refluent

nostalgia flows, a fine vintage
guzzled from giant goblets
and we, tipsy on ephemera,
refluent on a tide of memory
grow sillier and sappier
gulping in retrospective panoramas
of our refulgent youth

amphibology

I heard what I wanted
whether it was there to hear.
I no longer know
if you ever held me dear.
I parse each phrase then spoken
for some amphibology,
any way that I can read it
where the answer would be "me."
Like a prospector for gold
I sifted and I sorted
hoping that each "maybe"
to a "yes" could be contorted.
I think I thought, I know I knew -
now every kiss is suspect,
each embrace we shared I question,
every moment double-checked.
He loved me or he loved me not?
I pluck each petal hoping,
I shake my magic eight-ball.
You left, and now I'm coping.
The days will pass and so will this
but I think I'll always wonder
if you ever really loved me
or if I was just a blunder.

discomfit

though i try and try
i cannot see
through this haze
of perplexity

befuddled and cursed
i make my way
through a thickening fog
of the every day

it discomfits me
this lack of plan
and yet i still
do the best i can

i thought by now
i would figure out
the map, the guide,
my life's route

i know "it's the journey,
not the destination"
but not sure of either
& so endless frustration

but i shake myself
out of the stupor
& i muddle though
cuz i'm a trooper

persiflage

verbal hummingbirds

blurring and whirring

hovering in air

idioms as aerial dancers

darting here and there

persiflage as plumage

metaphorical wings

adages peck 

similes shimmer and shine

whispered words

the nectar we drink 

seduction

sweet and sustaining

quiescent

every day
hustle-bustle
running errands
grinding stones
working fingers
to the bones
buzzing pockets
ringing bells
dinging doors
buses
subways
cabs
and cars
we race
from place to place
we hop
from him to him to her
to them to us to whom?
a movable menagerie
in never-ending revelry
and wonder why
fragmentation
alienation
frustration w/
flirtation
negation of sensation
finally starvation
for peace
for rest
but no
NO
no rest
lest quiescent
we hear
no beeps
and bongs
and blasts
but, instead,
ourselves

verdigris

pickled and peppered
with whiskey and fear
mortified yet fortified
verdigris eyes
against copper skies
ocher hued outer shell
parched and cracked
yet creased with smiles
marshmallow down atop
in wispy waves ablaze
in the vermilion and bronze
as the sun brushes its teeth
and pulls down the covers
for campfire songs
in harmony with ghostly howls
of coyotes in the gully

ulterior

Every relationship begins transactional.
You're looking for this,
I'm looking for that;
If I get a little of this,
I give a little of that.
All motives are ulterior
At the start.
Not necessarily intentional,
But intentionally necessary.
If all we presented to each other
Was everything at once -
The this, new fledging thing
Would be crushed under the weight
of supposition and hope.
How do we deconstruct the barricades?
Bit by bit.
And so it goes...
For a night,
For a month,
For a life,
For as long as we think
Possibility exists.

jackanapes

Like wildfire we spread across the city
in our Doc Martins and patterned tights;
adorable hooligans that we were.
We blared Blur in a Honda Civic
as we drove the streets,
shaking our hair of many hues,
purples and magentas and electric blues
shimmering in syncopated beats.
Jackanapes up to hijinks
with an inflated sense of authority.
Glacially cool, in our own minds, at least,
with eternity spread before us
and consequence surely no greater
than curfew reduced.
Inimitable, exhaustive and exhausting
with a clove cigarette, a zippo
and the world in the palms of our hands.

obstinate

I need to let go,
this I know.
But letting go
feels like failure.

Though obstinate, I
won't scream or cry.
My stubbornness
is my jailer.

As you're slinking away,
in my head I replay
memories of all of
the good times.

I dignify you
as though it were true
ignoring all of your 
heart's crimes.

Your distance and coldness
then rashness and boldness,
"selective" reticence
the name of your game.

You sure kept me guessin'
now I'm learning my lesson,
it's different but always
the same.

I fall for the guy
who's a mystery, I
see a puzzle
I'm dying to solve.

Then I hold on too tight.
Now I solved it, all right,
it's me that
needs to evolve.




