AFTER THE BLOOD MOON (OR: THE MONROE STREET ECLIPSE)

the two of us
now
looking up at the rose red moon
because sometimes
separate bodies
(though far away)
have been known to cross each other
and make a different kind
of light

THE FUTURE SLEEP

We almost closed our
eyes too long
when falling asleep
would have meant
giving in to the moment,
permitting an unguarded gesture
(we desired and deserved)
after love and so near
the rose, the flowered comforter,
and the slatted blinds shedding
their evening light
on our silver bodies.
yes, we almost closed our
eyes too long
and still that single
languid gesture
(no matter how desired)
was an acquiescence
we could ill-afford.

DOWNBEAT

I think of returning
her call
while the beatles
play in the background
their moptops flopping
in the theater of my memory
and as I run through
the things I might say to her
the stones are stomping
through my room in 4/4 time,
and before I know it
richards' guitar licks
are lighting my empty
bed on fire. moments
later, when I start
to punch her numbers
into my phone
and I hear the ringing
in my ears
CCR and the eagles
and fleetwood mac
battle it out,
springsteen and
aerosmith tag team
in the hallway and I'm nearly
unconscious as clapton
re-hardwires the synapses
in my brain.  When she
finally picks up
and says hello, I'm left
with one inescapable truth:
I'm old
enough that
the classic rock station
is a metaphor
for something.

HOLIDAY MIND

is it only
in dreams
where the day
unrolls perfectly
like a strip
of holiday
ribbon
where this
time your
ambivalent
God
finally allows
your twisted
subconscious
to choose
the width
and the color?

JUST THESE FEW MINUTES

I'm just looking for a few minutes

to get down the word

to forget for a moment 

the struggle

the struggle for dollars and cents

the struggle for the universe's praise

the struggle for the tiniest remnants of love

I'm just looking for a few minutes

to get down the word

to shake something loose

to document the red flowers

of the tattoo on the guy's arm

sitting in front of me

or how good The Monkees

feel coming through my earbuds

or the pealing laughter

of the unsupervised children

twirling in their own universes

near the restaurant's faulty soda machine.

MITTEN WEATHER

winter

never ends

where she is

and despite her

sincerest pleas

the fat snow

keeps falling,

whitening

the entire

unrepentant

earth.

HARDER TO GET THOSE KICKS

paul revere

and the raiders

get their kicks

and the 60s

and 70s come

flooding back

to me in the

all-you-can-drink

beverage bar

restaurant. and

even though

I'm listening

to their thirty year

ago voices, the

cool sounds 

come to me 

on my laptop

streaming through

the 21^st century

internet.