The Magnificent Magician

Don’t call me by my name—

Call me The Magnificent

Magician Of First Impressions,

where all the world’s a stage

and every player has his part,

where women played by men

no nothing of the difference,

where fragile lines seem effortless

written by the long hand of night,

where smoke is thick and endless

in the mirrors of wasted time.

Call me the Magnificent

Magician Of False Positives,

where anything seems possible

until commitment to the narrative,

where hope is built on trust

and not the other way around,

where kindness is a give and

not taken as an afterthought,

where love is solitaire

and not a solitary place to die—

Call me The Magnificent

Magician if you must,

where pain relies on burden

a burden I can trust,

and ABRACADABRA heals

this feeling of disgust.

I’m Your Huckleberry

If you told me then

We’d now be coughing blood

You know Doc, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Life in my 30’s

This morning I made breakfast

Pickled red onions

Deep cleaned the kitchen

Watered plants

And continued reading

Girl with a Pearl Earring—

I guess this is life in my 30’s.

WARNING: something I should have mentioned earlier

If you’re going to read me

Don’t read me with a grain of salt

Read me with the whole damn salt shaker—

Trust me, it’s for the best.

The Vatican with Friends, Rome 2012

Consciousness

If you’re not sure

then pause, wait

and listen to the sounds

of conscious—nothing—ness.

Muse

The underlying message

Before you fear the story

Or judge the storyteller

Look at the period in time

The story told was written

To fully understand

Without pride or prejudice

The underlying message

Seated in the summer sun

Seated in the summer sun

drenched in heat

reading a novel, alone

how sweet.

With memories of you

drenched in heat,

feet stretched out

along the beach.

Where in the summer sun

you’d sit and read

a novel too, my mother

sweet.

While you’d watch us kids

the swimming sea,

and how you read

effortlessly,

I never wondered then

like I do now,

how a quiet lesson

could teach me how.

I turn each page

my mind at rest,

my mother’s sun

warm on my chest.

FAWAP!

Awake now

on my back

thumbing through

Kerouac

rattle-tat-tat goes the rain…

While the birds chit

and others chat

another day’s here

Oh, what’s that Jack?

ho-hum-mum

FAWAP!

one page at a time.

I sit, and read:

—”Comparisons are odious.”—

sipping, my tea

with birds feeling studious.

It’s calm.

I am happy.

Counting my blessings,

one page at a time.

die a King in your fantasy.

I don’t want to be a burden

I just wanna sit here and read.

So if that’s ok

then the band can play

I’ll look up a couple times to see.

Everyone who’s silently cursing

checking out the latest feed.

There’s someone I knew

from another life

I look away so they don’t notice me.

It’s a living, a hard living

the barista says while pouring cream

a couple swirls and a twist

now there’s a swan swimming in my drink.

Guess I never really felt like drowning

I just swam in this misery.

I guess I can’t complain

I made my bed

skipped my prayers

now I’m counting sheep.

Guess I never really felt like dying

just romanticized how life could be

it’s like a game of chess

you protect the Queen

and die a King in your fantasy.

Cause it’s a living, a hard living

it could be worse is a common phrase

a couple riffs then applause

now the band packs their noise and leaves.

If I have to take a vow of silence

plead the fifth in double time.

With all due respect

I think I must confess

I cracked up like a nursery rhyme.

Still I can’t sing that song without crying

so whatever shall be shall be.

I guess the world’s the same

rinse repeat complain

the punch line never hit with me.

So if you’re living, a hard living

here’s raising this glass to you

and if you’re worried, don’t worry

there’s bound to be an answer soon.

Cause baby I don’t wanna be a burden

I just want to write my poetry.

Because I’m not a rock

or an island but

ain’t that the only way to be free.