here

having finally
accepted
a cordial invitation
i'm green as grass
even though
i've been

here

quite a while
from the looks of things
my own likeness
tastefully framed
on the scarred walls
then scattered about
books
and magazines
with familiar words
i must have uttered

here

in a burst
just shy of tearful
i shove them away
this simply
cannot be
hard to describe
how it feels

here

because
i am just
what i am

disillusioned

i turn my gaze
to the big bay window
such a perfect summer day
fluffy cotton floats in the blue
meeting lush verdant foliage
many creatures abound
in air and on land
great and small
two by two
too much
to take in

here

yet

i notice
a closet door
cracked, it beckons
crammed with boxes
of childhood drawings
mommy, daddy and kids
with the dog and a cat
one might think
all was well
except

i know better

then

i hear music
from another room
songs from the radio
speak
to the moment

but how

can it be
that the moment
had a finite beginning
yet
never seems
to end

here

one foot out

rolling

down a hill

biting and licking

as two pups

just fed

so it seems

only yesterday

they wake you up

emotions pull

right arm

toward the left

mind pulls the other

far to the right

a heart

in torsion

faced with lies

but not from lips

we convince ourselves

out of sheer pure

ignorance

sosad

same old

song and dance

inside quiet moments

truth screams but silently

she needs more of him

yet he longs for

everything

else

lie with me

lie with me
and listen to some jazz
it's on the radio i love the sound
on a saturday night how we work so hard
can we do it all by doing everything?
lie with me
so i don't lie alone
saturday night seems right for the sound
we can leave the light on you can read if you want
if you still can't relax
maybe i'll rub your feet a while
just lie with me and listen to some jazz
even days like this when we need to make something
why this crazy life running around?
lets make some time
that's why they play jazz
on a saturday night

Splinter

We were strolling along a sunny yet secluded trail with white-petaled blooms and her brother when a sliver from a twig made its way into her foot. She's a bit freaked as I try to fish it out.

We're both in high school, at least she would be soon, as far as I knew anyway. She's kinda tan and really shy and stacked like a cinderblock bunker.

No wonder she's freaked, I should be. Maybe I am. We've been going out for just over a month and we're on our way to where her dad lives.

Although I'd never admit it, our phone conversations are just starting to take on a Muzak quality. She writes me letters that I keep in a 12-inch cake tin.

The splinter is in with a toenail and I'm not even used to the way she smells yet, but her lip gloss tastes like wild cherries.

Her parents split last year and I hear it was pretty nasty, leaving her mom with seven boys and one helluva daughter.

That first night we'd stood in the church parking lot with her AquaNet bangs and the denim jacket she wears with everything. She playfully bites my tongue when we kiss.

I grew up in the township and this is my first city girl since I was four. Damn those brown eyes.

She gets an Anthrax poster for her room because I have one, but she generally goes for a pinup of Kip Winger with some kind of bulge.

At one point during the "surgery" she gets antsy and I playfully smack her on the leg and she playfully makes a big deal about it.

One time we stood on her front porch during the rain and burned cheap incense sticks from some store at the mall.

Her dad was staying in a trailer with her uncle, and come to think of it, she smells somewhere between musk and a basement.

Usually I see her where she babysits, and this fact delays the blow of my parents learning about her home life, where there are always flies in the kitchen and a loaf of bread with the bag left open.

Then again, maybe there was more to that slap on the leg. I just wanted her to calm down, but it could be the discomfort from the tiny fragment is really not as big a deal as she's making it.

Another time we walked by a house that had burned down in her neighborhood. I took home a pair sunglasses from among the rubble, they were way too big for my face and I just threw them in a drawer. Whenever I opened it I got hit with that aroma you can never forget, smoke from materials never intended for combustion, someone's life changed in minutes.

When I meet her father he seems entirely out of phase from how she'd described him. I still have the cake tin.

Bobby's House

Coolest thing, you can get out-of-town radio stations through cable, like 105 WTUE that's usually blocked out by elevator crap unless you drive a ways south of here. Sometimes day-oh is cool to crank up during a party, gets the girls shakin' anyway. WDAO. The Soul of Dayton.

I always watch the evening news for some reason, and when I'm here I can at least catch Frank Reynolds on ABC.

So I'm once again hagnin' out with Belinda. Bell from Hell, she pretends to not like being called that. She's babysitting her cousin, uncle Bobby's infant daughter, although, I have no clue why his wife's redheaded sister Paula can't watch the baby since she practically lives here.

Bell gets bored with the news so we switch to MTV. Not sure what will ever please the girl, she gets agitated when they show Donnie Iris because he found a stone fox blond to be Leah. Evidently every Caucasian female within visual range is the enemy of her soul, and she sighs when Paula bends over near the TV to put something away, as if those pale legs and bony butt cheeks are much distraction.

Feeling around under the velvety sofa cushions yields some lint, 19 cents, a Bic lighter, and a slap from Bell who's obviously not interested in discussing it, let alone what's in my pocket.

