I.

until the mindless hours of night,

flout cellos strain the tunes

shifty shadows.

stagger, under a coronet moon.


rustle of handmade dresses and voiceless chatter,

of dried glands spoiled in milk, guild

the finger painted echo of her

clutching mother’s sooted pea coat.


I listen to paper dolls toss and turn

in her shoe box below the stairs.

A cradle rocks

in my broken stagger’s shadow,

under her coronet crescent moon.



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IV

Something I dreamt Mingus say
Nothing, nothing else
I got Lost but I’m back
With a street dream of that house

in an ashtray heart

A curled 16th note corkscrew
floats there.

Only if we’d known we’d lost the money halfway
broke.
A lesson floats in that ashtray.
In that heart
On that corkscrew note

To Shim

where brook trout surface

in baritone river rains, 

where fox prey,

and jackals await

dressed in morning’s ballistics

as firing squads take aim.

‘neath The Moon Rabbit, 

cleared by crowds drunk with virtue, 

screaming for Śakra 

in final sighs of autumn’s jade dawn

I send this signal to you,

to share in our memories of saccharin-skin armor, my brave brother,

negotiating peace with toy soldiers,

playing dead from sticks and walnut hand grenades.

Memorial Beach Weekend (part 1)

The prez went golfing, the kids went to Daytona to ride waves.
They love each other when the weather ain’t so gray.
I stayed home, runny nose to my toes, bandana over my mouth,
counted the door dash twenty-somethings deliver pizza,
could smell the garlic bread from across the way, uncovered for a breath
like coming up for water, or jousting with a drag off some worldly monument, holding it as a cigar, the Statue of Liberty, or The Moai, one of nine-hundred, and his oversized head, so much for this inhale, what’d gag and crumble almost everyone…