 

firebrand

He sits on the porch in a rocking chair
and eyes the lovely young nurse.
Her soft curves and eager smile.
All she sees, he thinks, is a cage of decrepitude.
Decrapitude.
In the days of his youth,
then, oh then, he was the sight to behold.
A righteous rabble-rousing firebrand.
And a looker, at that.
Before his body betrayed him
he'd been lean and lovely.
Before his ill-fitting dentures
there'd been the mischievous smile.
The eyes, the eyes still were the same, he thought.
Hidden behind glasses now, but still twinkling,
full of hidden agendas and mysterious secrets.
The voice, no longer the sonorous tones there,
too many years of cigarettes and whiskey.
Oh, how he longed for a cigarette and whiskey.
Anything alcoholic and forbidden.
Well, that was still the same, he thought.
Anything forbidden, he thought,
as he "accidentally" knocked over his juice glass,
(fucking prune juice, for pete's sake)
and ogled the pretty young nurse's ass
as she bent over to retrieve it.
"Oops. Would you like another, sir?"
Oh you bet I would, he thought, not referring
to the juice glass at all.
"Thank you, dear, no."
The heart ever willing but the flesh ever weak.
"Thank you, no."

expiate

She forgave a million little hurts;
the false words and false love
of a fraud.

She made excuses and explained away
all the jabs and gibes
and upon herself took the blame.

The late night apologies and caresses
would expiate the aches of daylight
and, in this way, she proceeded.

Far too long, she believed:
that grand gestures and promises
were the truth.

And then one day,
there came another.

An innocent, dropped into this world
and given to their care.

And for a time, it seemed that
words and deeds might match.

And then one day,
they didn't.

And then another day,
they didn't.

And then one day,
she put down deception,
gathered up her certainty,
swaddled and safe
and departed.

zephyr

wrapped in blankets
huddling and shivering
eyes squinched tight
conjuring sensations
a dream of summer
sun-baked skin
plated on a bed of grass
trussed by a bikini
a feast for
the languid eyes
of Central Park
exposed to the gaze
of joggers and tourists
daytrippers and picnickers
caressed by zephyrs
gentle and tender
instead of this frigid gale
groping and grasping
through layer after layer

sprachgefühl

it's hard to know
what to say
which words convey
this thing
for which
there are
no words
this feeling
a hopeless jumble
no metaphor
or simile
can adequately
pinpoint
this
no adjectives
no superlatives
no sprachgefühl 
for the language of my heart

controvertible

I'd swear it's there

but then it's gone -

a bigfoot sighting,

a giant albino sewer crocodile,

a goat-sucking chupacabra...

and I'm not sure I'm ready

for this possible yeti.

Unsure of what I see

and if I see what I think I see

what my action should be.

New love is too controvertible,

too easy to read as

a possible fabrication

of an affection-starved mind.

It's so satisfying to see

a face in the clouds,

a sasquatch in the trees,

Nessie in the loch;

constructing a narrative

that corroborates my hopes.

But it is true?

No one knows but you.

inveigle

her wileiest wiles

while away the hours

inveigling and cajoling

with a giggle and a hair toss

the sparkly eyeshadow

painting mysteries

that aren't really there

in the morning light

smudged and smeared

she looks for a shoe

and slinks homeward

conquest disregarded

for mimosas

with the other secret agents

rhadamanthine

with envy at their fortitude
I glance at gleaming bodies
healthy and fit
locked in a rhadamanthine routine
and I, less gleaming
more sweaty and sweary
look dismally upon
rows upon rows
of treadmillers and spinners
climbers and lifters
and vow to myself
to be more disciplined
to be more determined
to be more driven
no more shall my willpower dissolve
in a haze of netflix
a bottle of wine
and a pizza
(well, maybe once more)
(and once more)
(and once, once more)

huckster

Silken words
for brazen lies
the currency
he spends
like an eight yr old
with birthday money
in an arcade
and while one cannot
help but enjoy
the exuberance
like quarters in
an old console
of Ms Pacman
the words are wasted
this failed huckster
puffing out his chest
and spinning untruths
for the sake
of a low-cut dress
on a bar stool

gibe

how quickly it degrades
it started out so well
a little flirt
a little laugh
a little challenge
over drinks
banter and belly laughs
and then
a wrong turn
down a verbal highway
of potholes
each word, a trap
each draw, a danger
it got mean
good-natured ribbing
turned to taunts
and gibes
and this is why
we can never
play drunk Scrabble
again

nonage

A tiny secret smile
curls the corners of her mouth
as she eavesdrops on

three girls in their nonage,
laying out their dating woes
on the cafe counter.
Preparing for the crusades,

strategizing, deconstructing, analyzing:
latterday Pattons
on a callous battlefield.
Trench warfare -
each inch of conquered affection
ballyhooed and trumpeted
in propagandized glee.
Each misadventure
and catastophy
glossed over as
minor battles in the bigger conflict.
Text messages scrutinized for SIGINT,
a way to end the siege
without surrender.