The other day I scored a tape dub of a new group called Def Leppard. Still can't believe the first song is really about that.

Bobby's wife came home drunk one night and gave Bell a watch, only to turn around and accuse her of stealing it. Whatever the case we made an adventure out of driving by in my parents' car and tossing it into their yard, careful to remove any fingerprints, as if that mattered.

Bell is this pouty dark-featured mix of Native, Italian, and toilet cleaner. Somehow that all adds up to a bubble you never can pop, at least while remaining somewhat a gentleman. She won't let me thumb through Bobby's record stash while anyone else is here but it's probably all country shit peppered with Eagles and Steely Dan. Her dad had almost methodically cheated on her mom, Bobby's little sister, sometimes right in their home, not that her mom is any angel.

I'd been in kindergarten with Paula. She always seemed to be hiding something behind her freckles. She had some dude over here one night and he tried to give Belinda some of his milkshake while she was half asleep.

My cousin tells me they have over-the-air subscriber TV down in Cinci, they give you a descrambler box and show movies and sports, sometimes concerts, even dirty movies if you pay extra. Sometimes my folks and I go down that way for baseball games. Not sure if I'd ever want TV bad enough to pay for it.

People tell me I'm missing a lot of fun by kissing Bell's behind. Even her own mother.

I think I should get a dirt bike. Actually I'd feel more at home on a scooter but those seem kinda nerdy.

Five bucks says there's a recent Doobie Brothers LP somewhere in the house, and probably some stuff I don't wanna know about.

also ran

nomatter what it's still an honor to be esteemed as worthy to be among the few to get past the first cut to share laughs and times to at least give her right of refusal even though you don't make the last cut for whatever reason how much richer is life for the experience because basking in her radiance for even just a while makes it ok to not concede defeat yet celebrate the journey

first nite

Andy didn't even look around or give a cue, just sucked in a big breath across the mike then let it rip -

"SMOOTH UP IN YAHHHHHH"

Thankfully Jake was able to whip out the first chord, but my bass wasn't even turned up and I had to maneuver around the bottom to manage a crude fade-in. Way to keep us awake, dude.

It was obvious we hadn't done a lot of sound checking, and the whole idea was just to get our feet wet tonight - hell, we're not even getting paid - but I'd hate to catch a whiff of how this sounds in the crowd. All I can hear is the massive rented Ampeg behind me and hopefully Donnie can keep us going on the skins. We had to set up around the piano and the old Hammond that doesn't even work, and they weren't able to take the pool table out of here so it's just pushed to the wall. For some reason I'm surprised there's not an old cigar store Indian standing next to me.

I feel Don's kick and crack, and hear lots of brass over my rumbling BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM, but not much else.

It doesn't help that Jake's old deuce combo is seriously underpowered and I have to keep watching his hands, but still, the crowd seems to be getting into it. Andy has a way with things up front and he's probably our best hope at the moment. I suppose if I'm the perfectionist in the mix then we need some charm and abandon to balance it out. It was his idea to mix in some party stuff and I had to agree, but I still can't wait to dig in to the rest of the set. Man, if we could only bring that B3 to life I'm sure it would share some timeless wisdom on the classics we do later on.

So we reach the big finish, everyone balls to the wall, and Andy's soulful wail to bring 'er home, then through my ringing ears I could make out the small crowd sounding fairly worked up already. As he starts in with the opening spiel I was hoping he'd ask how we sound but it would seem he's got his groove on already, the train has left, no sleep till Albuquerque.

"Is it gettin hot in here already? Ohh yea-yahh, babies we are burnin UP! Time to call tha FI-YAH HOWSE!"

Sure wish we could have put some reverb on him at least, kind of a sharp slap when he projects.

But at least it's comforting to really feel the riff take shape over there when Jake starts churning it out. He's really coming along even after just two or three years, kind of a natural.

For better or worse we do a few more rockers as people loosen up, and to my amazement, Andy turns around and says "alright boys and girls, we gonna take tee-yun to give y'all time to pre-PARE yourselves forrrr...what comes next, so play nice out there!" and then tries to put the mike on a stand as it threatens to feed back.

Everyone grabs their ears as they watch his attempts to shield the mike, with varied results, then I realize I'm closest to the cord and run to unplug it while trying to keep my instrument from banging into stuff. What no one bothered to tell me is that my right hoof is wrapped in a cable.

Somehow I am able to stagger the other leg gradually and come down into some kind of lunge, but not without manhandling the strings before I'd had a chance to turn down the pot. Since I was still in front of my amp, the ensuing thunder quickly goes epic, a giant saw ripping through my body as I fumble for the plugs. I reach them after a month and three days.

As I ooze onto the floor with the bass on my chest I faintly hear fits of laughter. My head feels like a throbbing potato baked in a reactor meltdown. I'm pretty sure the buzzing in my teeth is actually to the point of emanating its own sound.

