Corona Senryu III

The president said
He heard bleach kills the virus.
Deaths by poison rise.

Corona Haiku XI

Calling hospitals
Until she found him and talked:
Agonizing farewell.

Vegas Haiku III

Thundering gunfire,

Fireworks raining from the sky –

Your question cut short.

Vegas Haiku II

Thundering gunfire,

Fireworks raining from the sky –

Her chatter silenced.

City Escape

City evening -

nightlife scents
in the summer wind:
cigarette smoke,
piss, sweat, and
garlic pizza.

The street lights
hide the stars.
Windows facing alleys
lined with bars
hide the silent little wars.

Revelers carousing,
crowds passing on the sidewalk -
their shouts drowned by the siren call -
while on the other side of the brick walls
shouts of another kind - 
disappointment finds
the tinder of alienation
and lights the fire of anger and regret.

We are a fretful nation
seeking always to forget
the home of broken dreams
in the safety of the city streets
where the heart ache always seems
to pass in a dance, a kiss.
A stranger's touch is easy bliss.

Kanye

I resist

the commodification
of the struggle to define
the self;
I am not a brand -
from where I stand,
no man, no woman,
or rock,
or bird,
or tree,
can truly see
to understand
the struggle is not in blood,
not in riches or glamorous fame,
but in language, in memory,
in the past that never was
and forever will be.

She repeated the sentence three times
To herself in the morning, stopping
On each line for emphasis,
While breakfast was served on her balcony,
The fresh squeezed orange juice
Cooler than the wind from the sea.

Before her tea at three,
To the reporter,
To the photographer,
To the publisher,
To the maid:
The long sentence in every receptive ear
Seemed to steer clear of any risk
Of meaning.

The unknown safety of not thinking
Keeps us while we sleep
With eyes wide open:
Protection from the standing rock,
The bent, old tree,
The incomprehensible
Wind from the sea.

Distance

Imaginary fingers
run gently through my hair
as I fix a lazy stare
at the table, once laden, now bare.
The heating pipes knock, hiss
and warm the silent air,
in the night beyond the only kiss
the wind upon the branches bare.  

Imaginary hands miss
my tight and aching back,
hardened by the days of quiet labor,
dragging the alienating sack;
hands instead that brush the sand
from a hardened pillow
on a warm night in an alien land.  

The soldier and I had parted
in the possible of an autumn evening,
one meal not sufficing, not enticing,
a gust of words to loosen
the silent weight that years create.

D.L.

The lone eye stared

Impassively in its deep blue silence

And the passengers passing

To and fro

Failed to notice;

Their pace failed to slow,

Hauling luggage

Across a hall they only know

As destination, arrival,

Another day of survival. 

The eye hung along the wall

With other drawings large and small,

Drawn by invisible children's hands,

Bearing names, first and last,

Destination and arrival. 

Below the eye, no name, only: 

D.L., 10th Grade

“Window to the Soul”

Incarcerated Youth Program 

Slowly, beyond the tall windows,

The line formed outside waiting for the next car.

 

 

Laptop

The words appeared, noiseless, on the screen:

“We are witnessing transitions

from social-welfare states

to social-control states

around the world. 

“We are witnessing a global crisis,

unprecedented in its magnitude,

ecological degradation

and social deterioration. 

“Unprecedented

in the sheer scale

of violence.” 

The words waited, quietly,

while I drained a glass of pinot grigio. 

The hydrangea bushes

nodded softly in a late summer air,

a bee hovering without sound across petals. 

A long row

of men and women

walked past the sidewalk café

in sharp suits, carrying laptop cases. 

Unprecedented

in the sheer scale

of silence.

 

 

Mask

That African mask,
Smiling in the gallery -
Stories it can't tell.

Cold Hands

On this long winter’s night,
The cold instills fright
On all small creatures hid from sight;

The barren earth,
And the cobblestones on the earth,
As hard and cold as granite.

The trunks of trees pale gray, wearing masks of death,
Hold up naked branches, supplicant fingers, outstretched,
Against a sky that says nothing, beyond grasp, beyond breath.

And the cold descends upon everything,
Reaching up, gripping legs like fingers of the dead,
The unremembered, beyond comfort, beyond breath.

