if you can
make poems

pellucid  
             limpid
clear & direct
as fine cut glass

but

(simultaneously)

fuzzy as
the stuffing
in a Teddy Bear's
head

occasionally

something might
actually get said

  ~mce

we all enjoy
being birds
of brilliant
plumage
perched
prominently
on wires
in the wind

especially
when watchers
ohh and ahh
at us

but somehow
we never stop
imagining

a better wire
exists...
somewhere

  ~mce

my brain burns
and i can't sleep

too much poetry
too many difficult books

a part of my head
has popped open

i believe i have
a metaphysical hernia
brought on by
too much thinking

only one thing to do

truss it up tightly
and turn on reality TV

after a few episodes
my brain turns to mush
and the swelling
subsides.

brain dead bliss
not a synapse firing

absolute relief
of no thought

perfect slumber
of the seriously
stupid

sometimes your body wavers
becomes transparent as light

yet still somewhere
solid lovely flesh

in such moments
contradictions define us

and distance casts a shadow
black as lonely night

but we shall keep trying
until we get it right

until flesh and light
merge simply into living sight

and together becomes
a wholeness of delight

  ~mce

sometimes he wonders
why he lives this way

how he came to stay
alone with a silent cat
in rooms without ceilings
no plans less money
and debts to pay

waking to iron silence
at break of day

trying to fill it with words
that dance and play

old friends and lovers
dead or far away

loneliness
he cannot slay

somehow he simply
went astray

there isn't really
much to say

he couldn't tell you
why he lives this way

  ~mce

(Note: The first two lines of this poem were used by Diane Wakoski as a prompt for students in her poetry workshops. I couldn't resist the challenge. The result was this poem. Try it yourself.  - mce)

Next time we meet,
let's keep our clothes on.
Let us observe
the proprieties,
proper and Puritan.
Let us maintain
the distance of fools.
Let us smile
the waxed smiles
of corpses.
Let us pretend
we have never
danced within
one another,
have never sung
unlikely songs
of flesh and desire.
It will be awkwardly
exact and Victorian,
but it will be safe.
No heartbreak will ensue.
Next time we meet,
let's keep our clothes on.
  - mce

Take an instant,
a snapshot
or sound byte
from your life;
attach an emotion
or a thought;
couch it in
the fewest best words;
let it gestate
until your head
goes into labor
and it will
be born
like a real child
that is yours,
but has a life
of its own
and leaves you
to inhabit a world
you can never know
- mce

Man with no future
seeks woman
with no past
for mutual oblivion.
Please send
your qualifications
on a blank postcard
addressed to nowhere.
We shall see
how things progress
from there.
  - mce

Beyond
the inevitable
ravages
of time
all he can
remember
is the vision
of her slip
drifting
like a soft
white cloud
to the ground
and that
is enough.
  - mce

if only
i knew
where poems
are from
i'd go there
pick them up
like rocks
stuff them
into my socks
and hobble
home lame
and write
them down
for you.

  ~mce

hatchet-faced features
of the very young
who try to look tough
as they finger their guns

poised to step off
into a lie
and begin a walk
where any can die

the hidden mines
await their feet
poised to turn them
into lumps of meat

children really, barely
old enough to shave
with feet never farther
than a step from the grave

  ~mce

I have seen death's face
in many places
from Saigon to An Loc,
to the DMZ:
not by virtue, but luck,
he did not see me.

The others who fell
in those self-same places,
he surprised and snatched
away too slow to flee:
by the dumbest of luck,
he did not take me.

Now they are the forgotten dead
and I am old and weary
and worlds from Saigon
An loc or the DMZ:
my time and luck are running out
and slowly he turns his face toward me.

  ~mce

to create it requires
a dive of faith into
murky, unclear waters

to catch an undercurrent
unknowable
          but including
the possibility of speech

an unconscious enigma

like sorrow splashed
upon an alien shore

lost in the wilderness
of blind existence

arching ever inward

insufficient but
insatiably real

difficult
         but
entirely
          possible

~mce

just a hint of fever
and he recoils
                     recalls
when first the malaria
hit him like a
a dump truck full
of iron garden gnomes
left him shivering
                           sweating
swimming
                in pain deeper
than the greatest
                 Great Lake
before it broke and
he was smashed
                         flat
left crapulent and woozy
a still stagnant pond
where parasites
permanently
                   petulantly
           patrol
awaiting their turn
to make another visit
and say hello again hello

   ~mce

It is true that
poetry will never

buy you a beer
fix your flat tire
or pay your rent

but if you tend it
lovingly and well

it can blossom
and grow like a
gorgeous perennial

into the one
true friend

who will never
ever let you down

   ~mce

in truth
mostly nothing
ever gets done

those tasks remain
marking time like
stiff silent sentries

pointlessly patient

proof against doing

frozen by the hand
that neither waves
nor moves
         and legs
that will not lift
having lost

all interest in
maintenance

all motivation
for the mundane

hiding oblivious

safe and motionless
within the castle

of memory and words

Sometimes
silence
is a gift
to be
savored.

