.
.
So much I liked
what you appeared to be.
So much I came to love
the you I seemed to see.
So much for wishing, wanting
what I fancied to be true.
So much for you.
.
.
VALEDICTION ….FORBIDDING MOURNING
.
.
So much I liked
what you appeared to be.
So much I came to love
the you I seemed to see.
So much for wishing, wanting
what I fancied to be true.
So much for you.
.
.
VALEDICTION ….FORBIDDING MOURNING
dumbfounded is a place
cut like a chasm in the gut
a sharp and instant color of
the space between two moments
dark and seeming without cause
one goes there not by choice
but as the pawn of psychopomps
whose garbled voices suddenly
make clear demands from under
customary drapes of gauze
then nothing is the same
not the piano or a slice of bread…
to breathe is stunning…one cannot
remember the cat’s name…one moves
slowly like a walking bruise
who said time heals all wounds?
who said time wounds all heels?
it matters not…with time the place
dumbfounded turns to so much sand
easily shaken from the shoes
.
.
DUMBFOUNDED
It is ten o’clock
and those with jobs tomorrow
are going to bed in lilac,
marigold, shamrock pajamas
hoping dreams will not bring
periwinkles, baboons wearing
lacy socks and beaded belts
or those terrible tigers
who fight in red weather.
A salty old vagabond
homeless and drunk,
asleep in his stiff boots,
snores, smacks his lips
to taste the movie playing
on the screen of his shut lids—
a dream of white nightgowns
descending spiral stairs
to kiss him goodnight.
In Connecticut, a poet
crouched over his business
necktie, blotter, desk,
dips his pen deeper, ever
deeper into the bottomless
pit of precious obscurity
to feed a hunger for
another definition of what
disillusionment is like.
.
.
DIFFERENT KINDS OF 10 O’CLOCK