9467. NINE ACRES

NINE ACRES

Here there is nothing. 

Some maniac guy from

the land office came by 

to measure and charge.

But I threw him off,

saying 'Here there is

nothing.' All he could

say in response was

'You'll pay for this.'

-

I'll teach him : scurvy

headed monster, purloined

being, scribe of the Devil.

There are hundreds of

phrases I could use to

describe him. Enough

to fill nine acres

for sure.

9466. HOW IS IT THAT I NEVER MINDED YOU?

HOW IS IT THAT I 

NEVER MINDED YOU?

I tolerated the wind and the rain, all those

changing tides and the lashings, but they

were all things so annoying that they

always bothered me. How is it I 

never minded you?

-

Narrow lanes and slippery paths.

Things to be forgotten.

9465. THE BIG CLOG CONGLOMERATE

THE BIG CLOG 

CONGLOMERATE

Yes, yes, we generate money and jobs.

Oh boy. Your Daddy may have worked

for us, once. If you remember, as a small

boy, when he went off in the mornings to

work  -  that was probably us. The DeSoto

in the driveway, the Motorola in the den.

-

Did your Daddy have a wife, and you a

mother then? Why, yes, and that was us

too. The garden and the workshop. Little

sister's dancing school, Remember? It

was us who put the M in the M&M's,

us who made filters for that Kodak

lens. Big-time business, back then.

-

Now it's all ephemeral stuff, but still

it works : but we've got nothing left

here, just the welfare rooms and the

family assistance stamps, and those

we do out of guilt. America, the

Beautiful; that left on the last

boat out.

9464. A DEVIOUS POLESTAR

A DEVIOUS POLESTAR

I crashed the sea

in a violent boat.

There was piano 

music on my teeth.

9463. THE ONLY OTHER MAN I EVER KILLED WAS MYSELF

9463. THE ONLY MAN I EVER KILLED WAS MYSELF (nyc, 1968):

I had an unwitting energy and a manic propulsion to walk seaward - edge to edge the crazy island swarmed with people and water and as the two went together it was everywhere merged - men in dark coats trudging dutifully in early morning lights towards their rendezvous with 17th floor windows lit early with light from within - a yellowing light seen from below - and the lobbies of the many downtown buildings which took them in had as much eager activity inside as out - the newly married apprentice businessmen types learning their means and methods as they sorted through life (that new apartment on 21st and that new little lady left in the apartment) and career : everyone so serene and vacuous in the same way that they were striving and greedy to make it big : that slalom to the top regardless of who got hurt along the way and like a piston pushing from below the entire apparatus was one of profit/loss and accounting and making every and each tiny little dollar count for something - lawyers trained in laws used to sue and doctors seeking medicine which would make them rich and all about them too people were lined up to take part : soldiers and sailors and psychiatrists and counselors everywhere and wherever I turned there was something or someone needy showing up and people seeking advice from others while giving none themselves - taxi drivers impatient at red-lights staring ahead as they brazenly ran through them BUT YET for myself it was all different - I kept losing things and I could find nothing and so I had nothing just the endless declensions of Latin words the endless lists of encyclopedia entries and the scribblings in journals one after the other and picture postcards of things I savored : Empire State Building Chrysler Woolworth United Nations and the Savoy the Plaza the Algonquin the Pierre and the Waldorf or any of those grand hotels perched on nothing but air and filled with stories and everywhere I went there was something to take or get or see and bring back with me : yet again I was alone and singular and I literally had nothing NOTHING except these collections of junk mementos or the broken things I'd pick up on the street (by those counts I was wealthy indeed) and in such a fashion it went on - the endless turmoil of the Vietnam years and the people parading stamping screaming and steaming all along the streets and squares with protests demonstrations hunger strikes burnings and the rest - the mass of impractical rules and laws controlling draft and service and the wiry induction center on lower Broadway - the quaint and odd old building spired up like some new branch of an evil hell filled in its corridors with the dour and stupid bureaucrats of fake power and elan pulling kids in to churn them out as draftees inductees fodder to be killed and maimed for the Johnson/Nixon bullshit machine and I watched and stayed with it all - Nixon's proud yet stupid post-election and pre-inaugural President-elect set-up in the Hotel Pierre where he immediately began living like luxury like some fearsome King of old all puffed up with power and intent - no one stopped him and no one cared and six years after Kennedy another bullet in the head to him wouldn't have much mattered for EVERYTHING was spiraling down and I lived on 8th Street and I lived on 11th and I stayed at places all in between - 1st Street 14th Street and all the lofts and studios through the west 20's and places too on the eastside with its towers and doormen and money and presence : everything swarmed and in it all I swam : the police who swaggered through the park with billy clubs at the ready and the mobs of disenfranchised and angry nobodies who shouted back at them and the crazies who doused themselves with holy water and then screamed or the lines of girls at the Judson Memorial Church holding candles for the dead soldiers whose names were posted out front on a daily basis and there were no comrades-in-arms NOT because there were no arms but because there were NO COMRADES as everyone went diving for themselves and little else - quick-study romances wherein boy-rebel gets girl-rebel or hippie meets hippie and they happily fornicate forever - all it ever was was a nightmare kingdom of liquor and law and drugs and sloth and let no one ever tell you different - for yes I was there and yes I swam in the same oily muck as the rest and maybe (just maybe) the only man I ever killed was myself.

