ADDENDA

A Poet Reads

He is serious, sincere  and rather sad

Has lost friends, lovers

been saved from the loony-bin

by good Samaritans.


I last for six or seven poems

but his monotone

nudges me into waking dream

hallucinatory sleep


recalled to consciousness

by a crash of applause

embarrassed

I ride the elevator down alone


Like him, arrogant enough

to leave sandpiper tracks

of unexceptional experience

on recycled paper.

Nothing...

that is buoyant

like the full mass of the earth

that dilates 

Renaissance irises


stalks rain forest 

reverberation


solves the lies

at desire's core


that the follow-spot

grips in twisting plunge

from heaven to hell


that waits in armored sleep

circled by fire


by rubble of

imaginary thrones


is mistaken for something

that has something

to do with her.

Alphabet Poem: (Incomplete)

A is for the Abramsons fleeing some     

Polish ghetto, arriving in America.

B is for Brooklyn and Baby Brother Bobby selling Rock'n Roll in Greenwich Village.

C is for Christians who blamed us for Jesus' death and Grandson, Chase.

D is for democracy, Democrats and Delano Roosevelt.

E is for Evelyn, girl-friend and lover.

G is for God who cursed me and watched over me all these years.

J is for my son, Joshua.

L is for my daughter, Leslie.

M is for my mother, Belle Sien.

N is for Nathan, exemplary son-in-law.

P is for Granddaughter Parker, my best hope.

R is for my wife, Roberta.

S is for my father Sam, Daughter-in-law, Stacy and Grandsons, Scott and Spencer.


Price Club

on the checkout line

jostling and complaints


people unhappy with slow lines

prices, each other


shopping carts full of

electronics, sporting gear

cartons and jugs


how joyful the woman beside me

her cart filled entirely with flowers

Nature

rows of razor teeth

come out of nowhere

then are everywhere


claws rip down its 

shoulders as jaws

sever its neck


the victim, dragged away

the killer heedless

of its private dying


when it comes

it comes quick




Control

those little voices

in my head


people talking

chattering


when will they stream out

as children burst from school


at three o'clock?

Sir Thomas More...

lashed 

his rebellious flesh


stuffed hair shirt

under chancellor's robes


racked heretics

with purifying fire


but is almost forgivable

(not for opposing divorce)


but for whipping his daughters

with peacock feathers.

Her Mother

If she were dead

we could afford divorce.


But she lives with us still:


A tiny lady in square black shoes

pacing the grim house


in the dead hours

before dawn.


We hide the death wish

in even closer care


We coddle and cajole

as one would nurse

a sick conscience.


The same force 

tearing the roots 

of  our marriage


drives her toward death

but not as fast.

Wednesday Morning Blues

last night I told her

just leave me alone


still dark

people in lighted kitchens

train whistles on the dawn run

engines firing in the parking lot


last night I told her

just leave me alone


sky won't give up 

its iron cast

to sunrise

mist turning to rain


you don't need me

you got a man at home


you don't need me

you got

               a man

                           at home




Persistence

dragging a lobster out of its shell

just too much work

it can keep its meat


deboning a chicken

the flesh clings tenaciously

even in death

Acceptance

I love her

and it overrules me

forcing acceptance

wherein this bright

unfolding blossom

flowers

                  in its time.

Non-Event

what happened?


yesterday I kissed you

holding both hands

lips touching


but when I spoke

with you today

clearly nothing had


(happened)

Woman

ascend the stair

that I shall climb


arrive

to find you naked there


at shoulder teeth

palm fingers bring

to buttock thigh


in madness fling

my seed like nebulae

to sky



The 'Sixties: East 10th Street

My  Village apartment

With fireplace and leather wing chair,

Formica table, closet-kitchen,

Bookcase boards balanced on bricks,

Abstractions in swirling oils,

Queen bed set sideways 

Against West wall, headboard

A long, low dresser

Doubled as a coffee-table.


A fifth-floor Shangri-La, accessed

By elevator, a local luxury, in which

My wife stooped, lips around my cock,

Ascending, giddy with danger

Of discovery.


But the bed that had supported

Such frequent coition

That she finally cried out,

"All you want to do is fuck, fuck, fuck!" 

Was not the same one on which

Years later, she said,

"I need to find a young stud who can screw me

As much as I want."

Slide Show

some rush to inter-

act


shun the abstract

have beaucoup fun


some live in the mind

prefer the entr'acte


where memory serves up

skein after scene


faux waking dream