in the cosmos
there’s always a math.
one vein to feel it all.
at the Bowery something started,
a nest for a vulture’s egg
that saved a world.
beloved that you are to many
more who can receive.
pain can come to anyone
i know you and you know me.
time at the tip of a barrel.
time at the tip of a pen.
can you see through the
fog of eternity and the sands
in the raw?
so vulnerable and delicate
to love of no despair.
one more tonic for the body
at last my love can rest.
Poetry
coming of age
gravel crunches underfoot
trees wave their lofty branches
a quiet rainy morning
winds talk through wild baby hairs
fingers reach to grasp the hand
of the teacher pall bearer
noting silence in the throat
lightning swiftness in the gait
knuckles bursting from the skin
betwixt right now and ever
the breeze states through woman locks
sorely peering through the glass
explicit emotions exploding through the tongue
knowing she is scarcely done
in walking through her wreckage
i am mad at God
i am mad at God
for making me a fool
for using my stupidity
and evil deeds against
myself
i am mad at God
because He loves me
in a way that i can never
love all these creatures
around me
i am mad at God
for He laughs at me
in a loving way as He
kicks my ass when i
fuck up
i am mad at God
for keeping score
to a game that i will never
win
i am mad at God
and in spite of my
silly lip quivering
and monkey manipulations
He waits with hand
extended for me to
climb
scars
i want to kiss your scars
but because i am not a siren
with shapely hips and meaty mouth
to give you drink of goddess wine
i cannot have your lips
i want to kiss the scars
left in your eyes as she robbed you of your light
let my tiny spark as weak as it may be
polish the lens of your outlook
of better days to come
i want to kiss your scars
savor one second of your misery
turning my back on a million days of paradise
so long as you are with me
beloved, i want to wash her painful
judgments from your ears
and pray the angels speak to you
from God’s own soothing verse
i want to kiss your scars
the ones thickly padded on your knees
and with my dreadful feeble arms lift you from yourself
to watch you walk away so as you travel
i can see the scars that i may kiss
Oh! your tired back
and gift you with my humble blood
to enrich your waxing path
i want to kiss your scars
and stop the hemorrhaging of your heart’s capacity
to hope
and with my graceless ugly hands nurse it back
birth a brave new rhythm
knowing that this heart of yours
will never sing for me
i want to kiss your scars
and make you king
while my tired trembling mind will unravel them
one after the other
and let the Moon
in her magic and love
dress you in her finest garb
i want to feel you soar
my love
with wings of gods ascended to Heaven
and as my temple fades away into the caverns of the lost
in your cloak of scars i’ll lay
knowing that you are whole again
morning ritual
gold rush on broadway
sipping my coffee watching
we lock eyes and smile
steam rises from grids
reach into the garbage can
and you look upward
again we lock eyes
rays of light pierce the shadows
you leave and i sip
a broadway revival
crawling, burnt with Holy Spirit at the foot
of the great Hall.
hot, no finger pointing
at the crossroad of the Elysian Dam
and that dusty quenchless sea.
fire, light unbearable
to those two brown eyes that hunger for voice.
an only champion
of beggar’s bowl and head lice cause.
circumstance only for
her lungs.
let the air flow in
as liberty swings too low to launch our mystic to truth.
He has told you,
now you listen.
inherit the earth underneath your nails,
and feed on recycled prayers,
while the horses gallop with broken hoof past the curfew of the silent night.
birth and death in august
when time collects the bag
it has to be in august.
b and i came into it,
w and j left out of it.
the Sanskrit glows on sacred
bricks. the faces, the silence;
crystalized into three ages.
chainlink thorns on sides made
of pain.
black heads blue eyes
to the east lays paradise.
to the west blue dreams
dunked into the black ocean.
mother crowned you prince with bone splints,
but father did not sup with you.
courtly sun king alone out loud;
in a dream that no one’s seen.
once you went to sleep
your soul did not recover.
no blood dies at 700,
early in the new world.
oh heart of hearts,
your star hangs above the floor.
third age in youth you left,
the somber august came in haste.
to Jean-Michel Basquiat
downtown breeze
then one more time
she comes, tip toes like a
hunger on the Hill St. bridge
but does not offer her love pang to me
orphaned i stand of the
ideals i’ve had
for ever it seems
she enters and
leaves unimpressed
as always
5 spot m
brown pigeons crap on the hollow sidewalk
the old Chinese woman waves her hand
wills their Jackson Pollock orchestrations
by feeding them week aged beef stir fried fare
the gin and tonic mixture of my youth
roughly flows through decrepit portal veins
fifty-year old girl tells me what she wants
easy with my ductus deferens
sip a drink of shame no olive in sight
politely decline her proposition
of five spot love while i wonder away
from Magdalene of little Italy
strolling towards the ragazzo mios
void of all holy penance in this world
briscula my only love lady fair
death walks quickly on J Pershing square
LA River
Moon, forgive my
untender truth.
your soft light
cannot fertilize
like the Sun’s atomic
beams blazing on
my barren scarred
womb where there
might be hope, still.
words less spoken 