9462. MY BEST PENNY FARTHING

MY BEST PENNY FARTHING

I've lost my enthusiasm, you know.

From every town I visit, something's

missing. Askew. From Sayreville to

Stoney Point, all I want is you, or the

new, or the story of a real life point of

view. They keep the shapely skeletons

in the back. I found that out today.

-

I was having coffee on the street, a small

table for two in front of the shop. The

garnished people walking by, all alert

to their new infraction : everyone with

a story, the glass-blower guy in his

shop, the real estate lady who walked

by twice, each time with a newer

conversation and another interested

person. This skinny tattooed girl came

by. Sleeveless, of course, to show off

the ink, black tee, and the rest.

-

Sitting down like I'd known her for

life, she begins telling me her dog notes :

so depressed, adopted a dog, started a

business the very next week, the dog

lifted her up from the hole, they're great.

Pulls out her phone, pictures of her

dog, starts snapping mine. 'Dogs are

great,' she says,  and says it again. 

'Mine saved my life.'

-

Yes, well, OK. It's like that with 

submarines. Here's hoping they all 

rise to the surface, dogs or not.

One time, in Vermont, I was at 

Lake Bomosseen and truly wanted 

to drown. In that instance, I saved 

myself  -  a dog  having nothing 

to do with it.

9460. ALL THOSE THINGS PAST SEEING

ALL THOSE THINGS 

PAST SEEING

It happens every so often : yes. You meet

someone who is so ineffectual that five

minutes later you forget everything about

them, and in a few days cannot remember

a name or a face. Back in business days,

for sure. Some real sour losers came my 

way. But even beyond that, now, people

and places I should approach with some

import, they just slide away. I can't even

apologize or mention I'm sorry.

-

Like plum juice on a white table-cloth,

or a red wine stain and a white dress

shirt. That's the way the effective

presence should be  -  oh yeah, I'll

remember that. Come back again.

-

Everything now seems way too glib.

Talk has become a cheap monster, so I

only deal with the heart. I've got one of

them, and it's a good thing to have, keeps

straight beacon in the very worst of storms.

Makes me want to say : 'I'm not good with

names, but I never forget a heart.'

9459. TEMPERED HAZARD

TEMPERED HAZARD

Seeking a classical reference, the

young faun managed the jump :

as thorough as any other. It made

me think of the lady I once knew

who lived by the cemetery and

walked out each afternoon. I would

nod and she'd say hi : me, leaving, 

and her  -  who lived there  -  going

somewhere I never knew, each day.

It became quite a staggering habit,

and I always thought, had I not known

differently, she could be seen as

'leaving' the cemetery daily. There

was once a rhododendron there,

a bundle of dirt and all, being

thrown out from a nearby garden.

I took it home. It still grows here.

9458. ALL THE THINGS I HAVE MANAGED

ALL THE THINGS 

I HAVE MANAGED

Brought to the fore with nothing at all:

there's my message, drawing water from

a well with no water. No steps to get to

it either; just broken bricks and crumbly

blocks. I can't look down, because I can't

look up. My personal mathematics

holds equidistance sacred.

9457. UNTIL EVERYTHING IS GOOD AND GOOD AGAIN

UNTIL EVERYTHING 

IS GOOD AND 

GOOD AGAIN

I enjoy it all. Fuckin'-a I do. There's not

a point I'd miss or try and avoid. I love 

the thrill and the muck and the ooze 

and the fury. Like a warrior who sets

out for glory and adventure and then

never gets home again, oh well and

goodbye to all that. The light is

brightest where the flames burn

lightest. Or I think I've heard that 

said. That's little ole' firefly me,

buzzing 'round your head.

9456. REFINERIES

REFINERIES

Outside this window,

the refineries go dark

after hours. You'd think 

they'd run all night :

red flames on a dark

black sky.

