Rehearsals
Why do I hold my clean hands under hot water until they sting? My tongue aches from rehearsals. Silver chutes shoot my open eyes. Stiff slanting wings lift our bodies resting above clouds — breathing, dreaming. Trust loosens our shoes, unpegs belts cinched around our expanding profit motives. Trust will settle us down to Earth. Bright shields of elastic goose flesh. Wet maps wrinkle in my hot palms. I would dovetail all my hinges! Lets love our flaws above each wave. Counting freckles until we land...
Read MoreFirst Fox Here in 30 Years!
An adult fox rockets out from the usual darkness between our house and the dark house next door! We wait breathlessly in our dark parked car. The fox glides with its nose aimed low before the steady flow of a long tail that seems to propel its dreamlike streamlined body! It accelerates like it’s late for an important launch, or lunch date with that worried White Rabbit who led fallen Alice through the weird wildness of Wonderland. The fox doesn’t seem to see or smell us watching from our quietly ticking car, or it can’t care as it masters its mysterious midnight...
Read MoreRun Down by a Dune Buggy on Fire Island
for Frank O’Hara (1926 – 1966) All his funny witty wordy jazz stopped that morning with the sun burning in his eyes so he didn’t realize the danger from a crazy dune buggy yes it was July 24, 1966 and no one knows now who drove too fast or what careless drunk hit him because maybe his nose was in a book of poems by Verlaine or some Ghana poets or the art News puffing a Gauloise or a Picayune thinking about de Kooning or Kline or Pollock throwing sand in the blaze of sun as there roared close fate’s dune buggy forever framing Frank’s own...
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