lot

40 years later in a Florida fog/

4 A.M.   I’m eating yogurt/

In my station wagon on a lunch break/

40 years earlier  in a rain, in a romance/

4 A.M.  Becky & I, hand in hand  on a traintrack/

She sang me Lightfoot/ Until

We stared at  a lit-up  corvair/

Louder than a fallen tree in those rainy woods/

The crosslegged trippers/

Invited us in for a smoke/

A chance to dry up some & to warm up/

To some  clearly good folks/

After  fare- thee-wells  all around, we left/

We looked back & still smiled alot/

As I do now/

Here in this factory parking lot.

surprize

I’m so sore I’m sure to call out

And I suppose   surprize them

That’ll  alert them to my hurt

An open wound now

I’ll flinch & grimace

& limp away as surprized as Lazereth

Aware of all this again

Ann Serves Up & Verves Up

Man, she’s a looker &

Men,  do we look.

She’s there by that window

(At last,  She broadcasts

“Breakfast in my Nook”)

She’s there by that window

Daylight  delicately  shone

Through shade, chemise,

Through thighs,  so high

You sigh,  low moan,

Your  eyes  go  feast.

.

What Ann serves up  for free

Warms, and verves up me.

.

(As Ann  fleshes  it all out,

You benefit too, without one doubt.)

haute couture

I wonder when one day

We’ll pocket our passions

They’ll fasten  in look-see  neck  lockets

Soon it’ll seem right

To wear…She’ll share hers in sunlight

Fashion  will see to it  we

Unabashedly

Undress off our soft underthings

And  show  softer

Bold  and  tender

Expressings

devoid

It’s a mistake  to say  “Kafkaesque”/

and misspeak   it to describe/

a lousy hour at the car dealership/

or persisting, yesterday,/

until a credit card company pawn/

on the phone  might see it yr way./

They’d be  devoid of a  worried/

meandering aloneness on effin foggy cobblestone

Prague shadows & all their surreally uneven angles/

debilitated, as some delirium is the case/

&  one’s encased in  one  sensational  frustration.

Before The Job

Let’s say   We’re sailing

on the prevailing wind  of fate.

Respecting that   (damn straight)

I expect that  botching it

Could only be  considered

A consequence

Of bad planning

(it makes sense),

A consequence  allowed,

A consequence  followed

By bad consequences

Of   happenstance.

Morning Light Whites

My funny  anglophile,

Honeychile,

I’m sure you could fit as british

I’m sure  that could be  one big hat

You wear  in yr garden  for tea

It’s a cliché’

But   porcelain

Is the crayon I’d use for yr skin.

It’s not the naughty tickle that gets you grinning

When I kiss yr creamy creamy belly,

You forget that  it calls   with beauty.

When I kiss yr bum & backside,

You ignore that it’s more than  backthere  backside.

When i explore yr inner arm,  inner leg,

All yr  inners,  Inner faces,

Now you  know  new  inner secret places,

New,  even to you, you nude alabaster

.

& you pray I’ll stay slow

but   oh

you  go

“go faster”.

Something Of Our Own

 

when we come home

There’s a mini bar,

&  a not so good book in the drawer,

&  it’s always a shitty windowview.

Yet  It’s  me & you.

We wear sarongs so right from the shower.

We have our oils, our creams,

&  all our powers,

Fun to unleash.

We’re one, at last.

.

We both brought flowers.

.

.

.

When we come home

There’s a mini bar,

But she’ll spill something of our own

Smokey & Irishy in a good glass.

We’re one, at last.

“La La”

I know  no one  witnesses

When  I  confess

Over  and  over

Like a child’s playsong

We say   “I love you”

&  it’s  Ok

Playsong

No Cakewalk

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of what might

just happen in late night

screwball comedies,

A black & white

Cakewalk

Where he keeps just missing her,

& unknown to her,  her one & only is  so near,

& you watch  & wait for them to wise up,

For when their timing improves.

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of just sitting tight,

& trusting the plot twists,

& our protagonists,

& all that insignificant subterfuge

Until it all plays out that

They can take cuts in the

Everything’s-Fine   waiting line

Instead of that

He keeps just missing her.

.

.

.

.

Yesterday at the yoga class

I was asked to  exhale out

All inside I saw as unsettled.

And all this matter  turned to air.

Then, intake air. More awake.  More aware.