9455. MADCAP GONDOLIER

MADCAP GONDOLIER

He was doing 90 in that bathtub of

grime you call a canal  -  Venetian

madness no less than happy. All

those lousy songs wrapped up in

a rag. Over there, on that bridge.

everyone stares at the hag  -  she

too is a local occurrence, out there 

almost every day begging coins.

She sings too, yes, but if you know

her Italian, they're all filthy songs.

9454. YES, THAT WILL BE FINE, I AM QUITE SURE

YES, THAT WILL BE 

FINE, I AM QUITE SURE

Oh do I have a thing about these late-night

reveries. I stand up, too late, and far. My

mind goes away. What stays is merely me.

All good things to the fore, the world is

changed. I harbor no doubts or anguish.

-

Someday, I tell myself, I want to write a

thousand new pages in one of these sittings -

where the moon peeks in, and where all those

daylight birds outside my window are now 

somewhere else in their dark.

-

There's a sound the night makes which speaks

only to my soul. Un-toiled and easy, I stay

awake thinking : family ties and not, stories

and lies, the lot. Every human parcel of what

I've ever been comes back to take a solace

in my being. Sense is grace in these terms.

-

No haste, no rushing, there is nothing.

That will be fine, I am quite sure.

9453. SAFE TO SAY

SAFE TO SAY

That noose was not hanging

on the tree limb yesterday.

How did it get there now?

My best intentions were to

keep that away. Have I failed?

Cheerios and caterwauls, high-fives

and good-luck kisses. All those

people who are my pains in the

asses, here they come again.

-

I've shined the belly-crap out of

this silver-plate, and I swear it's

brighter now than ever. Amen to

that and let's read a book together.

Someday, baby, it's just you and me.

-

Over the ledge, someone has thrown

a bundle. I can only wonder what it is.

9452. THE MENDICANT

THE MENDICANT

The private penance of taking 

from you, much like a beggar in these 

medieval streets. Flagellants and moaners, 

all those ex-king's-horsemen bewailing 

their fates. The moated walls and the

old solid bricks are all gone. We have

garments now thicker than that. 

And that is all that's left.

-

Such, such, how even language has

grown downward : we speak for

moments of message but have lost

the verbal elixir of paramount love.

Enforcement, and the sharing of

presence. I find this globe too lonely.

Find for me again, the ancient oak.

9451. PASS THE HAT

PAST THE HAT

Beneath that tree, the angel.

There was a magic gift brought

forth, as I tried being gentle  -  and

the voice said to me, 'You need do 

nothing, just wait, and it will be

coming to you.' Treasured words,

if only they were true. I believed 

nothing of it at all; but if you won't

believe an angel, who will you believe?

9450. BUSONI SCORE

BUSONI SCORE

Streetscape city-slogger, that's the one. 

Me. And so, from that, I've met Goethe,

and Aladdin too. It's just like this in the

nether world I live. Music, being the

food of life, I starve. Or something.

-

People walk away, shuddering  -  too

hard to read and too strange to understand, 

thatman with the three left hands and the

St. Micahel smile. Oh Lord, why me?

-

My radio plays 1962. And I cannot get out.

9449. FOR THE LIFE OF ME

FOR THE LIFE OF ME

(soldiers)

I guess, it is, the fact, reveals :

for the life of me I've settled for

too little. 'Guns and butter,' as

they used to say in the Johnson

years. It was a type of 'either-or,'

but they never knew it. Money for

murder in Vietnam, or money at

home for things on the table.

-

I just went on. Walked away with my

head held high  - some screwed-up

High-Noon showdown with the metal

men in their military towers. I couldn't

even believe these guys went home

at night, and talked to their children

and made love to their wives.

-

Nothing made sense. Whitehall Induction

Center, and then Broad Street, Newark.

They had me locked up in chains, like

Charlie Manson and me were friends, 

or at least the Boston Strangler and me

hung out. The guy driving never spoke

at all. The two others guys, in their

military lapels, all they did was smoke.

Their pinched-lip, greasy-faced logic

spewed forth in a Stalinesque version

of alternate reality I didn't understand.

-

'Our country needs defending but not 

from the likes of you. You will be showed 

the way or showed the door...' Yeah, yeah,

that was the point  -  I'd already chosen the

door but they didn't get it. The horror for

me became the fact that they didn't even

realize where the damn door was. In that

vein, fifty-eight thousand others died.

9448. COME FORTH

COME FORTH

Come forth from the King of the Past the

man said  -  he nodded as he talked. I'd

seen others who spoke like that, and never

liked it at all. Pedantic nitwits and the

know-it-all sorts. Up front of the room,

everyone was watching him, but no one

cared. If Lucifer had a pale brother,

it could have been him.