And from her adjacent table
the secret smiler,
a retired veteran
of similar campaigns,
smugly sighs
and scans the newspaper
where a different battle
rages on.

mythomania

Buyer Beware

the words spring forth unbidden
and grow grander and greater
with the pathological compulsion
to be compelling
each pint propels a new point
of precarious proportions
the mythomania
of the bar room
and though it's blarney
it's beautiful
and I am charmed

in months to come
as excuse follows excuse
and the deceptions multiply
I will remember this night
and wonder why
I ignored the embellishments
as the red flags they were
but instead focused on
the blue eyes and dimples
such a lovely facade
for a crumbling edifice

lucrative

Musings of a day-jobber

we spend our days
in abject toil
daily grinding our
forty or more
for the money
to escape
into paint
or words
or melodies

we came
to this vast metropolis
eyes turned upwards
to the building-scraped sky
and vowed
here we'd become
who we were meant to be
artists all

but the venture
turned out
mystifying
the path meandering
and landlords
rarely accept
performance art
for rent

so desperately
we sought
the mythical
lucrative
flexible
fortifying
placeholder
the amusing anecdote
to be told
on the talk show circuit
in later years
to show our humble roots

each night
this we pray:
soon
please
my big break
please
soon

and dream of life
without paper cuts
or coffee cups

panjandrum

with every click

their power grows

these internet panjandrums

wielding arbitrary sway

over the unwashed masses

replacing bread and circuses

with seamless and youtube

diverting attention

from the fall of empire

with a video of a cat on a roomba

they take our money and our data

with a hashtag and thumbs up

and play upon our fear

of missing the next big meme

so we never notice the great divide

becoming a chasm

click

click

click

apple-polish

I know what you're doing
so childish and clumsy
you think you're so clever
I never would see
butter up and apple-polish
before asking for favors
like an errant husband's
flowers covering infidelity
the irony is your subterfuge
is what raises my hackles
and disinclines me
to succumb
to your dubious requests

the fastest path from
A to B
is a straight line,
you crooked grifter

fatidic

I never would have read the signs thus.
Time passes all so arbitrary.
A search for meaning,
fatidic portents
that would have augured
this path so different from the one I planned,
plotted, and dreamed
but never put into practice.
Ended here:
sitting by the road
sans Vladimir and Estragon
but waiting for a Godot
who never comes
just the same.

dyspepsia

the Ferris Wheel spins as if piloted
by a fat and spoiled hamster
lazily turning circles in the sky
as you take my hand and we stroll
down the boardwalk
past future sufferers of dyspepsia
scarfing down their devil dogs
and funnel cakes,
and we, oblivious to all but ourselves
leave behind
the screams from the rollercoaster
and the shouts of the fun house barker
the demanding children
and the weary parents
the hucksters and the shills
in a world alone
with the stars and the waves
and a bag of cotton candy
made for two

eolian

buffeted by
the unceasing barrage
of hot air
flowing gulfstream-like
from your
gaping maw
my eolian esteem
can take no more
and I give in
born away
on the breeze
of your bravado
and "baby"s and
"you better"s
each breath
of yours
destroying a bit of me
so gradually
that I am scuplted
away into something
so insubstantial
a dandelion seed
in a hurricane

ilk

There never shall another be
No one can quite compare
So singular was he
Universal our despair
More than a decade past
He shuffled this mortal coil
His wisdom still infuses
His words will never spoil
Sardonic and dry
And silly and bold
None left of his ilk
He broke the mold

sprightly

a wink
a twinkle
you wooed
delighted by
sprightly flights of
witty rejoinders &
hearty guffaws
you charmed
and disarmed
and alarmed
and now having "won"
you've cause for pause
so whatever this is
this break
this whimsical wavering
this illusion of respite
this mirror maze
made up of maybes
be aware
how easy it is to be trapped
in a trap
of your own devising
and get lost
amazed
but not amazing

thanatology

The voice so loud
like a jackhammer.
It bellows and vibrates
across the office walls
to reverberate
within my bones.
I painstakingly paint
every detail of your
decaying corpse
on my mental canvas.
My thanatology
begins well before
the end of this meeting.
I survey my neighbors
as they hide each wince
that coincides with your bellicose brays
and know I am not alone
before I head back to my cubicle
and ineffectually stew and plot.
Never would it come to fruition,
but inside my skull
I am an avenging angel
with a requisition form
and white out.

chatoyant

the shoeless girl sits
torn denim on dirty asphalt
plays with a
broken doll
(an unwilling amputee
to a vengeful dog)

creating a world
of knights and damsels and unicorns
the rainbow ripple of oil
chatoyant on the damp pavement
becoming a gateway to lands beyond
this gas station kerb

macaroni

kitchen love

cracked like pepper

like honey so sweet

bent like macaroni

tasty like a treat

hot like chili

burnt like toast

salty like the sea

funny like a roast