Ukrainian Couple Handcuff Themselves
To Each Other to Fix Relationship
 
We’re alienated by countless
thousands as trespassers compete to
steal our mother’s ancient heart
from the eternal cities of the east.
Winter is long in our bones.
The river freezes in its run.
The furnace is bitter and night
blazes in a crystal bombardment.
All those bodies falling like snow
in Donetsk, while we falter
and retreat from Kharkiv. Every
war begins with an argument.
Every argument is a hostile
development. Something’s wrong
with us that only handcuffs can aid.
Power plants explode into ruin,
bridges disconnect and collapse,
hospitals are hallowed out. We
scatter among the leveled loss of
neighborhoods. Our barest affections
do little to save us. Tying our fate to
our wrists, we toss the key into
the wreckage we’ve made of our lives,
sue for peace under binding terms,
and forgive all territorial ambitions.
The devastation is too complete to
withdraw our forces and return to
our winter habitations. Living
together, frozen boundaries will thaw
between us, diplomatic relations
improve, and a more perfect
and lasting union will be fashioned
from the centuries of our mistrust.
Restrained by our mutual chains,
neither of us can lose much longer.
  

Rambling Bull

I guess to keep them handy,
The ol 'man soaks his dentures in a glass
That he sits on the tank of the commode.
I accidentally knocked them into the shitter.
I didn't say anything, just fished them out.
Sometimes, I think about it when he smiles.

I go all day at work with everyone
Asking me if I'm all right.  That was a
Mystery to me until I looked in the mirror
And saw the dried blood on my chin.
Running late, I left home in a hurry
And just didn't notice anything.  I've
Got to watch my timing eating at the Y.

Trump says immigrants are eating our cats and dogs.
I say send them to Florida, give them a knife and fork
And let them go after the alligators at Disney World.

Company party, everybody brings a dish.
As a joke, we made Jell-O with sardines in it.
Taking it for a serious effort, everyone ate some
Not wanting to offend us.  If I knew they were
Going to do that, I would have brought some
Of them Jell-O with something from the dog
In it.

Robbed of two hours of our lives watching a crappy DVD,
We decided that we would watch Donny Callahan's
Superman: World War again after I water the camels.

Say...? We don't have any camels.

In for the night

I am good at realizing things are over before they’ve started to end
And counting bright red blinking trucks along the highway edge
In the passenger seat I can't fall asleep so I'll watch for deer instead
I am good at brushing my teeth in the morning and forgetting to say goodnight
And I can count on both two hands the people who’ve told me “I love you”
Without a conjunction at the end
I could be your dream girl if you gave me a syllabus and a fortnight
And a means to make amends 
I could list all fifty states if you’d remind me of Illinois 
I am good at washing shampoo out of my hair and
I can make myself last for just enough time 'till you're walking out the door
I'm good at attracting the right kind of wrong so the stories never end
And I can write you a thousand poems but I can’t promise they’ll ever rhyme right
And I’ll talk to you as good as I can
Until the only better option is staying in for the night

cold wind

this road is one
i’ve walked before
tumbled along
more so
i think

an older woman
with a young man
pass by me
quarreling
smoking cigarettes

i smile at them
why i’m not sure
do i offer anything
now
since all that

inside the thai food place
a girl with tatts is serving
i order
vegetarian fried rice
at only ten bucks

it’s cold outside
where i sit eating rice
grey cloud
reality
shouts too loud

i had it worked-out ok
once
and then and then
such a difficult blow
and those repercussions  

the younger man
passes by again
no older woman
or fighting
not smoking

he comments
to me
about the nasty cold wind
and we both laugh
for reasons we own   



being

i sit on a step of the river Ganges bathing ghat / near me a slim dreadlocked man swims in the shallows / he stands and emerges from the rushing stream and shakes water from his long ropes of hair and then drapes himself in orange cloth and sits next to me / his black eyes shine as he says a few words to me in Hindi and laughs / i laugh back though at what i am not sure / in silence we watch the flow of the river / when it is nearly dark and crowds of pilgrims are moving down to the river bank for prayers and bathing he stands and gestures to me to follow him / i do / soon i am sitting by a fire with a group of men and women about my age / in a camp that exists under a massive ancient tree / i push my traveling bag against a rock and take a blanket from it and lay it on the dusty ground and sit cross legged on it / i look towards the tree trunk as the others are doing and feel calm and happy / just being me as the full moon rises in the sky / chanting the same words the others begin to / and although i don’t know what the words mean or why i am here i do know this is where i want to be for now //

