Saturday Morning Music

No need for a stereo here,
not with the crows in the distance
the songbirds in the near bushes
that dog a few doors down
the hum of the refrigerator
the taps of buttons and zippers in the dryer
and all of the other vague mechanical articulations of the house.
There's plenty of music here
to sit and listen to for hours.

The Hudson Hotel

Let's live in the Hudson Hotel
where everything is simple, neat and compact.
Stylish efficiency will be our new religion
as we pad down the narrow hallways
with the serenity of monks.
I'll wear the same black suit everyday
and you'll wear the same black dress.
We'll hang them up at night
and sit on the low bed in our white robes
and eat sushi
while we quietly scan The Times
and pretend like we're Japanese businessmen.
We'll watch one hour of television on the thirteen inch set,
and then have room service bring up two martinis.
After drinks we'll make love for ninety minutes
before we get our eight hours of perfect sleep
under the warm covers in the cold room.

Zarathustra of the Pen

Last night
I wrote myself a hero.
My pen
dropped forty pounds from my body,
re-grew the hair on my head.

I wrote myself
a stunning Irish girlfriend
and fat bank account;
artistic friends
and a mercenary’s history.

My sloppy penmanship
did little to diminish my power
as Imam of Chinatown,
Grand-Poobah of the Masons,
Patriarch of Violent Fiction, and
Samurai of Ozone Park.

So much better than the poor soul
who fell asleep on the A-Train,
a hopeful dreamer there
to take my place-
alone, out of money,
a dead ringer for the poet.

Plagues and Praise: A Dialogue in Haiku

External locusts
of approval: you are what
the swarm says you are.

Beating wings lift me
above my expectations
flutter - glorious!

Endless droning buzz
afflicts my mind in vicious
winged infestation.

Social butterfly
that winged dangerous beauty
gain praise, lose your soul.

Grasshopper, red ant,
Black ant too -- all bow down to
The sole of my shoe.

Why I Don't Need an Alarm Clock

A foot moves beneath
covers, the Feline attacks
Claw! Bite! Good Morning!!

Facepaint and Weapons Don't Mix

Slashing innocence,
Clowns with knives do more damage
than they realize.

Best of Intentions

You wouldn't want to visit our house today,
Though you'd be welcome.

All the furniture has converged in the center of our bedroom
and hidden itself under plastic sheeting --
protecting itself from the "Storytime" shade of blue on the wall
and just a little on the carpet.
We had enough paint, but we ran out of weekend,
so for a few nights we squeeze together into the smaller guest bed
while the cat sulks because there's no room for her.

Also in the guest room are boxes recently in storage,
bags of baby clothes resting on their journey from one friend to another,
two ironing boards - one from each of our houses, neither ready to separate
stacks of gifts from generous friends and well-wishers
(awaiting thank-you notes before they can be put into commission)
invitations, ribbons, baskets and tulle for the upcoming wedding
hundreds of dusty books - too numerous to read, too precious to throw away
camping supplies, seldom-used sporting goods
box after box of photos and mementos...

all piled up, waiting
creating an obstacle course between the crowded bed
and the door to the rest of the world
it's a hazard, really.
Toes, shins, and balance -- beware!

Perhaps it could've been less dangerous
if we had not gone to the fireworks, the cookouts, the parties
If we had locked ourselves in until each coat was dry
each item in place, every room habitable and clean.
Yes, that would've been lovely --
convenience, accomplishment, cleanliness, godliness.
You might like to visit THAT house.

Still, I prefer the laughter of friends and a layer of dust.
Look for me wallowing in the chaos of happiness.