KILLING TIME

Into the Gagosian
A falcon perched
Upside-down, lilacs
Blooming unscented
The shiny steel of
A blank industrial
Landscape peering
From between thin
Trunks in an Aspen
Grove, back outside
On Madison Ave.
Having been stood
Up for a meeting
I head for the park
Miniature boats
Sailing lazily about
Ducks making silent
Wake behind each
Other, a towering
Foreign woman
Without bra, arm
Swung around some
Displeased hunk
Who even takes
The time to scowl
At yours truly, poet
Of the upper east
Side, at least for
The next twenty
Minutes, a child
Carrying a bear
Trips on an uneven
Patch of cobble
And miraculously
Lands with her face
On the unwitting
Animal, there is
A hot dog in my
Future, although
The general lack
Of relish angers
Me to no end

THE ECONOMICS OF FILM

Entered bodega
Just in time
To see man on TV
Kicked in the head
By horse, bought
A diet Pepsi, it’s
Tuesday again, I’m
Headed to the movies
Where I intend to
Pay for one, sneak
Into another, Lord
Do I love movies
Especially Herzog’s
As the clouds begin
To gather, waiting
On a pretty girl in
Sara D. Roosevelt
Park, desperately
In need of another
Haircut, the back
Of my neck gone
Fuzzy, much like
These curious trees
Their leaves turning
Bronze as October
Slowly approaches
A curtain of dust
Flung into the air
By the throes of
Construction across
The street, basketball
Courts abandoned
Benches peeling
Much like the trees
You will have to
Excuse me for this
Somewhat abrupt
Adieu, I still have
A sandwich to eat
Before the movie

WOODHULL

a single bird
a skeletal tree
the electric hum
of bugs thoughtlessly
occupied by thirst

this red barn knows
not that it is red
nor that its horses
are dead and gone

spiders freeze
like bullet holes
against the fence

my mind turns
delirious amidst
the dumb peace

of these country acres
sacred land lacking
the city’s raucous blur

the well on the ridge
is full of poinsettias
a crown of bees
crowding the bucket

the legs of the spiders
look like hairs trimmed
from a black mustache

I once knew a woman
with eyes like gems
in the fingers of a glove
I have misplaced them

as I have the bird
though the spiders
dare not move
as I am likewise

motionless while
the bees curiously
fly by

CINCINNATI AIRPORT BLUES

Clinton in hospital
Hurricane Ivan wetting
New York, here
I am in Cincinnati
Eating Corn Nuts
Across the aisle
From, I kid you not
Srgt. Deatherage
Would that I were
Joking this Tuesday
Evening, fresh
From the smoking
Lounge, crossword
Half done, halfway
Home, a towheaded
Child stumbling
In delirious circles
Much as I was wont
To do as a child
My own hair light
As sugar, limbs
Equally restless
As even now I find
Myself squirming
CNN billowing fuzz
A Duty-Free Shoppe
Hawking perfume
The flight delayed
Then cancelled
My eyes weary
Of reading, head
Reeling from the
Blood this country
Has reaped by its
Greed, Howard
Zinn’s People’s
History of the U.S.

DAZZLING MODICUMS

This Tuesday a movie
Hummingbirds I kid not
A man in an orange hat
Quiet with a shovel
The woman at the podium
A scar grimly bisecting
Her mouth, the drone
Of lively insects, a cup
Of coffee horizontal
On the table, motorcycle
And then none, no
Water humbly animating
The ditch, clouds
Gargantuan yet without
Threat, twitching green
Finches scattered through
The darker quills of the
Piñon tree, a passerby
Obliviously brushing
Crumbs from his lap
As the shapely legs
Of a beautiful woman
Enter the bookstore & I
Am no passive observer
Eye overwhelmed by
Countless peptides
The absence of sirens
Goes mostly unnoticed
The ghost of a tag
Lingers breathlessly
Against the adobe wall
Nothing is without
Its dazzling modicum
Of interest & that is
Merely the title sequence