   ~mce

She was looking for poetry, she said.
I have some experience with that, I said.
I searched gallantly about
and presented her with trophies.
She looked through them.
Her hair was deep evening red
and her white skin translucent.
She wore a thin summer dress
of light green linen.
Choosing, she walked away,
thanking me for my help.
Never did I see her again,
but now she lives in one of my poems.

  ~mce

deep chill
of early morning

another
lost autumn
disappears

winter the
only promise

always kept

  ~mce

Yesterday it was night all day.

I wandered the streets naked, sweating,

throwing rocks at the moon.

I recognized a stranger who was myself.

I had nothing to say to him.

Indifference is easier in the dark.

Anyway, I'm just an anonymous passerby.

Nothing, not even the trees,

has cause to fear me.

Just an instant
twixt breath
and death.

In that living
blink-blink
let us lie
eye to eye

(moan to moan,
groan to groan)

so when we go
we will heart
happy know:

we were never,
not once,
not ever, alone.

Slip
(Love)
lightly,
silently,
naked
into
my soul
and let me
drape you
delicately
in the black
silken lace
of my heart.
  - mce

He can't afford a sacrifice,
the priests do not work cheap;
he's standing on the lip of Hell
considering a leap.
Will you walk beside him now
to the edge of the abyss,
and stay that final footstep,
preserve him with a kiss?
The money's gone, the game is up,
he's missed the gleaming prize;
there's cold within his lonely bones,
there's sorrow in his eyes.
He needs to know there's still a chance
to feel the brush of grace,
the lost caress of hopefulness
upon his aging face.
Throw the Tarot, toss the coins,
hear what the spirits say;
he needs a resurrection
on this January day.
So will you walk beside him now
to the edge of the abyss,
and stay that final footstep,
preserve him with a kiss?
For the world is gray and barren,
the land is deep in snow;
he's standing on the lip of Hell
with nowhere left to go.
  - mce

This bed
is narrow,
but my arms
are wide;
join me.
you are
always
welcome
here inside.
  - mce

Your body
clamps to mine
like a magnet
or an electric eel.

Feel the jolting
current bounce
and flow and
jerking take
hold of you.

Particles dance
us tighter
together
like fleshly
puppets.

See how we
clutch and
writhe and
grind, hum
like overloaded
lines.

No escape
once you
touch the
live wire.

And anyway:

nowhere else
you want
but here;
nothing else
you want
to be,

but a jello mold
of...

Quantum,
Quivering,
Lust.

- mce

Have you ever
stopped and considered
where all those
typewriters went?

I am just eccentric
enough to do so.

I imagine them in
a heap lofty as K-2
somewhere in
the Nevada desert
mothballed by the CIA
against the time
when words become
scarce and expensive.

In the meantime,
when the stars
align just right
they chatter out

massifs of sentences
that are only
published in silence

and read by rattlesnakes
and passing coyotes.

It is a such sad thing
to outlast your audience.

   ~mce

I jetted to Italy
last week to interview
sweet, dead Juliet.

So how is
that true love thing
working out for you,
I asked?

Not well, she replied.

Romeo is grown
old and cold,
his fingers like ice,
his kisses like stone
his ardent desire
sadly has flown.

I pointed out,
in all fairness,

You realize that
after 400 years
you are mostly dust?

Well then, she snapped,

make him into
a vacuum cleaner
that he might
**** upon my sweetness
as he did before.

You may call that
true love.

It was a disappointingly
predictable interview.

   ~mce

everyone thinks
they are unique

every trouble
and torment
theirs alone
to endure

until they open
a novel or
a newspaper
and find
their travails
already
experienced

suddenly, they feel
like they are
on some grand tour

just part of
a study group

with a tour guide
pointing out

the unknown
they didn't know
was known
that he knew

such a sudden
kick in
the ego's ***

  ~mce

she firmly
runs her
wet hand
up and down
down and up
its slippery
length

before placing
the spatula
on the cloth
to dry

  ~mce

god made stars
for starving poets

when they look up
they forget
how hungry they are

    ~mce

It was a
frustrating day
and I admit
I lost my head.

