Who says you can't smoke grass on the Riverline?

Not where I'd expected,
but who says
you can't smoke grass
on the Riverline?

Twenty five years
says you can't remember

Twenty five years
can go shove itself
up a butt

Would I laugh
as hard
and spill grapefruit juice
over our chins?

Kintsugi

Kintsugi



If I could fill
each heartbreak
with gold,
I would have
a valve
that shone
from inside

right up to unworkable
stars

Back to Me

 Back to Me

To the memory of my grandmother, Helen Glaser (March 15, 1900 - March 3, 1988)


All the rainy nights
bring you back,

Nothing has changed.

I miss the fierceness
of your love
And I miss
without stopping
the finest glance
in the world

and I miss
your clarity
of heart,
more beautiful than the best lies,
and more thoughtful
than any beauty.

To Look for America

To Look for America

My greatgrandpa bought this land

and farmed tobacco

added cows for milk,

and chickens

for eggs.

His sons went to factories.

We lease the land

to agribusiness types

but we ride out

to see it 

when the snow leaves

and the road is as clear

as the sky.

My greatgrandpa rented the store,

rented the apartment nearby.

They moved to Brooklyn

to rent a bigger house.

When he died,

my greatgrandma moved in

with my grandparents

in the Bronx.

She rocked back and forth

in the chair we still have

and she fed the stray cats

who prowled through spring 

and summered

near the parkway.

My grandpa put in the sheds

for the cows.

He planted corn in the left

field. There were birds

and squirrels and other things

like voles

who tried to gnaw

but abandoned temptation.

Electric fences cost,

but they deliver.

My grandpa was night manager

for the Home News. 

My mom played as quietly

as she could,

The kids threw bottlecaps

in new sidewalk games.

You could hear their "threesies"

drifting up,

feathers of sound

as the bricks across the street

darkened.

A bigger newspaper bought it out

but he stayed on.

Nowadays music thunders

through nights

when it reaches past 70.

Nowadays music drifts

over what people used to own.

No local farms here now.

We moved out.

We moved out, too.

I don't know where my home state lies.

And I too don't know the words 

that label 

a piece of ground

and walk it forth

into home.

City lights

City lights


So much a part of us-
words of
fields, trees, forests,
mountains, rivers.

Allowed: to love
and approve
 nature colors,
textures, tones,
earth, that
travels or sits
alone.

But

what word
for a park that meets,
knits together
two proud sets
of buildings?
What to say
for
the street where workers
struck, did not back down?
What image
for bricks, concrete
walks gleaming with snow?
What recreates
old people sitting
near iron grilles
tossing words
to passersby?

What grabs

when light
passes a gutter
and
rainbows
flow from its sides?

On a Day of Not Quite Spring

Inspiration for the title is from Buffalo Springfield and e.e. cummings.


On a Day of Not Quite Spring


A breeze with no ice
in back of it
laps against the snow,
water runs
and in blue without grey
the sky unexpectedly
and tentatively
with fingers of near-white-
below it, un-iced brown
of revealed thickened earth-

is.

I Do Not Wish To Join A Leather Group

I Do Not Wish To Join A Leather Group


No, I do not wish to join a leather group.

Have nothing against leather,
nor  against groups
per se, but I get hamstrung
can't make  conversation.

Conversation
in such a group
should smack of good short words
and some stellar breathing runs,
clear sounds, short sharp shocks,
to echo Pink Floyd.

However, I see no sign
that someone would fathom
or whisper my unplumbed depths
or mount efforts
to uncover my unguessed
crazy.
It goes with words
and a few sighs
and, I am sure, could be
played quite happily.
Just...not sure that skin
would glow
 and eyes flash,
 you know?

So thanks for the invite,
wish the members well,
am sure  they will draw out
each  penchant for groans,
greet the fine
curving slashes they pray.
I will continue to float
ungrouped, unspurred
uncloven, yet to raise
my candle to any planned hurt.

If you want  to grab me,
whisper.