V

Les Boutons D'or

Vines grow up the impression of walls
stucco white and twinkling with beads of light
your eyes of stars and blackest sky kiss the night
the arc of time and the old house of dew alive
your lips reflecting the blossom of endless white bulbs
the trees have been here for hundreds of years
but you and I are here tonight an ocean and see away
from home     brush strokes paint the story of your smile
a memory of many pasts, the canvas over my heart

IV

the Vegetable Alibi

It looked like my rucksack
     in an alleyway
                             but in Gap, France
mildewed green canvas
   hand sewn patches

it slouched against a medieval stonewall

two Provencal cops hitch up their
heavy lead pants
                            interrogating the
owner of the bag about a head of lettuce
in his hands
                    how could he be eating such
valuable produce?
                              was it stolen?
your tattoos were backed by the Cote dAzur

they were here to give you
a hard time     sadly

your lettuce had an alibi
the market next door vouched for your
ownership

the cops tugged on their bullet proof
detective skill, 'don't be here when we get back,'

they said,

                 merci
you pulled sadly at your beard
to the rhythm of their footsteps     hiked
bag onto shoulder
its empty stomach sagging--

    c'est bon c'est bon c'est bon 

--to forage for another stretch of pavement
         in another sunless alley
in this decayed

somewhere

III

the Med. at noon

After eating sardines
at a cafe along the beach--
   
     the salty breath
of the sea
the salty fish scales
     fish bones
old world bones float on

--dip into
gentle rolling waves
a sea somewhat thicker and heavy
after lunch
                  lurching blue waves
saltier than I would have
imagined

II

Alps

What of me is part of this old world?
     sleeping
beside me in the car
                                 my wife
she is growing
    inside her
beside me
                 my son is growing

there is not a piece of me here
these mountains are strangers
they have lost me long ago

my ancestors
divorced you

I go forward through your passes
     they are like scarred tombs
   
 crossing the Alps I see
I am something new

even with your stony ancient glare
you could not know
me

Some poems from France I

Taking a shit

the first thing I did
as an

American in
France

umfiction

I have been sick
for over a week

the news tells me I have coronavirus

CoviD-19 it talks to me
all hours of the day

under order
I am home watching it talk

24 hours a day     I have congestion
that has left my throat and
found its way into
my nasal cavity

MSNBC has me waiting
for chest pain with every cough

when the narrative find me
I will be ready

I have been sick
for over a week

best case scenario
I will be able to blog
about my quarantine
in the new york times

Foreclosure

NOw
          there is no where to go

the clouds reflect our prison
like crumbled
                       aluminum foil

we cannot chew through
this metallic fog
                           the sparks
make lightning of our
teeth
         that chase the squirrels
away
         hidden beneath the earth
the seed is more important
than the disease
                         
                           noW yellow
daffodils droop over rotted
leaves
            coughing into graves
of potted earth
                         there is a distance
unassailable in our future

for the spring cannot
out wait the
rain

life.

never moving backward;

you run away from me with
this reckless smile
that sometimes I think is
the saddest beautiful smile because
there's something so fleeting
in watching it so spontaneously
and genuinely react and change
tongue pressed against teeth
the hissing sound of joy
of giggled air explosion
into uncontrolled laughter
and squeals

no moment frozen in memory
just continual movement forward
time's effort to leave me behind and
you won't even realize it
until you're old like me and you
see how like a mushroom I can
only be the stem and you looking
out from the bulb won't see
I've atrophied and pushed you
into the future where beneath
the shadows I watched you
grow and

                 even now the years have
begun piling up and soon you will
not remember what it was like to be
held and I'll always have that memory
like a phantom pain watching you walk
so lovely on your own but recalling
how it was in those beautiful days when
you needed me and raised your arms
to call for my embrace and breathed
the slightest sign of relief when your
head rested on my shoulder
and I could whisper in your ear
that daddy loves you

Lunar new year

they were going to face the great goddess
to the sound of snapping mahjong chips

three generations sleep in line in
adjacent room

it was the new year

fireworks cracked 9 floors below
becoming old words spoken in the future

ancient thrusters roared to subtitled
narration

neil armstrong placed one foot gently
on the surface of the moon

lovers

across the bay
dressed in fluorescent light
a betelnut girl waits in the late
afternoon sun to plant red lips
on a fisherman collecting
seaweed in the hazy morning
of the opposite shore

artifact

one wheel leans off curb
parked at angle

beside rice paddy field

footsteps depress through mud

in the distance foggy clouds slip off tree-
topped mountains to outline

a mosquito banging its head against
window

the road ahead is closed to flood

dues

We talked for many years. I moved from a room into a room that became another room. The last room. I was until then not accompanied by many voices. Now I was alone. The bodies were still there. They were still aging but they made no sound. I tried to groan. The empty space around me filled with furniture and mirrors. The room adjacent had opened. From it came the light. I entered backward into my former self. I had many more years to go. I smiled like i was the same. I pulled down the windowless shades. I laughed at the smooth beige walls. We talked again for many years. We buried the house without touching ourselves. We had never reached the point.

drag

arc ack
the drag out back
wouldn;t you know
it; clean
like an alleyway
from above only
the slightest hint of
cracks if you
focus right on the
periphery no bottle
is broken
underfoot or pressed
to mouth
they're all perfect
gourd shaped
heaven UNYIELDING
nature growing from a
concrete schism like a yard
sale;  this alone
does not prove the version
seen is fake just RELATED to
other static commas
coughed out onto that field
between sidewalk and street
a NATURE of problems
growing trash
hack watered down
with acid rain

dream of a dream

this event is taking place
in a spasm of time     unlike
a dream    i can walk up stairs
without leaning against
a wall      feeling the cold wet
paint against my cheek    carrying
a son to bed    there's a man with a
large feline head waiting in
shadow     this place is carved
out of a nook in my memory
i have been there daily
but here it is never the same
it is unnerving    without
footing     purchase    relief
concrete    there is a realness
to it that is grating    like words
whispered in the dark    failure
fatherhood     around each turn
the hallway creaks    yawns
air heavy and black felt-like
and suffocating     heat
regrettable death

RAT TRAPS FOR SWEET MEATS

waked by mother jones
entombed on a sign post
faced to national guard posts
back against the combined might
of the Pentecostal awakening
broken by the sea of automated engines
selling their gooey insides to
the lowest bidder
balanced on one iron leg she stands
CHAMPION OF LABOR
a block away the US army
barricades itself inside
protecting the most important
AMERICAN ASSET
its PRECIOUS WALLS
its PRECIOUS SOUL
she is unaware of the years slowly eroded
or the yellow grass beneath her
the doldrums of Mays forgotten
half lit on radiator screens
brushed over by calloused finger
she was once MOTHER of ALL
the sad chain gang of FLESH MACHINES
bred in factories
worked in conveyor belt fields
dreaming fabulous MECHANICAL dreams.