Pretty soon Andy comes into my field of view, hovering above rubbing his ears, nothing but grin in between 'em.

Someone in the seats yells "PLAY SOMETHING BY SPINAL TAP," stoking the crowd's laughter.

Andy glances out there and then back to me. "I think we're a hit, boss," he gloats with batting eyebrows.

With my left hand still grasping the neck of my bass, I close my eyes and slowly lift the middle finger.

sometime that summer

my first driver's license is just starting to get some rub wear in the laminate, and after a torrid heat spell, the rains return life to the cradle garden with some irresistible evenings along for the ride

i call her up on a whim and she answers, just gonna read tonite, well, unless...

next thing i know i'm picking her up in my parents' 1984 ltd wagon, a verifiable tail magnet

i had nearly asked her to walk over, since we live close but for some reason that didn't seem right

after i manage to choose the most awkward spot in the middle of the driveway her mom appears out of thin air, like a NEEEN-ja, grinning ear to ear, camera in hand

wispy clouds line the horizon like molten silver and the breeze caresses with a mother's touch, it blows her reddish-brown hair around as she emerges from the front door, she looks away when i first glance at her, denim skirt, button-up top and arms crossed as if shivering, then the smile lights up her face when our eyes meet again

we get to the corner stop sign before either one of us realizes we hadn't really decided where to go

i have ten bucks in my pocket thanks to dad, but it's too nice out for the mall and neither one of us are hungry yet, then a poignant HONK from behind makes me jump a foot

half a mile later she's still laughing when we finally decide just to hang out at the elementary school playground, where there was not another soul around save passing cars, not that i would notice them

first we did the teeter totter as she rides side-saddle, out of time and place, here at the school during summer break, and she had gone to a different grade school to boot

then as we sat there on the swings just looking around my mind's eye somehow shifted to a wide angle, better bookmark this page where two kids, good friends, are finally granted a measure of freedom, and so, what would we do with it?

as she turns my way mid-sentence i notice her smile as her eyes dance around, green as the summer grass, the same ones that once struck dark fear in my bones as she stood at my back door with the neighbor girl, and we just stay that way for a moment, as i wonder whether it's ok to keep staring and not sure if i can stop

then a cloud crosses the sun and it suddenly seems late, we each look around, seconds pass, my tummy growls

i ask if she wants to grab something to eat and that smile encores, brighter than ever, reaching the silver clouds for all i know

thankfully mickey dees was still open by the time we found our way there, we joked

as i drift to sleep that night i realize that i hadn't played the car's radio all evening

it's funny how some things don't have to be grand to be perfect, and how the best relationships aren't defined just by moments

hamsterball

Oh how she can't wait to get home and let him roam around in his ball. It lets him explore while keeping him from getting into trouble and making messes, and if he wanders too far she can rescue him easily enough. Then it's time to put him back in his cage where every need is provided. She faithfully changes the footing every week so it doesn't get stinky. There's a running wheel for exercise, plenty of water in the bottle, and not to mention those yummy green pellets. He's so cute when he eats those, the way his little hands hold it as he chews and those tiny brown eyes blinking. She can't imagine a thought in his pretty little head.

*sigh*

tyrst

I stroll in late and survey the room. Over by the wall stands a young woman who wants to be seen not wanting to talk to anyone. Hovering about the cheese poofs are three jovial gents in dockers and oxfords, clearly with nothing more to learn about the world than what they can teach it. Catching a familiar eye here and there makes the exchange of nods easy enough, but a presence is about, foreboding and pungent, like egg salad flatulence in the shower or that unsettling vibe from a dysfunctional couple who have yet to acknowledge it. As I reach for a beverage she slithers into view. Grand but not tall, adorned in a midnight blue sari she wastes no time, we guard the refreshments as her eyes dance to a choreographed monologue, already a victim of her own hypnotic prowess. At any moment I expect her to place a wheat thin on her shoulder to get things started. She's the kind who removes your guitar strings as you sleep, leaving her phone number as collateral. It is enough to make you say piss it all and join a monastery.

cardboard, tape and great moments in aviation

Back when I was five or so I wanted an airplane. Not a toy plane...an *airplane*. One of those two-tone Cessna or Piper single props at the county airport would do just fine, like I'd see when Dad and I would sit in the parking lot and watch flight lessons. Whenever the inspiration would hit, there I was finding materials and bugging everyone to help me nail boards together or whatever. Why would we need a long cord to power an old washing machine motor? We can just put one of those outlet box thingys from the wall in there and...

Anyway, at some point we came across this short, thick cardboard tube from a roll of whatever, but to my mind's eye, the propeller shaft. Next thing I know I've got boxes in the front room taped together to form the, um, "fuselage," side flaps for wings, rear flap for a tail. I must have been persuasive because Mom used a *lot* of masking tape trying to flange it to the side of the box. A nearby Naugahyde hassock becomes landing gear. As soon as it was all, um, "together" there was no stopping. I was gonna fly an AIRPLANE right there in the front room, dang it all.

