Eleanor, the Villain

You were a small mouse,

and a good mouse.

Though we never got to know each other,

you probably lived around my house.

Newark Poem Erat

We were champions,

naked and sweating after the beach,

in love with brick that cost too much.

What about that old and gone friend,

on the rooftop?

The spring (years later)

too quiet across the river,

calling it off,

finding books and selling music,

going-going-gone.

A heart beats stronger

in regular sunlight,

an overhead announcement,

a card game,

a box fan,

a reunion in California.

But there you are

you old concrete jerk,

my good for a weekend Bette.

Linger on,

your pale blue skies.

The decade,

you gorgeous wonders,

you angels,

my Northeast train tracks.

I'm always coming home when the streetlight turns on.

October, no sign of winter.

We kiss over the e-brake
on the corner of Echo Park
and Sunset
in a parking lot parade.

April, and the Jackaranda JIg

A clean, empty hole for the lepers to jump in--
even The Basin can get behind that.
Matches and newspapers,
and revisions to the plan,
the lepers' turn in the hole; no top,
just moonlight.

The blossoms sing soda shop on the tree limbs
while our coyote makes a nest of trash.
By dawn the young are born.
Something gives.

I'm a-goin'-ta move the ocean right up next to the fence,
and drop my line
into the Leper Sea.
A joke is only so-so in the heat,
but the marine layer is soft and funny.

A New York Story.

Hustle hustle hustle,

STOP!

Florida.

In and Out the Change Machine.

If the road gets flat and there's me and you on it, one of us will take the hard line--and the other will act like he never saw a thing.

Winter Gloves.