Not Everyone

Not everyone seeks to praise the wounded world.
Some can only write in the alphabet of trauma
Until even beauty is a scar and a temporary comma
In a gush of grievances that would unnerve the Dali Lama.
But there are still things deserving of our praise.
You don’t have to ignore the gaze of suffering
To adore the butterfly fluttering in the garden.
And to realize that you too are in need of a pardon.



In Defense of Light Verse

God forgive those insufferable writers
Who are always writing too much!
Mere length doesn’t mean they are brighter
Than my last line that ends with a punch.

My Daddy was a Cowboy

I never knew my dad after I
never heard from him either.
I grew curious about a man who
I’d never seen but who loomed inside
my dreams. I could see him riding
down a dusty road on a horse from the sunset.
I watched him ride close to me
/and I knew it was him. There he was on a
his great mare, he gave his hand to me and
pulled me in front of him. Dad told me
to hold on tight and don't be frightened.
We flew away, Everything moved hard and fast.
I felt his body pressed to mine, but he never spoke a sound.
My father passed his hand over my shoulders
and placed my head on his chest. I
felt his heart pounding. We galloped
away. We watched the road ahead, Dad
lit up a Winston cigarette.
I wanted more from him. I wished to confess all my
him my dreams and fears and all the
secrets I carried in my pocket that I
never told anyone. I begged
him to stay but he vanished into his own world.
My Dad was never a real cowboy but
he belonged in his own place in time where the
sky was always blue and people were few
and far between.

"Sign of the Times"

You made it
back to your apartment.

Roof torn off.
Night sky peeking in.

You strip
and lay on your wet mattress.

Counting your cuts and bumps,
realizing you're better off than most.

Don’t Be Grim, Mr. Reaper


Mr. Reaper, sorry to interrupt you at the hospice doorway, 
but I’m seventy-eight and before it’s too late, I’d like to say
you need the cunning of my illustrious P.R. career
to create an image that doesn’t make mortals tremble with fear.
Look in a mirror at your skeletal self. Is this your preference?
I used to spin corporate maleficence into acts of beneficence,
so I don’t think it’s grievous folly
to want to re-brand you from Grim to Jolly?
Not to distress you with body dysmorphia disorder,
but wouldn’t flesh on your bones diminish your horror,
and what about a blue cape instead of a black shroud,
and a brown skimmer hat with a ribbon to make you proud?
Banish your steed to the glue factory, ride a melodious motorbike,
ditch the blood-dripping scythe. Who wants to appear ghostlike?
Play a jaunty tune on an accordion, dance into a sickroom, 
spread toe-tapping joy instead of thunder-clapping doom.
To the beat of the “Beer Barrel Polka,” harvest their dear souls, 
pose for selfies, leave them laughing until their bell tolls.
Wait! Please don’t wag your bony finger at me, Mr. Reaper!
It’s not my turn to be a rotting eternal sleeper.
Even if you hate my glorious marketing plan,
can’t you at least grab me with a velvet-gloved hand?

There’s a Divine Dance (and We’re in It)

There’s a divine dance and we're in it. We might as well sing along, forgive, set free the bothers,the bitchy stuff. Whatever the tune, folk, funk, punk and pop make something out of nothing.They’re threats to anything or anyone who doesn’t want us to feel good about ourselves. Man inventing his precious eternity made an easy ending impossible. Love isn’t the stuff of words or books or reason. It is. Most times, healing takes a lot more than Band-Aids. When the light comes off something slightly differently than it ever has before, it can be seen in a whole new way.