So there she was. Up off the floor about to my waist, a staggering sixteen inches, and it would almost stand on its own when I let go. Mom's skepticism is but background noise as I climb in, just a tad shaky, one leg in, now the other...

*THUMP*

About 23 years later, and interestingly, ten years *ago*...well, evidently some lessons bear repeating and on a grand scale. When you're little and messing around with household materials in the front room, the real danger is trivial even when your dreams collapse to the sound of ripping tape. Different story when you've barnstormed your way into the almighty American Dream only to find a grizzly nightmare. In it, you're hopes are empty, relationships trite, appetite is DOA, paranoia coats the tongue...but if you pay attention, you catch on to what's been available all along while you were chasing wind.

Some bumper sticker has it right. We plan, God laughs. But the joke is never on us unless we take ourselves too seriously.

halves and have nots

Another family arrives at the burger joint in a bullet-shaped sedan, then we all show up in the cab of a pickup, and our respective churches have different names on them. Ours is downtown although most of us live more comfortably than people in the surrounding homes. Earlier, on the way in, my dad makes fun of a long-haired man walking along the street.

Some of the kids at church are from the surrounding neighborhoods and they don't mind that they don't look like "us" or act like "us" most of the time. Usually these are the ones I'd rather be around, unless they're just plain annoying, but they aren't there as often as us "regulars."

Sometimes we have church at night. In the cold months the downtown streets are only to be seen in passing, the domain of the unknown and unsaved. People walking after dark around are up to no good and we lock our doors and look where we're going and everything will be fine once we're home watching TV.

Jobs are scarce. Some kids at school have parents laid off from factories. At the mall there are "minorities" standing around talking all weekend. Pastor asks people to "dig deep" before calling the ushers.

Sometimes it's hard to tell whether the folks who come in for "help" are naturally self-confident or just used to asking. You only see them that one time.

Reagan is the only one who can "fix" all this. He usually wears a suit.

We have Sunday School parties, well attended by a lot of us "pre-teens." Not sure if it's the leadership, or the mix of kids, or both, but I find these things fun for once. One of the "neighborhood" dudes asks me about my old electric razor collection and he becomes cool, just never sticks around long enough.

At one point this loud mouth who lives "comfortably" starts in with racial slurs with one of the "neighborhood" girls and she doesn't stand for it. She and her friend, one of the few girls I thought was cute back then, didn't stick around long enough, and I am getting tired of typing that.

Some of "our" moms and dads split up before we finished high school. I never got to find that out about most of the "neighborhood" kids.

as i stand agaze

as i stand agaze
at the fortress of refuge
how strangely, these days
i savor the deluge

a dream far too real
in this tempest i'm couched
raging rose-petal pinwheel
that is felt, but not touched

it spins as it pleases
cream confection'ry bliss
such warm fragrant breezes
best of times, reminisce

at the eye and center
stares your face in some trance
tells so precious little
save, gracious acceptance

and

she is the one who shows up just before a major blizzard with a decent pinot noir, because sometimes you need to get next to a carbon-based life form of your own species and just bask in each others' radiation, playing cards and talking about nothing in particular until the Chili Peppers CDs are done, at which point you reach for some Eagles or maybe Bob Seger

verdict

as whiny high-pitched voices mock your every public utterance your fist slams the desk and your mind goes back to the idealistic child buried deep within the suit and the image who can't get his way but then for a split second you actually sense that it would not kill you to believe in the future

Bobby's Place

We live in a old two-story in the middle west side, not much but we like it here. She wears my old ball caps, usually backwards, and probably doesn't realize how often she has one on. Sometimes we go over to Bobby's during a game since most of the neighborhood will be there too. You need hope in this world, you know, they shot Reagan and now all they talk about is how someone tried to kill the pope. The lady, my angel, I gotta say, is simply the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm not what you call religious but I sure don't want anyone to die, especially, you know, for no good reason. Bobby is a pretty good guy in my book. What's with all the mohawks and purple hair moping around the mall? She was engaged to someone else right out of high school but things change. A couple dudes down the block like to hit golf balls off the sidewalk. Bobby Brink. She hired in at the shop where I work and we could probably move if we wanted. Bobby was always quiet when we were in school but he pretty much ran the bar as his dad kept getting sicker. We got a stereo last year with our tax refund and sometimes I crank up Ozzy real loud so she'll yell at me. Bobby drives a maroon Corvette. She leans her feet and knees on me while we share a beer. I grew up not too far from here but its all different now. They say one of those golf balls dinged a police car in the next block as they cuffed some stoner for looking in people's windows. More often than not we come home to find one of our dingleturd cats tangled up in a blind. Her fiancée was locked up for dealing and God help the bastard. Starting to think she actually likes the music I play and bless her for laughing at Bill Murray. Bobby really doesn't make a big deal about being successful and having things. Not sure about him and his wife tho, I mean, if they're happy. The cat could wiggle loose if he really wanted to. We have both our families over for holidays and it's the only time our place is clean. Bobby's house is pretty nice, I suppose, and they got a couple kids. Sometimes at night we're just sitting there watching TV and I look at her and think how lucky I am.

