When my eyes are worn red
like an old hotel carpet
that’s when I know I love you most

When my pride is a yipping lap dog
in the company of lions
my roar overwhelms them with you

You are my Achilles
You can be my Delila
just always be proximal

I beg of you, to allow me to stay near
or make me drink with Socrates
and lull my pain to blissful sleep



all rain starts with one drop
yet one drop alone would go unnoticed
falling on a hillside and pooling
gaining momentum down the slope
water joining with dirt and moving rocks
eroding the face of a mountain

a collection of drops in balanced movement
like a school of fish
it anticipates its comrades turns
seeking level ground to rest peacefully
but making every effort to attain that

one single drop an acting catalyst
paving the way for others to follow
his slick path shining downhill
greasing the progress for his brothers in arms

not all drops make it to the bottom
most of the time not even the first drop
sucked into the ground or pooled behind a leaf
but that does not discount their effort

ad continuum


time seems harnessed
a tethered juggernaut
relentlessly pushing forward
yet today lagging
a stutter-step behind

the currents whirlpool
like the hourhands
dancing before advancing
all the while bringing us along

constant and consistent
the tides bring us along
caught in the undertow
with no regard for the entrapped
floating along as mere debris

Pillow Pervert


he came in the night
while everyone slept
arousing no suspicion
he went right to his craft
the only remnants of his visit
where the body’s naked remains
there’s no telling why he does it
or clues to who he may be
only exposed stuffed and stained cushions
with their skirts lifted to show prodding down pricks
hope he doesn’t strike your bed tonight
taking away the covers while you drool

a winning oaf


she is my candied apple charm
everytime she gives me that look
it feels like the fair came just for me
from prom queens to carnies
the most uniquely sweet character
calls herself my girl

W4th Cello Man


delighting in the throws of a lazy Sunday afternoon
where the ides of November invites outdoor diners
I spend my day contently relaxing in bed

in a city seemingly always in motion
one man has created a secret garden
clandestine only because it hides in the open
unnoticed like the talent of a stranger
a live chameleon landscape
and like a child led by the hand
my thoughts are guided to this place
the breeze brings in his sweet sounds
a resonating melody that lulls the beast
coaxing the ferocious metropolis to lay

the trash is taken out
a dog is walked and couples laugh
some notice the man sitting on the corner
but few let him transform the scene
like magic that only works when you believe
this wizard has converted his wand into a bow
that sings his incantations of peace
making his West 4th stoop an oasis

here alone in my bed
my picnic in the park auditorium
I can give thanks to the warlock of sound

Ode to George


second son closing the circle
blood of my blood
you were my first doppelganger
and though I your elder
much did I learned from you
shorter of stature
and someone to look up to
I am proud of you
a beautiful tapestry
cut from the same cloth
knowing mom, she cut the bolt in equal halves
the best she had was ours
with blue Lithuanian blood
and spicy Sicilian disposition
you are vintage ’82 a meritage
as you grow in flavor and complexity
temper your strength
I will be there
no matter what
as we play ambassadors of our ilk
side by side, my late arrived twin



a whirlwind has entrapped me
from within its clutches I peer out
the world is a bazaar of strangers
languages leak in jumbled
unhurt and still mid-flight
perhaps I’ll land in a bail of cotton
or am I destined for rocky shores
broken, a ship that missed the lighthouse

I will worry about landing when I’m let down
for now the fight against the debris ensues
avoiding dangers as best as possible
survival, reflexes and instinct
calling for help is futile
my destiny is mine to pursue
scrapping through one dustdevil to another