“They Told Me All Along”

They told me all along and often, always boisterous, boasting loudly, nights
Would come when I would feel the season’s counterfeits rally round
Ten thousand thousand fresh laconic smiles…

…and sweet obscenities chasing tails, and bound
For fiscal glory, …yes! I knew they knew it could not last–nor might
Not more–minutes, perhaps an icecube’s stand, this half hour, or that,…and yet
They always raised their fists on high, and swore,
despite their losses surely, yes, they’d do it all again, and lay
Their life’s breath’s money where their wit is hatched–within the mouth–to slay
Nine dragons thrice betrayed, and thrice removed,…

…and reconsider fiduciary exploits…. No regrets.
Their bellies’ joy in shredding….No! By God! Dissembling…

…they were, and lying then.
They’re lying still–standards to the clan, and even after desperate stares
Surround their own destructions, bloated souls,…

…distorted cancer-yeasts, they’re all aware.
They scribble texts, graffitied mountain tailings, organs failing, seal their place:
“A hand! Extend a hand” they cry,” and deal the cards again and as we live
We die together…” “Well, the hell you say! In the Fed we trust; the government forgives,
for goodness sake!”"…Mae West my friend, she’ll tell ya!

…goodness has nothing to do with it!”

“Anxiety”

Anxiety brings to mind a smile, a certainty
That what is good is merely stalled
On sidetracks to avoid collision, the call
To order from the ethereal unseen; eternity
Does not disappear with so little provocation
As a disagreement, a suspicion of a difference
Of opinion, or what appears to be interference
Even to the very gates of defeat. The invocation,
“Thus far and no father!” is but a station’s stop
And not a terminal carved in destiny.
Nor is it understood to be a bending of the knee
To anything short of order in the chaos and the melée. The shop
Is closed when systems fail and nothing lasts forever:
Where there is place and time, re-creation pulls the levers.

“Imagination Styles the Face”

Imagination styles the face that solves a thousand wrongs,
And no one’s guessing what’s behind the door.
Better yet, the portal to escape closes just behind him; gore
And all that glitter exposed, moments in the early morning songs,
Playground glories among the boys and toys, reasons to declare
His eminence–petulant and sulking–ever short of rule, ever cool,
Who stalks the school yard–recess, lunch, and after school.
And preys on younger lambs who cannot see nor dare
To think beyond the present teacher and the class
To one day leaving what was never meant to be
A permanent abode but stepping stones to what only seems
To be a day’s delay to graduation fantasy, and one more hall pass.
“The blame is his,…no hers! No theirs, but never mine,
so why should I remain behind the rest?
I’m not the only one!” he says,
“But, then again, I never meant to study, people!
I never meant to pass the test!”

“Decades of Fondest Friends”

Decades of fondest friends I will not see
Before I go; in their off-appointed times,
Each star appears to lead the way, divine
Appointments in the centrifuge within me
In a given hour’s search for souls
With whom to hear, to share an elemental joy,
Or bear the burdens nailed to every tree
within a forest of grief and then deployed
Like sagebrush in the undergrowth
that overcomes the vineyard, the goal–
Attained by twos not ones–with steadfast
Form hewn in solid granite, ertitude that
in the sharing comes the greater victories.
Yet, each in turn must then chose,
each has gone his way, mysteries
Preserved, masteries reverently set at last
Within an honoured niche, hallowed and adorned,
And duly placed on shelves of sixty years and more.