okay maybe not

Phillip Hector MCHUEGALFARTHEY of Mass. has appointed himself to be the first ambassador of Planet Earth to the Andromeda Galaxy as announced during a recent diatribe at the park. The sojourner plans to pass time during the 28-year superluminal journey attempting to beat the on-board computer at chess, as well as doing some other things. When asked about a capable spacecraft he assured us the government has a ship that no one else knows about, and hopes to be underway as soon as it can be determined that "they have at least one decent tavern there."

in no sense

regurgitated streams
from that sweet little mouth
s-o-b's and g-d's
will he ever regret?
breaking m-maw's heart
how could he know
as she spends a moment alone
equine tears from bovine eyes
at once precious and profane
unprotectable
as a blow to the ear
broadside

this salty world

*sigh*

fresh as ever

verbatim

When something comes out of nowhere

whenever you see that person's face

you look away

am I offended?

or did I not want to offend?

the image burns in your mind in life

haunts like a ghost in your quiet moments

presence that's not only unwelcome but unsettling

what did I do wrong?

do you want me to change?

Words can't express the frustration

What the f do you want man?

what gives?

Then finally

after what seems like eternity

even just an ordinary person among everyone else...

Who is that face??

sage

children

boast retorts

yet find themselves

devoid of inquiry

quick to mock

that which we do not

or

can not

comprehend

sardonic voices

raised

rehearsing former glory

resonate throughout

some cold cavernous

mold

that only you

have the power

to break

what

do you fear?

the unknown

outside

perish the thought

of parents

even

unlikely heroes

tumbling

in their caskets

to guard unceasingly

that sole remnant shard

of innocence

inside

lest we smash to bits

rend asunder

the one

who gave us wisdom

and

faculties of

reason

in the beginning

uprising

a borrowed shortwave rig with a broken dial string sings beijing's denial

in the wild wild west escape club prepares us for the 90s

girls look and taste like a corner store in the mall called pasta

still the 80s are in full blossom

guys sport haircuts we now wish pictures could lie about

and true freedom of thought bears a price tag in any age

we met last year and if only i could admit that it went to seed months ago

countless college mailings become buried in dust beyond the foot of my bed

didn't have her own sense of security so why not steal mine?

people my age were getting married in the newspaper already

started my first part time job which she probably found threatening

some dude staying down the street from her could bust moves like the new kids

any anecdote i tell that involves another female is hijacked by interrogation

she bleached her hair out of concern that people would think we're siblings

if i couldn't keep a date there was hell to pay

the slender blonds she works with may just as well soar among the stars

on the phone i learn first hand that she's a year younger than i had thought

you get what you get when you dive blind

we actually had a good time watching batman with my visiting cousin

yet on many a sultry afternoon i find her cool as an unearthed potato

my fledgling mustache would have been pathetic if it weren't so pitiful

some of us don't really experience life

evidently my family was too perfect for her to be comfortable around

so dancing boy whimsically fell short down there which makes it ok?

she went to a party where they all got quiet during stairway to heaven

instead we just observe others when we manage to crawl out of our grub hole

then one determined act of defiance was all i needed

well maybe two

if you count the time i called on a neighbor

seems the brother of one of my classmates snagged a piece of the berlin wall

and a flippant middle finger got me chased across the parking lot after work

on my 18th birthday

but permeating all this was a rare distant mood

beckoning eventide luminescence

hopeful and savory

anything is possible

at night the radio picks up worldwide rock from new orleans

seniors cut in the lunch line

because we can

a transfer student and pastor's son joins me in crooning some elvis

aqua-netted underclass hotties hit me up for change

love shack bayyyyy beeeee

time to live a little

or maybe

a lot

En La Isla Del Presidente

thanks to a broken down bel air

and distracted thugs

taking cover in some forgotten brush

at the edge of a cane field

strangely

i am not even startled

by desperate gasping

from deep within

tangled sinewy foliage

just a few steps away

supporting yourself with a bamboo tree

as though you had also

just arrived

Competition IV

Fireworks had been the best ever and there we lie, elbow length apart, on a blanket spread across my hood and windshield. One or two tailgate parties raged on in the distance, but our little world was our own. The air had just a whiff of leftover mugginess, mixed with the sweetness of nearby cornfields, from when a brief squall made us wonder if they'd have to postpone, leaving in its wake a perfect view of constellations that perplex the ages.

After I picked her up at the barn we grabbed sandwiches then took our time finding a spot even though the lot was far from crowded. As the evening progressed the words were increasingly sparse, and somehow, I sensed, just as irrelevant.

I take a deep breath. Right on cue she answers with one that couldn't have been more mocking from a seasoned comedienne. As I look her way with raised eyebrows I'm met with that smile that has a way of answering the present question while raising a thousand more all at once.

