Blaze of Glory, Poet

The lamp 

Of the lady of night has gone out 

But it’s left a flame 

That still licks your wounds. 

Making Do with Less

Whatever I take, I take too much or too little; I do 

not take the exact amount. The exact amount is no use 

to me. 

—Antonio Porchia, Voices 

Antonio, tell you what— 

Today I’m going 

To take more of what 

I didn’t take yesterday— 

The rest I’ll leave 

For tomorrow;

That should pretty well do it. 

Staking out the Usual Suspect

Stick to your MO, gumshoe— 

Stare out the window 

Long enough, no matter what 

The view, you’ll see 

The frame becomes you. 

Hung up on the Goddess

God, I’m a hopeless case— 

Where other mortals see 

Wave after wave of ripples 

Caressing the shore, 

In the foam of my mind I see her 

Multitudinous immortal nipples 

And still thirst for more. 

Calling Card

Where oh where are the cicadas? 

You can hear their quivering 

Insistence in the pines but never 

A sign of their presence in the air— 

Only their empty shells at the end 

Of summer remind you 

They too were there.