ALADDIN SANE

Instead of demanding 

that he live 

forever

(against the rules 

anyway, to hear it from 

its servant's mouth), 

the unlikely true master 

of the power 

of that lamp 

merely rubbed it 

gently as he wished 

under his breath 

for a swift but lasting 

end to his perennial 

fear of death.

THE SHORT POEM

Like a wink of the eye 

it departs 

as it arrives; 

it's an opening gambit,

sans the tedium 

subsequent

to the knock-em-down, 

drag-em-out grudge match 

which follows it.

But it surely isn't 

some boldly 

unsinkable Titanic;

it's more like

a kayak 

which cannot be tipped 

because it's small enough 

to fit between 

the waves 

of our lives—scanty, 

yet unflappably 

demanding: it survives.

MARKET VOLATILITY

The shapely runes 

which I gather 

and order 

every morning into 

glorious new syntaxes,

by evening, 

speak back—drained 

of their passion—

in languages I no 

longer understand. 

SUPERPOWER

Not infrequently, there are evenings

when every traffic 

light is green 

on the bleary return-drive

from that place which I failed 

to arrive at on-time—

which is a way I have

of knowing 

that I

must be a whole universe

(that always,

impossibly,

seems to be trapped

inside some 

other universe).

SUMMER BREAK

The sound

of children flooding 

the post-rain park—

squealing 

at earthworms, finally eager 

to learn things.

ODE ON THE LACK OF A GRECIAN URN

I don't know 

about quietness, 

but I'm sure

when formlessness 

divorces its brides, 

it never says

goodbye; 

it just whispers

an empty

see you later.

Okay, so

maybe beauty 

isn't truth,

but sometimes, it's 

truth's and my 

mediator.

GHOSTWRITTEN

Instead of composing,

I've been sitting 

in the kitchen, 

listening 

for silence, but hearing 

myself think

that just 

doing nothing 

is a kind of action,

and action 

is a kind

of music.