"Shall I yawn now?"

"Are you tired?" she replies, eyes ablaze.

I look away and take another deep breath, straining with every fiber to keep it together. Something is different tonight. Whatever it may be, it's throwing me off, but I keep telling myself it's worth the risk of staying on course. I smile.

She turns her head away with nothing to look at but a starry patch of black. Her breath this time is filled with consternation, a gale-force sigh.

"Look, just so you don't have to worry, there is no way we're falling for each other," she asserts with arms folded.

"Ohhhhh kayyy" I reluctantly offer, refusing to leave her stranded.

"I mean, I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page and all."

"Right." My grin starts to encore, adding, "I mean...I've been doing everything I possibly can to keep that from happening."

The forced silence that followed simply could not survive. Impossible to say who started laughing first. Eventually the mutual peripheral surveillance gives way to an exchange of relieved, wistful smiles.

I glance away with, "Aren't we a couple of dipshits."

We cover our mouths as kids giggling in church. At some point she reaches out to the sky for a handshake, "Nice to meet you, we're the Dipshits!" It's a wonder we didn't roll onto the ground, but that would have been all right, so deliciously lost, you might say, in on the joke.

is it just me, or

she is not someone you meet

she's visually striking, but her beauty is revealed over time, as the elements sculpt the side of a marble cliff

she has mostly male friends, even when she's married, none of which can ever tell where things stand

she'll share a double room with you during an overnight trip, then after she takes a really long bath you awake to find her curled up at your side

she'll ride with you into the sunset till the road ends and then hop the next plane

she re-creates her family in whatever circle she finds herself

she is her own time and space and a world your dreams can only wish they were set in

she's the cashews in your chex mix - edible without them, but what's the point?

she is distant all evening and then sings haunting, wordless medieval chants as you make love

she's a guilty pleasure in that you hopelessly adore her in spite of yourself

she is almost as good of a friend as she is inspiring, yet at times, even more so

she's the risk you can't afford not to take

she forms relationships from her own mold, which if you manage to break, she'll quietly, albeit somewhat reluctantly, savor it in hear heart forever

she's a figment of your imagination even as she stands right in front of you

she perpetually keeps you within inches of the most horrendous mess you could ever find yourself in

she is wonderfully, wonderfully imperfect and may just admit it if you stick around long enough

she's a girl on the inside, obviously, but one who's unabashed sweetness sneaks up on you, making you wonder why you ever doubted her

she is someone you experience

Damn the Torpedoes

Remind me for the zillionth time that her heart knows no bounds with him. Fight as she may, it's only a matter of time. She'll bend the rules. She'll surrender her will. She'll sacrifice goals and comfort to see things through, even enduring humiliation. She'll give till there's nothing left and follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond.

To call her a fool would prove me a hypocrite. God knows I've wagered hope and trust in even frivolous pursuits.

That gleam of approval in her eyes may as well be the headlights of an oncoming train. Their exchange of knowing smiles rings a death knell in his ears.

So are you, um, doing anything tomorrow night?

whacked

To countless Western adolescents, as Regan talked tough with those short-time Soviet premiers who have all but escaped our minds, the greatest looming deterrent of our time bore various monikers. The Board of Education, Mr. Bo Ard, The Physical Educator, or that of a similar vein could be read along the business end of some of them, at least at my middle school. The ones you never saw sported holes for aerodynamic efficiency or even had rusty construction nails sticking out.

Just one broadside strike of a desk never failed to save souls. What we associated with that particular word was, for some, way more horrifying than a grizzly mafia hit could ever be.

Mrs. G, next to our homeroom, had the shop instructor fashion hers in the shape of a human hand and painted with school colors, if memory serves. On its fateful inauguration day our own teacher, the dry WWII vet, would-be lovechild of John Wayne and Principal Skinner, ordered us seated and silent after he was discretely asked to witness, as if anyone wanted to miss overhearing the proceedings. Breathing minimally we strain, some grinning, others solemnly, to discern the mumblings from outside the open door. If the inquisition ever became intricate he might reappear, to quell us, unless the gunpowder crack of sovereignty meeting Jordache denim invoked saucer-eyed pause. This time the report is followed by a tink-tink-tink as if someone dropped an empty soda can. Later that day most of us saw her toting the faux paw, minus a thumb, evidently shearing along the join at impact.

In eighth grade one of the guys tells me that Bonnie Bowles was able to avoid corporal punishment by citing the way of women as a nod to Jacob's Rachel. Once, while passing the assistant principal's office I could almost feel the whiff, line drive to center field.

As we moved on to high school, the bigger building with fresh challenges, posturing amidst peers with increasingly adult features and improved personal hygiene, the threat and awe quietly gave way. Discipline was now a clerical matter. Usually it was demerits and/or partial isolation in what we termed the hole, a one-time bomb shelter. Actually, the reprimand code had been in force since fifth grade but at first we rarely knew of anyone actually going that far. After a while it sounded almost fun to spend a month in suspension making holiday crafts, to hear one fellow relate it on the bus every morning between bodily epithets.

