Free Verse

i look at myself
in the mirror each day
study this decaying flesh
draped on ancient bones
the truth of a thousand lies
buried behind these tombstone eyes
gas on a funeral pyre
match in hand
i set the mess ablaze
wrap a noose around my neck
head off to work myself to death
i’m a train wreck wrapped in a business suit
a facade in need of a coat of paint
polluting the world nine-to-five
looting the gullible
causing trouble wherever I go
i’m living in a bubble
of iniquity
layers and layers of duplicity
shield me from this complicity
i am the prince of greed and collusion
ask me what i think of myself
i’ll tell you i like what i see in the mirror
delusions set aside, it’s a matter of pride
if i tell you the truth, the illusion will die.

lizard dreams
got to let my spikes down
catch a little shut-eye
try to remember
that tune i forgot
walking off the blues the other day
mumbling hints of jazz.

i must be a rock
because here I am again
ready to grow moss
still eating kelp like Popeye
swilling wine like Bacchus
got to get my muffins
out the oven.

was born half warlock—half witch
conjured up a parade when i was nine
no bubblegum on my heel
that’s not the way i roll
mine’s stuck to your shoe
look, but don’t disturb it
it’s a masterpiece
of elastic art in the making.

on the precipice, i stand
the canyon below
gathering shadows in its hungry maw
my eyes plunge into the last of day
so near, her rays
i can almost touch them
one more step and i’ll be in Heaven

been chasing the sun for years
with every step, i’m farther behind
here on this ledge, watching it slip
into yet another sleepless night
weary bones chafe my soul
the razor’s edge between right and wrong
dulled by this religion of holy addiction

footprints in the dust, useless waypoints
swept away by wind and rain
don’t know from which direction i came
too many hours spent following clouds
gas in the tank for a trip to the dealer
but not enough change in the ashtray
for a tune-up

hallucinating romantic notions
into happily hazardous delusions
i fight with my demons over loaded dice
it’s a battle of pirogues; we drown in the drink
night-after-night; it’s a three-ring circus
i wake up stomped into pachyderm fodder

damn, it’s a long way down
but i just can’t stand to sink any lower
i step away from the crag
plot a course though the starlit night
compass pointing toward dawn,
my destination’s not on the map, but i realize
Heaven’s not waiting at the bottom of a cliff

don’t ask me what they’re all about—these words so devoutly spewing from my mouth
as if some great meaning i espoused to riot in while you were out

in the runes of my reality
“i don’t know why” remains
the grandest understatement
from little trains of thought wasted
on the road to re-evaluation, to the nick of time, and elation

rest assured, i might not be
safe to say; whatever said meant
you’ll never remember; what’s to forget
the facts so displayed without regret
defenseless, so intended
so, why not dispense with any more pretenses
and simply be on our way
just to know we’ve done it is enough
that’s all i have to say

morning’s pale sliver
nearly unperceivable
the taste of yesterday, still heavy in the air
our 911 sent to God
radio waves prayed into space
an SOS from humanity
seeking absolution, deliverance from calamity
swallowed by the void
just beyond the stratosphere . . .

whatever’s left of it, anyway . . .

thermonuclear winter’s arrived
the escape spaceships never flew
diamonds couldn’t make them fly
we drank bottled water until we drowned
fences built around our towns
just mudslides where the last trees fell
bridges burn beneath our feet
blistered souls and ashened hopes . . .

still, we search for signs . . .

the sundial’s soot-stained face
wears no trace of time
another evening without smiles
or is it still just afternoon?
we, the weary, plod ahead . . .
lemmings leaping from a cliff
adrift in a sea of disbelief
frigid tides flow through our veins
calling out the Savior’s name
echoes spill into the waves
someone pulls the plug
with fingers clinging to our sins
one by one, we vanish
down the drain.

go ahead
slip in dangling modifier
an unexplained pronoun
or a hyped-up verb
no one’s watching
i do it all the time
people say it’s the right thing to do
logic doesn’t sell
but functions well as a novelty
just offend my sensibilities
i can shut them off
at will
i’m a consumer
and your brand
is the only product line
that makes me feel right inside
don’t want to be left out
tell me more
about the other folks
you’ve helped into the mainstream
and how thick my mask should be
i’m a consumer and i want to know
price is no object
there’s credit on my card
and i can always take a pill
for the nausea.

