Pardon me,
Please
While I push
The world back into place
It’s gone sideways
Kicked around, by
Thieves, liars and spies
Poverty and more
Now & then
Something is said
That helps me remember her even
When my mind is full
It was her boldful way of being both
Masterful, fantastic & really really
Heartbreaking even
In ordinary light.
In my memoir she shines bright
Had grandeur to spare
A summer’s thrill
Leaving behind words without music & I
Wishing for amnesia No, no she whispered:
Let it linger let it lingerrrrr
Any other man would’ve opened his arms to her
She guided my exodus from innocence
It Was enough to make a guy
bellow
Read MoreUnder the tender weight of love
The curtains were thick
And drawn tight
Laboring late into the night
Preferring the temporal to the eternal
While wading through pools of sleep
From within woods deep
Oh, save me, save me
Whispered in my ear
I awoke, clear headed
From a world next to this one
As time faded with our youth
She drew nearer
There were salt on her lips
We thought up a new version
Of the old life and, thought
How it had been
All along
How simply this was happening
As it should
Surely, this is a greeting
On the edge
Of air & land
Fluttering among
Nature’s sweetest things
In a slow silent ceremony
Fevered legs cool & become one
A hidden nest
Most precious
In the cozy morning mist
Flannelled memories linger &
Harbor swans
Swim silently, faithfully
Waiting for us
As a passerby
One
Among many of many
Our eyes did meet
Our names,
Not even whispered
I heard
Not-a-word, just
Beautiful bubbles, bursting
Beyond, babbling
Mouthing memories
Of this, I’m sure
Go forth & forth
Years afar
Over mountains
Across seas,
Befriend, prairie dogs
Pluck desert thorns
Swim Italian fountains &
Taste snow
If you will,
Little dear
I will never know
How could I not
But wish, yours
As good as mine
Forecasting a time
I will never know
Even as I am
Still here
Quick with life
Little dear
I was/I am field worker miles of sugar beets
I was/I am a snow removal expert
I was/I m a paperboy (the Fargo Forum)
I was/I am a little league umpire (calling more balls than strikes)
I was/I am a hitchhiker (9,432 miles +/-)
I was/ I am a house painter (big and small)
I was/I am a tree planter (Big Horn Mountains)
I was/I am a carpenter (power tool & mashed thumbs
I was/I am a dishwasher (Professionally)
I was/I am a janitor (the graveyard shift)
I was/I am a gardener (specializing in roses)
I was/I am a clown (but no fool
I was/I am a machinist (cutting/threading 4” pipe
I was/I am an elevator worker (fabricated & assembled the damn things
I am an artist (photographic process)
I am a psychoanalyst (a considerer things)
I am
(In this order)
A man
Artist
Son
Brother
Husband
Father,
Friend
Psychoanalyst
And former hitchhiker
I hail from the woods of Northern Minnesota, Close to the great prairies of the Dakotas.
I emigrated to California 40 years ago.
I am not
Young or old—nor middle aged.
These eyes
Have no master
Living on their own
Rebels to the end
Safely tented
Like Greco wrestlers
Sufi twirlers
Everything becomes
A Picasso painting
Twist and shout
Shuck & jive
What world is this
Not yours but mine.
The softest eyelids
Comfort
As the day dims low
Morning, noon, night
The old brown shoes
Well past their first bloom
Broken in and broken down
Sit
At the end of the row
Waiting
With frayed laces
Clinging to
Dancing memories
Laughing
How does it wait
This neglected path, and
Not weed up
Thorny, hide itself
After leaving its’ indelible trace
Towards this future
There is a sonorous call
Echoing among the trees
Mingling between little sleeps, and
The still white crane
Waits at the water’s edge
To strike
When standing there long enough
There are muffled sounds
Early music sweeping in
Like the first time my mother’s hand
Brushed against my brow
Dirt and Time
These head stones
More than five times any age Are not yet tired
Tilted by time
They reach out
To be held
Once
More.