The girl next door once tried to describe Mrs. Wreede dishing one out from her electric wheelchair. To this day I'm not sure how she got to see that happen.

It wasn't long before a new or refurbished hand-paddle was commissioned, except this time we all know what the tink-tink noise signifies. Same kid even.

Most of those who got it possessed a certain inner strength, not so much irreverence as, well, relentless individuality. The point was not to punish delinquent behavior among a few. Our elementary principal seemed to only wield the board playfully, maybe joking about it when someone has a birthday. It was a concerted effort to counter the threat of global puberty.

binney & smith

binney & smith

smith & binney

what came in that box?
think it's glue

winfield, kansas 67156

no
wait
crayons
not that we use them much anymore

so what made those two guys
whoever they are
want to make stuff for school?

open window
right next to me

there have got to be kids
there in winfield, kansas
sitting in class right now

are they doing
the same lessons we are?

cursive was fun to learn
but i get tired of writing all the time

it is sooooo nice

outside

i'll bet you your brother's hot girlfriend
they're doing something cooler
in winfield

huge numbers
we add and subtract
like amounts of money
we never get to have

buses mosey into place
lining up for us

my fingernails know
by heart
every scratch in this desk

hmmm
need to have dad get my bike ready

too bad it's not one of those days
with something special at the end
people's moms bring in cupcakes
saint patricks day
or whatever

bus drivers get to stand around
and talk

here we are like those mice
in the cage

wish we had a science thing
experiments are kinda fun

i can smell the pavement
sun on the parking lot
somewhere between
rubber and dirt
*silent sigh*

someone needs to fix
the clock on the wall
it's so

slowwww

Duke Fabulous Reporting

Now this sho 'nuff takes the cake and eats it too. I ain't, I say, I ain't even a kiddin' this time. Just the other afternoon there I was shinin' my boots over by the radio, seein' as there was this ball game playin', and wouldn't you know there was a knock at the door. So I opened up and said howdy-do to some feller I ain't never seen before. With his hat in his hands and polite as could be he asks Mister Duke can I speak a question and I says all right. Turns out he's preparin' to claim paternity and wanted to get a few details straight. So I lean on the door post and raise one eyebrow as this dude 'splains this and that and th'other and how his momma said I's his daddy from a way ways back. Now, I knew that I knew that I never knew his mother, even from Eve, as they say, but what's the point in lettin' 'im off that easy? So I asks I say now do you have any documentation to substantiate said claim to my posterity? He proceeds to hand me his certificate of live birth and I reach for my speck-tackles. He keeps a spinnin' his yarn as I peruse the details, county seal and all that. In a couple more minutes he seems to run plum outta words and so I point out one detail in particular. I say, well, I say as much as I'd like to have you call me pappy I don't see how it could be. And why not, he wonders, lookin' just a tad let down. Well, it says right here, on this legal tender, you were born about five years be-fore my very own date of birth. Oh, he mutters and snatches the paper without even wishin' a good-day. So hear what the Duke sayeth. No matter how off a wall the assignment may seem at first, always, always do your homework. Duke out.

friday night

cozy house on a quiet brick street
snuggled amidst bustling foliage
'68 galaxy in the short driveway
the rest parked along the curb
misty drops on the awning
that shields the kitchen window
light's on over the sink
next to a kenmore blender
juiced on seagrams and lemons
baking sheets on the range
once held handmade pizzas
to go with tossed salad
little cubes of marble jack
and three kinds of dressing
some coffee in the melitta
hints of vanilla pipe smoke
miles davis on the hi-fi
laughter in the living room
around countless nests of rook

Too Many Saturdays

Such an opaque late winter bluster could not have provided a worse day to say farewell. As I walk up to that white church house in the heart of town I could not help but feel that the tables were turned. Despite being appropriately dressed for a funeral I am still distinct from the others converging this day, a middle class Anglo-Celtic raised in the country among urban African Americans. I'm the minority here, actually a passing novelty in itself.

In the shadow of downtown skyscrapers strolling amidst houses of working families, how unavoidably the mid-morning chill brings out the city's soul at its nastiest. The young man had been shot fleeing from police.

Soon I'm greeted by a cacophony of voices and warmth of many bodies inside. Taking a folding chair toward the rear, the pews already stuffed to capacity, I quickly surmise from the program that I've stepped into a different world where the church ushers are actually union labor. At one point a petite, pretty gal sits next to me with her young son. Without a word or making eye contact she keeps him close and vigilantly guards his antsy little feet from swinging into my legs. Also seated nearby is a fellow who appears to contain World War Three until he hastily gets up and seeks refuge outside. All around the dark sea of faces are looking at nothing or no one in particular.