As I hurry on, icy breath lost to the sky,
My gloved fingers clutch the chest, press my coat tight.
The other huddled passersby, silent, scurry on,
Minds shut against the indifference of the night.

All are intent on the hearths and fires
In solid homes where the circles of light
Caress their faces, their tired smiles.
But they don’t think; no one thinks,
Their minds shrink from sight.

Outside the icy sky, expectant, stares down upon me, pressing,
Cold probing, trying to find that place in the mind,
Where thoughts lay breathing,
Brave though quiet, dreaming:

All the small creatures lie in their holes, dark and warm.
But what of the women and men without home or fire?
Where do they go? Where do they hide in a world so dire?
My God, what if it’s me with no home in the world?
What if it’s me that the world forgets?
Who will I see with an outstretched hand?

Alone I stand and stare at the night.
The cruelty of winter makes no noise, hid from sight.
And though the warm fire of my home still awaits me,
Long will I feel the cold, hard touch of a world
That one day may forsake me.

Dessert

I was born into a trap,
Not of my making,
From which there is no escape –

Centuries of ancestors
Threw their wiles into the fires,
Their passion, their power,
Their mad ambitions,
And their terrible beauty,

To forge this cunning cage.

There is no point to rage
Against these bars I cannot bend,
This lock I cannot open:
No escape until the end.

How you – and the world – stare
At this prisoner on a stage,
At these sinews under tight, smooth skin,
At these dark eyes that draw you into sin,
At these full lips that

Hide the tongues of fire
Within the steel trap of a smile.

I want to explain the origin of the universe to you;
I want to shout the intelligence of generations –
How is this and that and why not now or then
But perhaps one day somewhere.

And all this to save you from your own traps, and
The millions of traps that walk the cities of this world
With stealthy strides and hide in plain sight and
In the corners of the night.

But these full lips you simply bite
In the last dark hour, as I pour out my power,
Robbing you of sight and hearing;
From me no explanation – just a moan, searing –
Our cold sweat sealing
The doom of the prophets who died in the deserts.

The Banality of Letters

Tap, tap, tap . . .

Hey man
Hows it goin :-)

Tap, tap, tap . . .

Fine, man.
How’s it going with you?

Tap, tap, tap . . .

OK man
Just chillin ;-)

Tap, tap, tap . . .

Just chillin’? Cool.
And how’s that? The chillin’.

Tap, tap, tap . . .

Jus kickn back
Here with some buds :-p

Tap, tap, tap . . .

OK, cool. Man.

Tap, tap, tap . . .

So whats up with you ;-)

Tap, tap, tap . . .

Oh, you know. Not much.
And you?

Tap, tap, tap . . .

Not much too. Laid back
Looking for good times :-p
You man

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap . . .

I’m cool, man, real cool –
But not dead.
A few seething thoughts, though,
In my head
Make me hot.

What have we got?
With all our keyboards, screens,
Endless machines,

Living on eighty dollars a day

While billions of other faceless souls
Live on less than a dollar a day –

It looks like you forgot,
Though I remember,
A sentence ends with a dot.

But your words resemble
A TV jingle, not a sentence,
Letters strung along in space
Whose only hollow pretense
Is to pass for human warmth.

Hot is the sun whose indifferent warmth
Bakes the backs of the faceless who toil
In a faraway country for a dollar a day
Burying computers and screens in their soil –
The grave where machines and meaning decay.

Sponge

Self-absorption
Is a quality of children.

Adults mostly lose it
As they grow older
And learn to see
The world around them on fire.

Burning, burning everywhere –
The earth, the trees, the buildings,
The edifices that hold up our society.

Burning high –
The heavens and faith and good works.

The child thinks only of her doll
While around her the curtains burn
And the wax on the doll face melts
As the father in shirtsleeves, huffing,
Snatches his little girl
And charges through the window.

Absorption
Is also a quality of sponges.

There are only napkins at the table,
And I use one, a red napkin, to wipe
Your spilled coffee
As you rummage in your briefcase,
For your phone, your calendar,
And God Knows What Else,

While my words melt in the howl of flames.

