Number

A friendly face,
a warm place:
reminders of tears I've shed

At kindnesses shown me.
The bumblebee
swerves to miss flailing

arms, fat little arms
of the children we once were.
Loneliness had yet to meet us.

This winter the government
sent no checks. The line
outside St. Anthony's is alive

with hubbub and rapport.
Slop, salad and a bit of bread,
the prayer of St. Francis above the door.

Do not scorn me. You are bored
with the silence in my head.
Sit a while and let it sink in.

List

The psychopaths' campaign of lies
Aimed at the gaping hole in my side.

Mockeries of thoughts I've had.
A man's face falls. He is sad

To see what I should never know:
Scarlet droplets on blank snow.

Virtue

Erosion tells a tale
the elements forget.

Rivulets mark cracks
in the sandstone. A net

cast across rock
to catch the truth in.

The water tells lies
whose shape is sin.

Meretricious

Written for music

Another day, another holler

Another gig, another dollar

A spun out boy, the bathroom stall

My ex wrote my number on the wall

He didn't see, this boy with me

My name tagged with a Sharpie

Black writing pressed to his back

As I unzipped his pants

That's right bitch last night I got your man

Don't be a fool

Girl this'll learn you

Call me trash

I got your cash

See you sister

Hate to be rude

This little twister

Always got this attitude.

How to Capture a Firefly

for Ms. Sidney Rosenthal

The box must be built
three degrees of separation
around your target,

to whom your assistant
will speak of panopticon
and games. Go then

to that place
of the afflicted and damned.
His home will be there:

he holds hands
with those you loathe
(Was that you, straight-maned Aspasia,

camera at the ready,
when the shadow people
flitted past your subject?

Did you see them as he traced the names
of flowers his mother grew,
near your vast map with its

keyhole-shaped route
outlined in the window
of the still-gutted

office beneath the parking garage?)
Three years later
some tape remains

tacking a scrap of paper
to the glass, the only trace
left at Golden Gate and Larkin.

Now let him leave
your cupped hand
to dart about and shine that goddess light

throughout the inside
of a hollow marble bust
of Eros. Be advised

he remembers well the ride you took him on,
and could to this day remind you
what the two of you talked about.

You may just want to button him up
and never let him out.

The Marine Colonel

Shall we divide Canaan
or are we Alexander
in India, swallowed
whole by a sea of humanity?

It subsists in humid
forests, dwells there
without a thought
for our Macedonian might.

Do we slash and burn
or sink as in a sand pit?
A courtesan of the old king
spit a wrapped crack rock

At my feet when I turned
to greet her pusherman ass
at the entrance to our camp
on Leavenworth and Turk.

Fearing the Reaper

The poison arrow

pierced the veil

one too many times.

The hyenas take

you now, young man.

Will you sit and cry?

What will you? Oh,

What will you do?

Run your brain dry

While their cruel

laughter, laughter, laughter

Echoes morning, noon and night?