Fluttering like a heart about to still,
an autumn leaf lands at my feet.
I understand it’s a ticket
on that very last ferry,
That the ferryman will punch a hole –
another chip between the dry veins.
The leaf crumbles, scatters. Remembering
begins to drift on the scent of smoke
From a damp pile of leaves set to burn.
Wasps flee from a hive deep in the mound.
Squirrels nearby hoard walnuts
and fragments of bone
To keep their teeth sharp
through the winter. Grackles and pheasants
bind their nests with ligaments of dried vines
pulled from the freshly turned dirt.
I walk each evening by the river, watch
the ferries parry tugs, barges, sailboats, ships
mixed with phantom pilings just under the surface
risking holes punched in their hulls.
I hear the horn calling for departure,
gangway about to roll back,
impatience of the first mate’s yellow
grimace, and his fist of tickets.
Month: September 2024
Atomic Pinball No Free Game
| Left Flipper | Right Flipper |
|---|---|
| Let’s start with facts: you love it when I say aubergine | |
| Aubergine | |
| The flavors of sky melting when I speak in tongues | |
| Tandoori dawn, borscht dusk, light so finger-licking good | |
| But today, clouds above the river sag with rain | |
| Old jockey shorts, sad and grey, their elastic shot | |
| You were still asleep when I bumped a jar off the counter | |
| Meteors, bright starfish, streak above the ocean of your dreams | |
| So sorry | |
| That’s how the celestial cookie crumbles | |
| I yell glue will not fix the jar | |
| Or God’s cookie, so tasty | |
| You bat an eyelash | |
| Left, right, tilt | |
| Our day, like the rain, drains | |
| Down the center |
I Doo Wop
Your coffee on the nightstand
I flip wake up wake up handstands watch
your bathing beauty backstroke
you’re a cutie windmill
arm spokes in your bathtub full of sleep,
baby baby la dee dah
Dreams all warm and gooey
salted caramel fresh-baked
chewy sugar cookies I’m no rookie
at this nookie business
bookie got your number
every time, dial 9-1-1
I dare you double dare you
throw your crayons in the sun to let those
joyous colors run until the sky melts
liquid light and felt my eyes upon
your endless
box of night, pack of bright
Our day boat sailing tide is out now
shouting holy cow we’re late
ow! pull you reel you kiss you
fish you in my arms don’t miss we’re
getting to the church
on time, I do. I do. I do. Wop.
Swipe
Windshield wipers doing time, we pass
Danbury FCI – the slammer where billionaires
doodle orange Jello on Martha Stewart™
tin plates.
You said roll Connecticut‘s forest
into a blanket, wrap you in all that green –
tuck the earth, the globe around you, let you
dream rhyme slang among nymphs
Held in their trees – parole
from the long drive's tedium. I am Clyde,
obedient to your Bonnie, but I don't know
how to keep all the world's twigs
from sticking and waking you, all that
ragweed and pollen from creation’s sneeze,
all the animals – aardvark
to zyzzyva – from crowding you,
your car seat smaller than a cell.
What was Noah thinking? I look
in the glove box but have no cubits or pistol,
just napkins from Dunkin Donuts.
I reach out the window,
lay hands on the horizon,
crack heaven's vault –
proceed to loot vistas,
boost realms, cut landscapes
from their frames of reference,
I would commit all felonies of
sea and sky for you, any crime
of mountain or stone
doing hard time. Awake now
you are judge and jury,
sleepy, are we there yet?
Windshield blades clear off rain,
like rags wiping clean the slate.
*Zyzzyva – a genus of tropical weevil.
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