Writes

Blind Stranger

Stranger, walking my direction
Thoughts bound bi curious predilection
Gaze swings rounded aura, cape and bull
Danced displaced air; perfume still
Dissipate dull stare.


VO Hairspray
Vern left early; only one year of High School.
About the same age of his wife, he kicked off the compound,
for drinking pop and being out of shape.
He buried a bus, or at least, he had it done.
Could that be some comment on his hatred for school?
Or maybe it was symbolic of his dislike for beatnicks.
This bus is under the ground, dark. the windows probably
look like those glass cases in the arthropod wing of the zoo.
Little passage ways and round rooms filled with larva.
I wonder if anyone checked that out; someone once wrote: "God's like VO hairspray... he holds through all kinds of weather."

Fertile Seasons
My quilt worn and dirty reminds me of her busy on the sewing wheel,joining aprons and dresses like a family tree.
The next crop will be in her memory;my sweat and grief stitched to the harvest carpeting the earth. Soil turns over plow blackened under the sun sending steam from the earth's core cooling my back. After each row I swing, plow and body,
to survey the scarred earth browning too slow to see;
I rest the plow like a sun dial. On the packed dirt outlining the field I follow a stray tumbleweed with my shooting eye, and kick through it with the tip of my boot.

Shipwreck

Spectator grappling with God and Jesus
Calls out of the bliss.
Faith plays leading roll
Loosing face paying toll.

Living up the dream
Human kind pierced by minds
Fading rays
Floating seagul westward gale

Currents push up foam
Fins and blood's mortal wale

Homeward sails the blissful soul
Gently treading the
Path's tempo.


Wreck Redux

Spectator grappling with faith or God and Jesus
Calls out of void; salted lips loosing face
expelling wrasping ray of hope.
Toward gulls with westward gale – currents pushing up –
Mortal’s wale. Homeward sails blissful soul gently treading
The path’s tempo


Envoy soul of Pheidippides
Darkest light steals tempestuous churning tide
Fennel fields quiet contrast; Ocean’s laurel ring Bornholm
Droplets mist stars over fallow mores; muscles split in sandy pores; Admonition from siren on foreign shores


Saintly Present
Whisper triggered, clear step; effort spent, thought configured. Element born of saintly lyre; gifted release, Banished fear. Dream blurs with recollection of waking moments - event and action - meeting ghostly apparition; banquet of laughter, life and love, hereafter.


Wrecked

An old captain with ancient orders bound to bobbing skiff;
salt sprayed pores lifted over volcanoes on projected tomb.
Erupting reefs find dry grey matter teasing apparitions
glowing through eyes like onions.
Melted boulders blanket soft breasts of hard grass, guard the swimming fossils, time elapsed. Shripwrecked jellyfish magnify homeless fragments, while a skin head bullets into the surf, through cray fish and the bounty of warthy sailors.


Star Fucker
I went to college with that dude from that movie, what's it called? Filmed in the city and then he was in that WWII flick... Anyway, I also went to college with that hot blond from that movie filmed in New Orleans and she was in a movie with that actor, that I actually saw in the mid '80's, driving in his Jeep Cherokee Chief.

When I was a kid, that SNL actor moved to my town, and actually gave the commencement speech at my sister's 8th grade graduation; then he married his babysitter (well, the girl who babysat, for his kids), who was in my grade or a year younger, and I totally had a crush on her.

Then there was that time Edie Murphy stopped in his car and leans over and asks me: "...you stealin' that bike?" 'cause I was towing my sister's ten speed. And of course there was that time I saw Keith Haring leaving Nells, but it was my friend who spotted him, and I'm thinking: "Why's he leaving when I can't even get into this damn place?" And he was like wearing an Armani suit with high-tops and I probably couldn't have afforded his underwear - new or used.

Now, it's like, all these stars live in my home town right outside of the city where there's a ton of more stars. They're the only famous people that I know of in that town - unless you think economists and lawyers are stars - and they're the only African American residents. Very often, I'll walk by a set on the street, or even a movie star or any kind of star. Like when Paul McCartney walked right past my friend and I - that friend spotted him a mile away and I thought it was just another rich white guy on the Upper West Side.

I used to see Howard Stern jogging in Central Park all the time and Madonna with her personal trainer/bike messenger/father of her first child who was just this stud-sperm-donor or something; they all seem so normal, except they have huge bank account, and take credit for their gifts.