Instinct & Irony

Why does a dog chew a bone

or a cat toy a string

why do people do anything

other than sing—

why does sitting alone

in a park, on a bench

have to feel so good

when nothing makes sense,

but the sound of laughter

and a boy up to bat

while his father he cheers

hearing the crack

and the shadows with grace

dance light over page

of a passage familiar

as if written for me—

it’s instinct of course

the cat toying string,

and by the end feels pleasure.

But people write poems

and think too much,

they suffer alone—

ironically.

friends from strangers

Now I make my friends from strangers

who hardly ever consider my passing,

who instead make plans to bullshit

and practice talking casually in the park.

Teen’s Wet Dream In The Sun

There’s grass and flowers blooming

in Magnolia park

And this absent minded feeling

while the sky grows dark

Lily pads and grapefruit

growing in the yard

Fences form a fortress

full of dull remorse—

You left me standing idle

like a broke down car

Listening to Layla

watching shooting stars

Visions of Johanna

all just fell apart

Romanticized by healing

and those tarot cards—

Now I’m drinking nightly

at an empty bar

They gentrified the valley

and closed the bodega

I still see you smiling

from the bedroom floor

Hailing that taxi

with a broken arm—

A tincture of illusion

pressed beneath the tongue

Awakens the compulsion

to hold a smoking gun

There’s two sides to the story

I’ve got another one

The party’s in the distance

Teen’s wet dream in the sun

A Simple Game

His thoughts were tailored by

The absence of himself

Her words sincere but from

The mind of someone else

Each clicked like a chess clock in the park

Played by strangers in the nude

It’s a simple game we complicate

When we react before we move

Her thoughts were tangled by

The silence in the room

His words unclear because

They sounded from a tomb

Each fit like a shadow in the dark

Exchanging others clothes

It’s a simple game we complicate

What we wanted with the truth—

I’m not a gambling man but I’ve played a hand or two

I’m not a fable or myth but I’ve read what sounded good

A tired man sits idle in the park asking questions with his eyes

I’m not that man in the park but what separates the two?—

It’s a simple game we complicate

When we react before we move

It’s a simple game we complicate

What we wanted with the truth

Communion in the Park

Men in the park

grip brown paper bags

certain as Catholic nuns

grasp their faith,

both counting one

by one, until neither

makes any difference

in the course of eternity.

Two paths, one park bench—

Angelic in their own rite.

A walk in the park

What looked like yesterday

out a kitchen window I saw

tomorrow and everyday

moving forward

as carefree as

a walk in the park.

Key West Florida, 2020

Artistic illusions

Make my bed

Spread the sheets

They are white

They are clean

There’s a nestle of bird

Who sing softly and sweet

There are bills

To be paid

Overdrafts

To be made

But I’m conscious today

Knowing that rot can wait

I have given enough love, I’ve wrestled with the thought

Spared quarters like rain to a cynical saint

I’ve got no time to spare

All this death in the air

Has me feeling quite good, transcendentally great

Forgive me but truth is

Artistic illusions

I’ve no cross to bear climbing trees and it’s clear

That I

start to see past

The sun and moon

The sky opens up

There’s nothing left to do

This closure’s my mantra to you.

Wash my face

Clean my teeth

Knock on wood

Once a week

There’s a pub inn Philly

Where I dug my own grave

Comb the depths

Of your hair

Try and act

Like you care

I’ve been watching your play

Mixing tonic with pain

You have given enough love, so much work to be done

Put your suitcases down, for a while and remain

Like a park bench in autumn

Or leaves that have fallen

I’ve got proof there’s a cure, you just gotta find yours

Forgive me but truth is

Artistic illusions

It’s a tale to be told, when you’re young and your bold

And now I’ve

Got to go back

To the way I was before

And now you’ve

Got to go back

To the way you were before

This closure’s my mantra to you.

together in the sun

Perhaps we could each

bring blankets to the park

sit far enough apart

so that our shadows can lie

together in the sun

—pure and untouched—

like before we knew

each other’s name.

Grey hours of day

What’s there left to say

on days like today

Where everything stops

the light just turns grey

The moon and the mind

become one entwined

with fear as bright as the stars

So come with me now

still I have my doubts

But isn’t it fun

sometimes to run

Where no one can see

just listen to me

for once I’ve got nothing to say

It’s all just

too much to take

On days as grey as today

Where no one

gets what they want

they all just walk in the park

Ain’t it better here in the dark?

There’s a place and a time

in the back of my mind

where you and I hide

when you’re so inclined

It’s a place where the grey

hours of day, commit not to say anything.

So come with me there

forget all your fears

Knock-knock orange you glad

I’ve got the blues bad

Just stay with me now

and let’s talk about

anything other than this

These days I don’t think I’ll miss.

sad suburban father’s

There’s a black cloud hanging over

the boys playing in the park

While they argue who is correct

mothers watch them from afar

Now there’s Billy screaming loudly

clawing at this boy named Mark

Who his mother she is absent

somewhere screaming in the dark.

It’s a Sunday what a fun day

boy let’s pass the ball around

He’s a shy son name is Ricky

staring at his father now

He is pitching like a Yankee

throwing hard with all his might

All the while there is Ricky

scared to death screaming inside.

There are blue jays singing robins

bugs and inchworms puffy clouds

On the playground there are children

swinging madly laughing loud

Cause it’s Sunday what a fun day

to be playing in the park

Except for Ricky, Billy’s mother

and Mark crying in the dark.

Now the children they all line up

ice cream bells ring all around

He’s a kind man I mean probably

he just smiles at the crowd

Screw-ball sundaes chocolate cookies

candy gleaming in his hand

For the children ask no questions

they just stand and stand and stand.

Now the mothers call the boys in

from the awful looking cloud

Billy’s mother reprimands him

as Mark’s mother has a cow

Oh your father she is shouting

Ricky hears her from afar

As his father whips a fast one

knocking Ricky to the ground.

There are stars now spinning circles

sending shivers down Mark’s spine

While his father who is furious

warns him hell boy you’ll be fine

As Mark stands and sees the dark cloud

fill with light ready to burst

Cats and dogs rain down around him

he thinks what’s he who’s on first.

So the moral of this story

is not what keeps you in line

It’s the people in the park who

I do not wish to define

They are people who like people

look quite normal in the park

While the sad suburban father’s

dingle dangle in the dark.