Anyone speaking into a mic up front prefaces with "Praise the Lorrrrd" and waits for a likewise response which always seems anemic from such a bustling crowd. After the ministers and song leaders are gathered the formal bereavement begins with some words and condolences from sister congregations throughout the country. As a musician I tend to notice arrangements but I could not have been less prepared for the divine squeeze brought on by the brooding jazzy turns in Shield About Me. It was church. They only do three songs, no more were needed. Most sing, a few are on their feet in surrendered worship, many seem catatonic and I simply cannot move a muscle. Be Still My Soul.

The senior pastor had invited me. He nears the pulpit during a rousing chorus and then preaches flaming arrows of grace, he told me, on a mission to reach the kid's family. During the response I nearly break as the ministers reach out their hand to invite those who will to the altar.

A few weeks later I ran into the shepherd again. Those wondering sheep had since come into the flock.

On the drive home, now free from trying to find a place I've never been, I can now mentally ponder the mess on my car from a birds' nest that had blown out of a tree overnight. At first it's the inconvenience of having to clean some strange egg yolk off the paint and glass in unfavorable weather. At last, a budding life robbed of its potential.

whiskey kiss

fire

and water

fist to sternum

shakedown stare

subtle feline grace

her silky sweet musk

none match the aura

swirling about

the room as we mingle

never a glance

denied acknowledgment

don't you even

dare give us away

souls so much alike

incestuous tinge?

dying to connect

living safely apart

ethereal words

never spoken

wasted chances or

mounting tension?

we lose track

who's the fool

and who's fooling

two wills cannot

both be boss

just remember

when the shoe falls

that first stinging sip

once ingredients mix

a strange elixir

is totally

ours

with all due respect

Saw a news report about a church in some other town. They are glad to meet at the high school gym. Pastor's office is a coffee shop with wifi. Nothing new, except, well, all the tithes go to meeting needs of people in the community. No overhead. No building. No staff salaries. All volunteer and donations. I got the feeling they intend to keep it this way, so, no capital campaign or property fund, just applying as much of themselves as they can to living out their worship by serving.

There was a single mom just overwhelmed because this group had provided some kind of health supplies that she couldn't afford for her kid, who could now live a much more normal life.

Oh, and this was in the "secular" media, mind you.

One question. Why in blazes is this going on *in some other town* and not everywhere?

dryer fresh

some may feel

familiar ways and means

as a soggy diaper

sagging to the floor

as depleted shame

with acrid sting

propels hopeless whimpers

yet

not in vain

help is upon us

strong caring hands

clean and anoint

vest renewed bodies

in people clothes

this time

shivering in the primordial chill
of a melt-off soaked field
amidst last year's stalks and pickings
wear some old clothes

is it about appearances?

grab some terrain
plunge those hands
deep as they'll go
wiggle around a while

in my youth and maybe yours
often scolded for sarcasm
an age when purposeful irony
yields blank stares at best

for acres and square lengths untold
dark gold free for taking

yet without it
we're done

eyes front and center
hands two and ten
stay in your lane
healthy wealthy and wise

unto the least of these
he says

flesh and bone
king and pauper
yield their substance
unto our time

respect your elders
it's your salvation

granules that nourish
our crops and bodies
in one form or another
witnessed what we yet cannot

from minerals
to chemicals
to materials
to things
for health
for life
for excess
for killing

hearken the ages

converse amongst ourselves

when suddenly
across the thawing tundra

a breeze

c'mon and love me

This place has a murk all its own. Not something one can describe. They say you gotta live in Manhattan at least once in your life, I dunno, but the D is, well, what it is. You make cars or maybe beer, or you make parts of cars or just money from people making cars. You put your kids through college and retire at 50. You uproot a neighborhood to put in an artery. Your gray skies yield snow but only when it's not raining. You decay while those who can build half-million dollar houses along dirt roads to the west. You sprawl till your belts break the sound barrier during rush hour. But in the theaters and clubs and music shops they have none of it. For the life of me I'll never fathom how you were blessed with such a buffet, a veritable rainbow of talent and insistence, a sheer V-8 driven creative powerhouse on wheels. Then in the mid-70s some boys from NYC were struggling to make a splash, along with their label. You were good to them and they never forgot you for it. Can't help but wonder if the muse was a real woman or just a well-crafted cloud in a hungry songwriter's sky, in dim lighting on a sultry eve where you read what you want written on her face. Seduction is not so much a game as an admission of selling out. That which you seek to own will own you.

other things

a quiet place to read

twice the legal limit

cockatoos and cockathrees

doctrinal disagreements

cabbage

my pants

puddle of mud

the finger

aunt so and so's record-contending troll doll collection

a wry wayward crust of orange peel seeking refuge beneath your keyboard

the word "butt"

then and now

those times when the radio plays just the right song

yeah

slayer of dragons

there she stood
arrayed in royal vestments
against the dungeon wall
as the dragon made play

upon this i stumble
arrayed in hoodie and jeans
she cries save me save me
i mutter mmmmmmmmmm kay

it occurs to me
as the beast turns and lunges
that dragons don't exist
then it faded away

and so

did she