Strawberry

By the end of the night
they fused in my desire.

After I'd folded the laundry
and wilted the night into my sleep,
I pulled them out from under my pillow.
But their faces had melted
into one curly shock of pubic hair
and glasses,
my strawberry blond rhapsody.

After Her

(To Jon)
 
He sleeps by himself,
eating his brain into numbness
like an argument.

He pretends not to think,
not of that, not of her,
not of the age they promised,
they just put behind.

Not of the time,
the cruel time,
the cheap time.

He raises the volume a bit higher,
he stacks the books one more
over his lungs.

He acts as if he can’t see her
wide pentagonal face gleaming in the dark,
mocking the corners of his sleep.

He forgets her name, one more time,
he writes on the back of a receipt
that’ll go nowhere.

She won’t, in her weakness,
reel him again.
She won’t spread her mighty thighs
and tell him his future lies in between.

She will melt back into the sidewalk
where he first met her,
and he will crumble into the edges of the day
and feign starting again.

Tell Me

To Wojtek

You call:
______ "I am tired,
______ ______ am tired,
______ ______ ______ am tired."
I cradle the phone
______ ______ like it were our unborn.

What shall I tell you?

That the road will swerve
______ ______ ______ wide and green
______ ______ ______ ______ up ahead?
That the sky will open
______ ______ just above our heads?
That spring is coming--
______ ______ Well, you know it is;
you just can't see it.

So, here it is,
______ listen in.

Up ahead,
______ trees will carry money,
and flowers will smell
______ ______ of paid bills.
Up ahead,
______ I see you in a hammock
I see a breeze
______ taking you in.
Up ahead,
______ birds aflutter,
and croon
______ your mix discs.

Up,
______ where the beach is your backyard
And your walls are awash in
______ ______ stone and white and
______ ______ ______ ivy on a screen;
the lawn is whatever you paint it,
______ ______ and the country can change
______ ______ ______ with your whim.
Up,
______ where there are no passports,
And the world can care less
______ about the color of my tongue,
downpayment is no issue,
______ but the choice is always a treat.
Up,
______ where you change jobs
______ ______ ______ like shoes,
______ and harvest shoes
______ ______ ______ like figs,
Up,
______ where it snows
______ ______ ______ only on Christmas
______ and the summers
______ ______ ______ are long and thin,
Up,
______ where we are gorgeous
______ ______ ______ and happy and fulfilled,
Up there,
______ I shall tell you,
______ ______ ______ of course,
Up there
______ 's where we shall be.

I Have You

To Roland

But I will persist.

I will carry your gods on my shoulders
and pretend that they are mine.

Your song, I have already taken;
I might even change the tune.

You might have done the same,
But I am not there to know,
there to hurt.

I've furnished new names for things;
now I call them what I wish.

I'll rewrite the story as I go
and make myself the victim.

I have been there before,
I have already done it.

Now your picture goes in the black frame;
I shall call you a martyr.
(I might even retouch the scar.)

Your shirt I shall box
with a sack of dried smiles,

they shall keep it fragrant
when it starts to rot.

And those letter... What can I
begin to do with them?
(I am all out of guilding.)

Maybe I'll post them
as warning signs
along the streets.

Someone is bound
to take the wrong turn,
some time.

But what will I do
with the grandchildren
I'll never tell the story?

What will I do
with the ending and
the mise-en-scene?

Well, I guess I don't have to worry
now, I have you for that.

Rinse & Repeat

(To Katy)

Waking like the beginning of nausea,
I leave a muddy streak across the floor.
Rinse and repeat--
once is not enough;
they can never be too gone.
See that day
stretching ahead of you
like a cat in heat?
Never mind it;
it will too be done soon.
That's when the stairs
Will snake up the hill
And the balcony smile
like a whore with missing teeth.
Close the curtains,
and lean on the fridge,
and pretend that you're not there.
The house is empty,
just like you left it,
grey and quiet
and licking its own heels.
Here his socks smell,
just like yesterday,
pungent and moist.
And there her words await you,
like the self you'll never become.
Don't let her find out
that you're only human
and you're small
and you rinse and repeat.

February Reading

I will be reading on Friday, February 10, 2006 at 7:30 pm, with Jaz, a local singer, poet and songwriter, at the Last Drop, 1300 Pine Street, Philadelphia, PA 19107. The reading is presented by the Mad Poets Society, and hosted by Autumn Konopka.

An open reading will follow. Bring your poems! For further information about this event or the Mad Poets Society, contact Eileen D'Angelo at 610-586-9318, email: madpoets@comcast.net or check the website: www.madpoetssociety.com.

Blinq: Thin Places

I was digging around the web today, and I found out that this blog has been featured in Blinq, the blog of the Philadelphia Inquirer, on May 12, 2005. It's not much, just a passing mention, but a nice surprise. The title of the post was Thin Places, and it is listed in Blinq Favorites. (Thank you, Blinq!)

PO´ET`SHIP

The wonderful Katy and I have been corresponding for a little over a month now via email, indulging in "poetic theory and grumblings about life", and have finally begun the "pseudo-publication of our e-lationship as poets and compadres" (as Katy so aptly put it) on a new blog called Poetship. So why don't you check it out? I hope you enjoy it, and please don't hesitate to share your thoughts on any of the subjects raised... And happy new year to all!