Unpremeditated, just a reflexive blink,
Was not as startled as the glitter of grime
Against the sun-streaked light.
...
let me shed the hate
that ill applies to anger although consummate
unluckily discerned by trinity and bred
by esoteric tragedies and irregular neglect
...
Our meeting was a secret
At the same time never met
You heard me sing
I heard you talk
...
While they sleep the unmolested
Before the nth dilapidated
Token, bidden, chosen, broken hymen, stalking semen
Men for women
...
Not quite disembarked
from the FX cab, the woman cried.
A short, shrill, sudden scream.
Her purse was snatched.
...
My English teacher was sledgehammer blunt
and called the kid who wet
his chair a “drip” because
a “bed-wetter” wet the bed, she said.
...
The angel did not need a magic wand
To wave for what it had was pure command
Dictated by a depth whose only wish
Ran similar to ripples like a beat.
...
It was for kin and kith I chose to shed
The skin of sin and flesh and bones beneath
Because I couldn’t hope to even reach
The temple much less be worth being it.
...
She must have baked a thousand cakes and one
her little shop with customers aswarm
laden with goodies icinged with her warmth
infusing buoyed-up buyers and their buy.
...
A carpenter falls
Off his easy rider
The shock absorbers
Are seconds too
...
This is the way to roll 'em
Break a chip of the brown block
(Not necessarily old, although age makes a diff)
...
Tentatively
Darkness describes a chill
Framed in invisible mist
The blur awakening to a whisper
...
He always has something to say
something incoherent interminable intolerable to say
even if you spoke to no one
in particular
...
I celebrated my sixtieth centenary twice. On October 25, at a party thrown by my wonder of a wife, and on the actual day, October 28. Both bashes were made highly successful by the presence of friends who shared our blessings and the attendant bliss.)
War
Unpremeditated, just a reflexive blink,
Was not as startled as the glitter of grime
Against the sun-streaked light.
The idea of a memorandum-laden airplane
Stirred the rust of my machine guns.
Unrelenting, my magazine would spew
Spurts of rage till the argument
Yields to the louder, more determined Soldier.
I would give my victory no rest.
It will die, of its own accord,
Among the intricate complexities of
Newer, better armament.
Rubber bands. Rubber sheaths.
My conscious song would be a beat
Rhythmic as a heart
Even as it skips
A splintered auricle.
I would want to be a mutineer.
I would hop and skip and leave them dead.
Ensconced in silk,
My wandering aircraft describes
A pocket.
The enemy is avoided.
Such daredevil feat.
The maneuver interrupting
The train of deployed dust.