-

So I listened as I boned up on his math.

Not the kind of thing I liked to do; the watching

of his dumb chalk-dust fly, noticing his nerves

of steel, the pointed attitude he kept towards

all things 'beneath' him. I was willing to

bet he'd not had sex until he was 26.

-

That's the sort of white trash we get left with

now  - the right and most proper ones, who

call it all down. Ring around the rosy, a

pocketful of posies; ashes, ashes, we

all wear a frown.

9447. EARL OF ORANGE

EARL OF ORANGE

At five in the morning I don't want 

to know much. The slide-show of a

new sun coming up, and the daylight

slowly blossoms, as I realize it's only

already another six weeks before it

all starts sliding backwards again.

Boy, am I a pessimist.

-

All that glass half-empty or glass

half-full stuff, oh that burns me up;

wise-guys pretending it's so very

important how you answer one way

or the other : I always figure, after

thinking it through, no matter HOW

you answer, either way you look at

it that glass is twice as big as it

needs to be.

9446. TOO MANY JOKES OUTSDE

TOO MANY JOKES OUTSIDE

It's here, the cold has gone away and the

new sky tries breaking; flowers and the

rest all lined up and ready to go. I

guess that's how it's done. Who's

running a restaurant with a garden 

outdoors? Not me. They want to

bring in a  -  what they call  -  

'Luthier.' For some medieval

and mystical musical touch. At

first, I thought thy meant some guy

to start reading from a self-translated

Bible. Could be fun, Luther and all.

'In the beginning was the worried'.

Like that....and God said, 'let that be,

right?' All sorts of funny stuff.

-

Just over there, ruining the entire

God-damned scene (another joke), is

the asphalt truck the town keeps bringing

by. Paving the Dickens out of some new

garden to make it look 'au naturel.' As

soon as the bulbous town worker said

that, I knew it was wrong and he too had

screwed up. Unless he was paving in

the nude. But then again, how did Adam

and Eve get those fig leaves to stick?

And why? I figure they already knew 

what was there. 'Stand back, Eve, I

don't know how big this thing gets.'

First night fun in the Hotel Eden.

-

A priest, a minister, and a rabbi are 

playing golf. The rabbi excels, the 

other two stink. 'How'd you get so 

good?' they ask. He answers, 'You

have to convert, and go to temple

school. They do so, and a year later,

playing again, they still stink.

-

The rabbi says, 'Where'd you go?'

They say, 'Temple Beth Orr.' H

scoffs  -  'No, no, you have to go

to Morath Shira. Beth Orr is

for tennis.'

9445. HOBO NOMENCLATURE

HOBO NOMENCLATURE

The first to claim will be the first to get.

Harry's his name, and he ain't dead yet.

-

Darned if you do yet damned if you

don't. He told me that's what they

mentioned as they handed him food.

I said, 'Well, they will, or thy won't.'

-

I figured the Constable was from

Constantinople and that was where

the misunderstandings stemmed.

-

The law can't be one thing here and 

another thing there -  or maybe it can?

It seems that's always how those fool

guys get themselves in trouble.

-

Not enough to be playful; maybe only

with dogs or cats. These three men were

doing number puzzles under the sheeted

remains of the place they had slept.

Making fun of names. Soduku? Kendo?

I think that's what I heard.
-

The first to claim will be the first to get.

Harry's his name, and he ain't dead yet.

9444. HADES COUNTY, GEORGIA

HADES COUNTY, GEORGIA

Went there once with a ringer from

home : two derelict Jersey kids on

a trolling exposition. Feeding on

snakes and dolphins and fire water

too. Got tangled up in something 

ugly as it all went down. If Georgia

has its Iliad, if Georgia has its 

Odyssey, I'm in them both.

-

I don't have a gentle poker hand.

I slap and growl and throw 'em down.

They eat at pretzels who try to stay

calm. The lights go out where the

Devil went down.

9443. NOW IN THE SUMMER SUN

NOW IN THE 

SUMMER SUN

The light is blinding and my

heart, it soars. I left the ground

so long ago. This new green

oasis, so rich  -  I want to

call it home.

9442. TOUCH MY SHOES

TOUCH MY SHOES

Break them, oink them, grease them

and polish them too. I don't care what

you do. We can put them on a clothesline

as art if you'd like. My shoes have paid

dues. They have a right to be anywhere.

What I'm talking about is the blue-sky

path to my new harem. There, you have

to take your shoes off. Go ahead. Break

them, oink them, grease them and polish.

I don't care what you do. We can put them 

on a clothesline, if you'd like, as art. My

shoes have paid dues. They have a right

to be anywhere. What I'm talking about

is the blue-sky path to my new harem.

