forgive me
isn’t pretty
crying with ruby-
throated sparrows
when he did not
see me
he’s a
you’re-out man

all my words
any accolades
mere dust
when I see his
eyes go blank
knowing he
does not hear me
(desperately braiding
a tether to reach)

I was not her
I don’t have
delicate hands
(they have fought,
held up babies
and made love
like a warrior)
my hands are not small

through another window
someone moans
my mind still wedged
in fascination
(her voice
to a hum)
as fairies come


Spring Picnic

They sat together and talked while the clouds couldn’t decide whether to be dark or white, changing and dancing in their indecision of midday. She would say, ‘I think it will rain,’ and look for her umbrella in the bag though she knew damn well she did not pack it. He would lean back and watch her shoulders move with her emotions, straight and soldier’d when content, shaking, when she laughed at his jokes,  then later, sagging under the knowledge of what was taking place. The day was heavy for her, but not to him, because she had not told him in advance. It was a picnic. It was sandwiches cut into rooftops with potato chips and red grapes in zip-lock baggies. It was a checkered tablecloth on the grass, still damp with May when one leaned with an elbow, feeling the earth depress.

Continue reading “Spring Picnic”


I have left you
I broke up with
your tv-dinner conversations
and your come-hither tennis matches
all our past
is in the future

every egg-roll fortune
now on billboards
in Times Square
your tenth-grade philosophy
on music and self regard
has bored me
I fall down limp

your lust for hand puppets
and walks
through burned-out factories
leave me hungry and wanting
my own desire
for Andy Warhol soup

Kentucky fried
extra crispy around my lips
you on the line
spouting off something
about being sorry
I hang up
and bite into a thigh

Seven two five


She thought she was in love
and anyone watching knew
she was in love with falling
the relentless dropping
pull of gravity, from
some other planet, slower
every moment of each time
her eyes stealing his every look
trying to find out his thoughts
he never spoke aloud

Every flower in a vase, every
face full of glowing news
words slipping one after another
from his lips, and she knew
even then they were tawdry, cheaper
than a dime store beaded choker
even while she felt a bigger feel
than she had ever felt before
or after the day he did not show up
with his sudden pang of morals


Amber (caution)

She came with a set of luggage
3 pieces and a train-case
a Barbie doll, with
all the accessories

Lovely lady with the trimmings
winter holidays
wrapped up in a bow
for that touch
of ostentatious-ness

Every night (every day)
the sound of an alto sax
followed us down dim streets
my hand in the hollow
of her lower back

Squinting to make out the signs
the words (indistinct)
but then (she said)
I really did not try very hard
to read them

My eyes boring into hers
when she would turn her head
waiting for them to light up
like a cat’s
each time a car drove by