Happy Hour

Happy Hour was days ago,

         that bottle of rye is empty.

All the glasses are clean,

         the ice long gone.

Then you smile,

         and I am drunk again.

The Watching Earth

The watching earth

releases words,

mouthed by a corpse,

telling of the Far-Away

where no door,

bolted and locked,

shuts out
foggy truth.

From a Harbor of Pleasant Aspect

From a harbor of pleasant aspect

         exploration began,

a search for an end of horizons.

Decades with spice and tales of exotic sex

         return with a tide

flowing with fragile secrets.

Such thoughts hung in a dark vault,

         together with journeys,
Far from the weight of noon sun.

Crows and Gulls

Crows and gulls

ride the wind’s hiss;

all soar together,

cautious wingtips

touch anticipation.

Feathers discover

the unseen lift.

How grand

you and I

have no need
of feathers!

What Lies Below

Smoke yellow moon
sailing on
San Francisco homeless
wrapped in fall leaves
and ragged shopping cart
chewing foil guarded
burger-n-fries
pause in a heroin fix
curling into the Geary Street night
green and red glow from
traffic lights
edging a pretense of xmas
up hill
at Masonic Avenue
searching cars for whiskey
predators
with easy change pockets
of all-night diners

What Strange Reality

what strange reality

grows from action

my fingers move

the universe changes

what strange reality

grows from action

my fingers move
and nothing changes

Wonder

wonder. does

wood in a wall

want to be

the tree again

sky soaks trees

in blue

trees soak sun

into green

wonder why green

isn’t skin color

wonder. should shadows

fall

with sound

crack of dawn silent

like thunder. light

carpet unrolling

colors

water looks

like sky

skin looks

like bark

that was

so we could hide

in trees