There, you have to take your shoes off.

Go ahead. Break them, oink them....

Well, you get the gist, and you can do

this all day; ad infinitum, as they say.

9441. ARMIES OF FIVE

ARMIES OF FIVE

Like a bitch, my teeth hurt, my

tongue rots, and I can't swallow 

things. It's five past whatever it

was five past yesterday at this 

time.  And. I. No. Longer. Care.

Bring me those breach-birth

forceps here, and let my put

two dents into your new kid's

skull. 'Gripper-holes' we can

call them  -  starting something

new. Like. A. Trend. A tattoo

under my tongue that reads,

'under my thumb.' Yes, it's a

mistake, but we knew it was 

wrong and no one would see

it here. O. U. C. H.

-

I want to marvel at the 

Marvelettes, and wonder at 

the Stevie Wonders in your

mind. C'mon, baby, let's go

downtown; we can watch

the hot dogs on the grill.

9440. MY UNCLE SAID

MY UNCLE SAID

My uncle said to me, 'You are full of

pain.' We were driving in his Chevrolet,

a new, company-supplied Impala, about

1966. I didn't say anything back, yet

I knew he was probably right.

-

I suppose it was a good intention 

that made him say that; even though 

he was usually pretty angry and harsh. 

But, if it brought to him some satisfaction,

I guessed I didn't mind, and I'd survive. 

I just didn't know why it always had

to be me who was born the martyr.

-

I could have turned on him, grabbed

the wheel and crashed us into a tree or

a guardrail, after smashing his foot 

down on the gas for a high-speed crash.

What could he do about it? In reality,

he was just as much my captive too.

-

There were ten or so years, back then, 

I didn't care to go living on; just wasn't

man enough to do it to myself. Yeah, you

get like that around the magic lights of

singular space and time  -  when you're

that different that the whole world mauls

you, twists and ruins everything up.

-

It's a certain form of speechlessness that

takes over - just nothing worth saying or

talking about, everything is dead or dying

or Death itself already. Who wants to live

in a swamp like that, especially being 16

or so and full of life in so many other 

ways. Destiny and fate together; they

conspire, and they really suck.

-

I wanted to just walk off, after calling him

a jerk. But I couldn't  -  there's always a

certain level of respect that stays in place,

even though he wasn't blood or anything to

me; just a guy who married in by marrying

one of my crazy, ridiculous aunts. Nothing

to do; the type of thing you stay with.

-

I've always wanted to just stop things, and

sit people down and really talk  -  not just 

talk, but level with them. Past all niceties

and manners  -  about the meanings of life 

and time and matter and being. Yes, I know

all that stuff. I come from another place, 

and those answers are built right in, all

'hardwired' as you guys now would say.

9439. FREE UP THE TATTERSALL

FREE UP THE TATTERSALL 

The broken man wears his fabric out :

a shirttail shirt gleaming in the light,

an Irish rover who can never grow dim.

I dip to groan. I imbibe the jive. I

hip to hop. The next tongue I see,

I swear, it gets chopped.

-

There's no origin like an old origin,

all made up and filled with crap. I 

once lived here, and I did all that.

9438. THERE IS NOTHING LEFT

THERE IS NOTHING LEFT

In my land there is nothing left. The

martyrs have all been taken out, and

only a few Spring birds are singing. This

land is lit by the TV light and a million

empty faces staring down. At the end

of every street, there is a trench.

-

Magicians once used to gather; talking

softly among themselves over ways of

making things disappear. Come back.

Disappear again. Almost at will, they

too are now dispersed to shadows.

-

There's a balloon man who comes 

around my block  -  he wanders empty, 

with nothing in his sack. Were he Santa 

Claus, he'd get away with that, but as it 

is  -  and as he is not  -  he too is now a 

wanted man. Shame, and fie on that.

-

In Frenchtown once I went into the 

decoy store. Nice old guy, gay as a

stick, running the place by telephone.

Duck decoys, carved and painted,

everywhere. Thousands of dollars

each, not at all and nothing cheap to

be thought about. His planned deals

were all upon the telephone; the store

was just a place, for browsers and the

'Frenchtown types' who come around.

-

I stayed an hour as he kept on talking.

I'd seen his type before  -  like any old

Greenwich Village flamer, ready to bond

forever with the latest guy he'd seen. I get

a kick out of those types, and can never

get enough. it's all a memory now, yet

I know he's still there now. Talk is

the show, and the show is all talk.

-

Anyway, back to the rest : there is nothing

left. we've run out of spices and gold;

we've exhausted the mortars and pestles,

and the claviers and harpsichords, 

they too have now disappeared.