why do you glare at me so bright
that blank stare of a dare
to trespass → → → → → → on hallowed white

but, no SIGNS_______no rules__________no lines to read between____
the owner’s manual makes it official
yes, i am the full-fledged owner of a once-blank sheet of paper
now i’m free to scribble
or perhaps write a decree → nail it to a telephone pole → invest in a ream of this stuff
‘cuz, it’s starting to get crowded on this page
thinking of hanging it on the wall and starting a new one

but the idea of driving a nail
through my trusty friend
kind of bugs me →

and i’m easily bugged → about friends with nails in them
they hang around → until someone tears ‘em down

shreds of dead trees littering city streets
torn-down friends
abused and forgotten

newspaper for a blanket → or for wrapping dishes
now, i’m worked up over newspaper blankets → and empty bowls

all these marks
in the once-empty space
breadcrumbs . . .
leading the eye on its path
don’t look back ← we might ram a tree

i’m reading between the lines . . .
thumbing down the road
through once-virgin forest
pondering my navel
and the miracle of recycled paper

you must pre-un-PRE-APPROVE me
and you cannot replace my apartment windows
my roof, my plumbing,
my AC, my heat
get your facts straight
i don’t need 258 channels of spam
that won’t fit in my can of a room

paper with too many lines
so small, so tight
can’t read between them
but somewhere buried . . . deep beneath them
a Medieval twist of the trident

damn all this modern symbolism
not a syllogism in sight
so much crap on the paper
you can’t even write a poem on it

and it’s messing up my feng shui
can’t take me out for a walk
mow the grass
trim the hedges
water the flowers
or even wipe my ass

could paper my walls with it, i guess
nope, it’s an apartment
never mind the feng shui dilemma

turn me sideways
i’m looking crooked
or maybe the mirror isn’t straight
either way
time’s-a-ticking
if there’s a sensible solution
perhaps this ink
isn’t flowing out of my veins . . . in vain

these words
ain’t no manifesto
or a deed to the door of my soul
no, more a proof of purchase
a canceled stamp
says we’ve arrived
i scratch my crotch
yup, i’m alive

as thunder rolls
through this night
in the encroaching glow
of lightning
and the impending threat of tornadoes
i walk outside to take a look
come inside and jot these thoughts

sometimes all it takes
is a grand display of nature
to seduce my creative mind
into doing crazy things
albeit crazy things
like spreading my own propaganda
on digital sheets of paper
marked with virtual dots of ink
0s and 1s in a lump sum game
don’t be alarmed
not a single tree was harmed
in the creation
of this poem

the earth turns
and we play till we drop
words are worthy
of full-size print
there is no pulp
to this reality
the pages filled
with light and shadow

should i abandon my clutch
of unwritten poems
or should they breathe
as free-roaming thoughts should breathe?
it’s possibility I see
watering seeds
one row at a time
letters on the page
blur the lines
between fact and fantasy
the only difference is degree

nevermind the band
we hired them for the wedding
but the bride never showed up
all those invitations gone to waste
somewhere, a tree
lost its life
for a train wreck
the groom’s got no poems
to suit the moment

drop a dime in the jukebox
listen to the strains
of country love gone wrong
makes tears in my beer
taste better

drain the glass
head back to the back
for a moment or two of relief
then step out into the rain
take the long walk home
rap to myself
about climbing trees
got to write a poem
about climbing trees

if everyone climbed a tree
we’d all have something in common
never mind that we were all born
that’s just too common a thing to have in common

but if we all climbed a tree
we would see we’re all breathing foul air
how chopping down all the trees
could suffocate us
how polluting the water
could poison us all
how nuclear war
is not a game for shared planets
so, never mind tomorrow’s poem
i recycled it today
the one i wrote yesterday
was stolen by a time bandit

the poet’s pen
is doodling again
got to get out of the house

i walk to the park
near the city center
sit on the bench
near Sister Louise feeding pigeons
watching a boy at the water’s edge
launching his origami ship
causing ripples in the reflections
of passing clouds.

I remember mornings when milk came in bottles
left on the front doorstep
when battles on the black-and-white news
couldn’t match our imaginations triggered
by trains rolling down the tracks
headed from somewhere to somewhere
we knew the boxcars by name
listened to the warm steel rails
never had a clue that once the choo choos
carried human cargo
never heard a peep about what happened
that brutal Bloody Sunday March day
I was an oblivious five-year-old
it was the spring of salamanders
the Edmund Pettus bridge
in Selma, Alabama
light-years away
I’d never experienced racial hate
segregation, human degradation
I’m thankful I didn’t get that brand
of education
I didn’t know about Emancipation
how it’s been ignored
by others on the other side of the law
I look around today
1965 doesn’t seem that far away
I’m waking ‘round in skin
and so is everyone else
that doesn’t seem to sink in
with those who claim supremacy
asserting their authority
comes from above.

as I slip from this plane
into the quiet realm
beneath a sea of stars

I’ll take with me my memories
and leave you with the laughter

the dog can have my bones

*

as this waning moon
falls from the sky
please remember
how gently our footsteps
echoed through the stars