Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Exposition.

Mushy
mid-
morning—stiff
smell
of wet fertilizer—
spanking
my nebulous
nostrils

awake—

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Automatic

Don't ask
those
rows
of uniform-
ly
actuated
hissing heads—even
as dancing
nimbus clouds gather
—whether
it
will rain
today;
though familiar
with
accumulations—
they've never
felt
the future
tense—and they won't
know what
you mean—

by "it."

Sisyphus Collared

Top-
buttoned polo
Administrator—woe 
betide you! 

Perpetually—stuck
pulling
more massive levers 
 
to free the trapped 
masses
from

dependence on levers.

Monday, July 29, 2013

Honda—

Weaving 
strategically—past 
stagger-
ed
battalions 
of orange-
glaring traffic 
cones under 
new Monday sun—

my old 
trusty gold 
horse is 
purring 
and
perfect-
ly 
beaming—so happy and
quick after 
down days 
to 
zoom me 
so
fast fast fast
fast! past the motion-
less 

past—
which sounds now 
only just 
like so much 
wind gushing 
in from her flung-
open 
body of 
orifices laughing.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Islander

The man 
who came and 
never left
is
not afraid 
to wear bright  
pink—

the man who 
came and never
left is 
legend on the island—some say
he has 
no lower 
half—others that 
he has 
no bottom—

the man who came
and never
left 
is ruddy
from tough
work paddling in sun 
and sounds just
like tv's 
own Tom Brokaw—he's
easy
to find—hard
to talk to—simple 
and so sweet 
to hear—

in fact—

the man who 
came and 
never left 
will sweet-
ly say he's
only free
out in his royal
blue and awfully
skinny kayak—but 

you must 
take care 
not to
listen much—to 

a man who 
came and 
never
left—for he's really
only 
free
because—he's 
really—

really stuck.

Friday, July 26, 2013

Fairweather

The vast and
teeming panoply 
of bicycles on Main Street—
painted 
chrome cruisers 
tandems twenty-
one 
speeds—stalled

and all
abandoned—for
a little bit  
of falling water—has lead to

streams 
of disappointed riders—
re-
appointing—
their taste 
for all-
abiding
tourism fudge.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Hunk

The candy-
maker—full-
grown 

man hewing 
dense
fudge—never
stops to wonder 
whether 

it's
weird—or 

cool
that his broad 
and soft

knife 
needs two handles.

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

If I'm Being Transparent—

I only
dipped 

a fingers-
tip—
in the
shallowest 

crystalline 
rocky out-
crop of Lake 
Huron—it 
was really 

really—nothing
special.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Summons—

The wild 
median 
strip of balmy

Queen
Anne's lace
nodding 
so

daffy in the lukewarm 
wind—blushes 
bowing 
and

beckons—

my humble 
party
royally northward
toward 

pure delirium.

Monday, July 22, 2013

Looking Down on the Mezzanine

The worst 
seats 

in 
the last
row of the most 

god-
forsaken section of the darkglowing
stadium at capacity—

is the only 
first-

class
view of a 
noiseless moon spilling—

fullness on an empty lake.

Friday, July 19, 2013

Runner's High Blues

Stumbling heat-
exhausted past 
the purple 
victory flags—or maybe 
flagging 
hosta plants—I imagine 

my breaths 
are dying 
such big 
and
spectacular deaths—

that even 
the neighborhood
cicadas are buzzing 
about it—or maybe 
it's 
just—moaning

droves 
of
vulgar window units.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Christ—

if I
could bring
some water
to those workers—
hardhatted
neonvested—
so small
and
rippling
across the lambasted
asphalt—
that
could be
the simplest thing—
the purest
thing—the only
thing—
clear wet
water
in
little neat
vessels—the most transparent

thing I've ever done.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Rrrrribbit!—

It's all this
humidity
that I
just can't stand—
chorus the
conferencing
pink horny
bullnecks that
nonetheless—
somehow
continue
to sit
in such dangerous-
ly black
and—

thick Windsor knots.

Low Pressure

Slow hawk—wheeling
on such
humid
haint-
blue
waves of sky
unmotivated—by
distant
music of faint
neighborhoods—
your perfect
still-
motion
strikes me
as the reason
why
swimming—
has never
been easier

than dancing.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Planet Honda

The translucent
coffee
in the orangehandled
pot
stays—reassuringly
hot in the
white auto show-
room—which
has been overconfident-
ly air conditioned.

Insipid

Next to hordes 
of hi-gloss 

balloons swayed 
by eager ceiling 

fans—or soft
rock guitar 

solos discretely mingling
with daytime sorts
of tv 

prattle—or powdered 
Donettes under 

glass by the stainless
steel industrial Bunn 
machine—the 

least rattling 
thing about 
the auto mall

is all—these 
elephantine 

cars parked indoors.

Monday, July 15, 2013

2/2

On a languid
breeze—I'm half-

time zooming;
sticky, hot and

—loopy 
for the roadside wild-
flower ripples 

of scraggy 
pastel purple 
blushing whitish—swaying candles;

groovy on your birthday.

Friday, July 12, 2013

Tidbits

Discrete and pink-
orange 

piece 
of mango sweetly 

bleeding 
on the cafe sidewalk—

attracts silver hordes 
of warring flies—but goes unnoticed 

by nearby smiling sun-
glasses laughing 

light and eating 
brimming bowls of 
brunch outside—and it seems 

like the more local
their produce gets—the more 

exotic—
describes their garbage.

Gastroenterological Bailout Plan B

Wake up with 
no 

future—
and you'll never

ever
have lunch 

for breakfast again. 

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Join, or Die

Quick!—what's more
American?
a chilly white
bowlful
of bright
cherry Jell-O—or
these sorts
of willful

A-B comparisons?

Transit

All along
the wide Dan Ryan—battalions
of proud yellow diggers
brightly gobble the Red Line—
while anonymous
workers
in blue hats lean easy spitting
tobacco
juice in shade—content
just to follow
a plan—
in which
part of erecting
a better tomorrow—
is eager-

ly wrecking a decent one.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Humoresque

Swaying to
absurd
caprices
wrung from
tress—I think I
might like lots
of
kinds
of
very
very different
singing birds—
but there!
Doesn't that
just
sound—?

ridiculous.