Adulthood

Oh the glamour of being grown up
of being able to buy candy whenever,
to be able to just drive whereever

you want, whenever you want,
where everyday is a little adventure
and the weather in the windows

fills the whole window, where
crouching down and seeing street
lights and clouds is all we need

As I child, I could will the
signals to change with a little
phrase and hard gaze, there they go

green all the way home; today
as a real grown-up, I'm sitting
in my office, afraid to drive

as I no longer see the clouds
or the street lights, but
the road, the cars, the people.

Is there still a place for Art?

Is there still a place for art,
a space for it to be,

like water deep beneath the roots
of some forgotten tree;

have we all lost the time it takes
to drive down to the sea

to face the everything at once,
to set our feelings free?

Lisa and Luther Late-nights on SMOOTH JAZZ

the red light on
the receiver clips
as you laugh into
the microphone

oh and we know we
are on with a few
listeners at home,
waiting to call in

lying on there
beds lusting after
the smooth AM sound
of the late-night morning

and the sound of
a Goddess comes through
those speakers, tasting
the ears through the microphone

making them want for more

On Giving Up

Getting by
at the McDonald's
drive thru

at the dealer's
house, at the liquor
store, cards, magazines

Getting by
at the Safeway
Chicken is on sale

at the soccer practice
on the freeway, highway
my guns come by mail

Getting by
at the Golf Course
with my patte, my

lemonade ice tea,
tee-up the high
ball and bring me

my clubs,
my aces,
my spades

Americans,
the jack of
all trades

but what about
newspaper on the streets
pissing and no eats

what about mental illness
how about some Crack
and gin for sleep

Getting by
and saying goodbye
to all the living things.

Vanquish Fear And Panic

untold stories of people
gone for months
trapped

sing to us your song
oh silent ones
your name on a list with others

a list that shows you were
alone
sing, friends, sing.

Unopened Boxes

This poem is a gift you got as a child
For your graduation
For your birthday that you
Never opened, that never made

Any sense to open, left under the bed
Under the dolls and toys
In a coffin of anticipation
Forgotten

Now, right now as an old man,
I've found that imaginary gift again
A check from my 7th Christmas that
Still hasn't been cashed

A check for 25 dollars from
A grandmother, my grandmother
Who hasn't cashed checks for
40 years

What a strange outstanding balance
Waiting in limbo
How I wish that gift were a pen from Boston
Or a book about the home of Mark Twain

How I wish it were a poem
Waiting to be discovered
Under the imaginary dolls with real
Buttons for eyes, forgotten and found.

Swedish Tattoo

you give me the sweetest
taboo, that's why I'm
still in love with you

oh professional cheerleaders
with your dancing and your smiling
and your whitest white teeth

have you ever seen
the ocean's blue
after a sunset in July?

Have you seen no make-up
and no drugs on a Sunday
when your breath smells

just like the rest of ours;
you Bob Baker girls
with degrees

smarter than me
little lefthanded stories
some sweet lives ahead

marrying a real estate agent
who sleeps with his fat receptionist
while you lead at church camp

you are too much for us you know,
too much object, a self-aware creation
both Dr. Frankenstein and the monster

you have come to kill us inside,
because men, us men, can never be enough
not with the money or looks or tans or teeth

never enough