Archive for April 13, 1993

a star winked out in the nighttime sky
and did not return my love
as I cast into the heavens;
a sword standing still
riding my mind like the hip of a warrior.
one oboe quietly mediates the tree’s disputes
about who is shading who
as I am walking through.
there is no medium for art
like the dreams dreamed when all alone
and happy with where you are in the world.
writing to be poetic, prolific
I sometimes wind myself soporific
scratching at the paper making nothing terrific,
just words that rhyme
a line at a time or three
cavorting in silent melodies
like those oboes, sleepy in the trees.

$6.95

Posted: April 13, 1993 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

In the back of my mind, you see,
I filed away that Gordon’s Vodka
was on sale – when the excuse came,
I bought it in a glorious name:
I signed my check Charles Bukowski.

the waves keep on singing
thrashing my shores with scourges of driftwood:
I pour the alcohol in nonstop
from a weatherbeaten clifftop.

a lizard glitters under a broad ivy leaf,
sapphires for eyes and mottled scales,
daughter of the dragons we murdered in Wales
with rationality as comfortable as grinding my teeth.

the waves sing because they are free
blissfully ignorant of the landlocked me.