I should have left you.”
She was trying to be funny.
She wasn’t.

I am understanding the feelings of someone
ostracized from society (whether real or imagined).
Is returning possible?
If so, how?
Bother others and put them out of their way?

Dogs barking at some midnight ghost
Could it be me?
They sense the out of place
which I am,
sitting on the front porch
shackled from the inner warmth,
watching wild raindrops splatter,
while the wind grumbles against the darkness
and a distant train groans carefully
why am I listening to this?

Shame and fear shadow my night
simply because the lock caught
when it wasn’t supposed to.
I know, I checked.

The door creaks open
“Are you alright?”
I nod my head.
“Come back to bed, it’s cold out here.”
But I’m trying to remember
what it was I needed in the first place.

A Few Minutes Past