Out Of The Dark Spaces Where

intricately

bunched 
together 
crammed 

with- 
in thin 
slits be- 
tween white- 
washed stones, 

cyclamen now 
poke baby pale pink 
faces through, craning 
their fragile necks 
to get a sneak 

preview of whatever 
else is blooming 
out there simply

plain in view. 

Blues In The Night (Dispossessed American Troubadour)

Oh my love was like 
A red, red shaggy coat, 
A shroud that kept me 
Warm and rosy— 
Now I’m alone, down 
And out and blue, blue 
As a body can be, 
A corpse in the cold 
White wraps of winter. 

Vocational Training: What's My Line?

Ok, let’s say we’re 
Three crows all

Cawing on 
A lone telephone line— 

Carrion spotted.
Two leave, one’s left

To continue 
Calling all maws 

Up and down
This lonely calling

Of a line, now doesn't
That sound fine? 

KO'd On Tin Pan Alley

A lyricist is boxing 
Poetic your ears with in- 
Sane strains of music 
Out of this world
As waxing delirious

Sirens wail in the corner
Poised to throw in the towel 
While you rock back and forth 
Rhythmically timing the moment 
You hit the floor. 

Hopeless Fall Guy

So many false and trivial 
Things lie strewn before your feet 

Believe me, it’s hard not 
Falling head over heels 

For them, much better you 
Take them seriously and stay 

Just where you are,
A lifetime honorary 

Upright citizen 
On Easy Street.