Reflections On My First Century

'What a waste of a century'
I was thinking.

Just then a train pulled in.

I did my reflexive thing.

Latched my arms around the railing
Behind the graffitied-up bench.

This prevents me from hurtling myself
Onto the tracks.

I don't know why
I would want to do that.

And I can't ask Blaise Pascal
I can't ask Kierkergaard
The red-nosed reindeer.
They're not my century.

It would appear I'm on my own.

Am I really so full of days?
So soon?

I think I'll just sit here for a bit
Burning incense to Baal.
Thank the empty sky
The speechless leaves
The pentagonal yellow pill
I took this morning.


Burning Daylight

When I was young I would sometimes hide
In damp underground living rooms
Hollowed out beneath the
Atlantic ocean beach nearby.

Lazy afternoons cajoling
The dentist's canny daughters,
Valerie and Victoria,
To come and join me there.

We had a mat and some wineskins.
And no shirts allowed.
With a fanlight and periscope we could watch
The wind blowing tourist's hats off.

As the ocean rose
We'd laugh at my brother
Paddling by on a homemade raft.
Followed in close pursuit by the dentist,
Screaming the names
Of his missing daughters
Nectar and spittle flying back into his face,
My old man's hat
Glued fast to his massive dentist head.

Where's May Been?

I was walking from treetop to treetop
Unable to find May and boring myself to death;
Unlike the naked racoons playing cribbage
With the nobody you've been trying to buy a noose from.

May plays the dulcimer. Poorly.
But knows how to build a campfire
Of druidic grandeur.
And what to do with an erection
And with the ghosts that visit
From time to time
Right here, in the middle of infinity.

May wants me to be a good man
And I want nothing but good things for her.
And our enemies will be punished.

And I watched May sleeping this morning.
She hadn't even changed out of her jeans, May,
Just her shirt, which I held, and she was so beautiful
And the gods and devils swirling
Around our paisley smoke just went, "Whoa. May.'

Cave Man Singing

O forest, stone
I need to undress you.
Get past the beating you're taking
In the market. Move on, girl.

It doesn't matter,
You're mine, O elements,
O rain slapping at my skin
Don't stop.

The break was swift,
A comet's tail
Tellingly brief.
And wide of the mark.

You've had it all wrong,
Love's patterns.
If only my lungs had the throw weight
To make things plain again.

I want to say something
Beautiful for once.
Something I haven't said before
In a letter to someone else.

I may need to find
A deeper vein then, O climate.
Or fall in love slightly less often.
I've found someone new to love.

But here we are, anyway; three
On a couch together, Julie;
Ignoring the wind blowing cinders
Back down onto your living room floor.

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