The waiter returned with a sponge,
As I looked out the window – people, cars, buses combusting –
The sponge – pink – absorbed the coffee, vanished in the howl of customers.
I wanted to take that sponge and hold it to my face, to wipe the wax.
But that would have been childish.

On Speaking

A tiger
Can talk to a tiger.
A bear
Can talk to a bear.
But a bear can't talk to a tiger.
Tigers won't sit still for bears.

The Death of Philosophy

If I say that my beliefs
Are a product
Of my country,
Of my epoch,

Then am I
Caught in that sly
Trap of History
With no words to deny –

For the Cage that falls
Is the Cage of Language.

My belief in relativity
Is relative to itself.
Devoid, perhaps, of authenticity,
It begins to gnaw upon itself.

The Invisible Man
Imagines the color of his eyes.
But the mirror shows nothing;
Nothing until he dies.

Who am I when I sleep?
Who am I when I dream?
Beliefs are fish that leap
In a transparent mental stream.

Happily I fish,
In my country, in my time.
For the world, by turns, shall fade
Through my ignorance sublime.

Delirium

Never waste a good delirium,
A time when Up is Down.

You
Move your
Mouth all Around
Open shut –
To say nothing;
A delirium nothing,
Surpassing sweet – unlike
The plodding words –

The stumbling weight of all those years . . .

There was a farmer had a dog,
And Bingo was his name-o.
I pledge allegiance to the flag.
The square root of sixteen is four.
Our Father who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be Thy Name.
Dad, I won the game!
Paris is the capital of France.
Can I have this dance?
Buy now: Operators are standing by!
That sissy boy; he couldn’t hurt a fly.
The square root of four is two.
Mark my words:
One day you’ll see. They’ll all see.
Darling, it’s so good to see you.
What is the square root of two?
I’m sorry, Ma’am,
There was nothing we could do.

And when the fever cools, as it will do,
And up is up and down is down again,
You see the chance is gone to start anew –
As reason, restored, confounds the brain.

Faucet

Water dripping,
Drops plop, plop
Into that pot
In the kitchen sink.

And I can hear me think.
I want to sink
Into the couch.
He sits there, slouched.

This silence forlorn,
Stretches the length of the room,
Like a railroad platform.
We have arrived at the end of words.

Drip, plop,
Drip, plop.

I smile.
The tea is drained.
Our minds and our teeth
Are stained
With the knowledge
That, at least, we two strangers
Failed to cross the breach.

Sight and Sound

How can I make you see me,
Not you, but me?
You have fixed me with your stare –
My words in mid air –
And have trapped me in amber.

A practical paperweight, amber,
It can be hurled against windows,
And, finally, the cries of anguish
Can escape into air
With the pleas to reason;
Perhaps – to you – all rubbish.

And though the caged bird sings,
Still its song is not heard elsewhere.
Silent is the vast landscape
Where a new soul grows in the wooded grove
And the words fly to the trees, feeding, at night.

Oh, what a sight! The multitude that is me,
Cresting that moonlit hill,
Without a sound, they cannot fight.
They stand, waiting,
For your surrender of me.

Internet Love Signal

SGWM
ISO
SOS

hi AM looking
4 someone whose
NOT too serious about life
[Like a stone.]

Someone to spend time with
Home alone.
And chill
[Like a corpse on ice.]

My friends tell me
Im nice.
And fun
[Like Disney World.]

Please no guys who act
Like girls.
I wanna man whose
Prfect for me
[Like Jesus.]

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are you when they persecute you,
So I say to you, love your enemies,
For God makes His sun rise on the evil and good.
If you love those who love you, what reward have you?

For no one can serve two masters;
Either he will hate one and love the other.

As the lamp of the body is the eye,
Then if your eye is bad,
Your whole body will be full of darkness.
And if your right hand causes you to sin,
Cut it off and cast it from you.

So Judge not, that you be not judged.
Cast not your pearls before swine,
Lest they trample them,
And turn and tear you in pieces.

Therefore do not worry, saying,
“What shall we wear?”

Hypocrite! Remove the log from your own eye,
But seek first the kingdom of God,
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from Evil.

For where your treasure is,
There your heart will be also.