Yes, it's true.

I have searched
everywhere
and can't find it
anywhere.

Of course, I
must get another
for a
headless life
is just
too dreary.

So if you have
a spare and
would like to
give the
aforesaid head,
contact me.

I'll keep it
under my hat.

  ~mce

It contains
many volumes.
Women show up,
check them out,
but never
return them.
I keep hoping
one will
come back
and say,
do you have
anything else
by this author?
She will be
the reader
of my heart.
  - mce

~ for Paul Eluard

This prison isn't so bad.
Though the nights are cold,
tree roots break in to warm him.
The guards hum Mozart arias
which are profoundly comforting
and the food drives away
all expectations of hunger.
The sun is black but reassuring;
the moon has gone missing.
The books he doesn't have pass the time.
The caresses of absent women soothe his body.
Many birds choose not to sing
but invisible cats purr delightfully.
Often he is offered parole,
but can't imagine a better situation
and chooses to remain in his comfy cell.
Solitude sings sweet remembered songs
and all the trenches are far away.
Sometimes he misses the smells of flowers
but that soon passes and anyway
grass sprouts in the yard
surrounded by concertina wire.
Sometimes butterflies light upon it,
deliciously anomalous.
Nothing occupies him every day;
He is comfortable here and plans to stay.
   - mce

(This page
has been left
intentionally
blank.)

   ~mce

man sees crow

man writes
about crow

ain't no toad
but a crow
in the road

writing makes
Crow real

man eats crow

what else
remains
to know

  ~mce

Nothing to worry
about says my Doc.
Quite common.

Maybe so but
seeing me try to
read a newspaper
is like watching
a DoDo flap its
wings to fly or
a ***** attempt
to hold himself
together in
an earthquake.

Essentially,
I could easily
do without
these tremors.

  ~mce

I want to fill
you with love
until like a melon
you are full
and dripping
with sweet juices
so that when
I gently tap
upon your belly
I hear the word,
ripe, ripe, ripe
whispered back
to me.

  ~mce

I am the one
you light up for.

My staff stands
and strikes you
deep and hard
as a serpent.

I am the fire
that burns
away
your being.

You are the bush
that is never
consumed.

   ~mce

for Sharon Olds*

No one
in our time -
except perhaps
Leonard Cohen -
has written
so exquisitely
of Love, Lust
and Loss.

It is as if
you have
commandeered
God's voice.

What must
it be like
to know
the Human
so well?

Sweet Poetess
of illuminated
darkness;

your words
fall like stars
into the
dusky world
and brighten
each obscure
corner.

Such a gift
to be given;
such a gift
to give.

  ~mce

The Universe is compelled to Upgrade!
Stars, Nebula, even Black Holes must be Improved!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Sis Boom Bah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Sis Boom Bah!

It is risen! It is risen! It is Risen!

Most marvelous, miraculous divine device!

Forget turning water into wine... Lame!
Forget Muhammed moving that mountain... Lame!
Let Lazarus flop back into the tomb... Lame!

This is Miracle as it was meant to be!

Oh grand glorious God of International Capitalism!

The triumphant product of American Genius manifest
in the work of many skilled primates' foreign hands.

Truly an event of Startling Global Significance!

And you have stood like a lemming on methamphetamine
many long hours in the rain to be possessed by its majesty
and now it is yours, yours, yours, yours alone
for only $649 dollars plus a few hundred monthly.

Let all the bells be rung! Let high Hosannas be sung!

A phone so smart it was beta tested on the lobotomized
and made them look like slightly scarred Steven Hawings!

The apps that are available will explode your existence!

They can provide *******, wipe your ***, ******* you.
Yes! Imagine Siri willingly kneeling between your legs!

Oh, but what to do about that first important call or text?
It must be equal in loftiness to this Digital Masterpiece!

Perhaps command it to call Obama and implore him to gain weight,
or Alexander Putin to tell him a Polar Bear needs wrestling,
or perhaps God to tell him he is no longer necessary.

No, all of these are far too paltry for that first message.

Instead, tell Siri to search for the nearest Lunatic Asylum
and book as many cells as possible for self-obsessed consumers.

That way they can text and call in medically supervised bliss,
undisturbed until Apple provides them with the next Transfiguration.

It will probably only be six months from now... **Suckers.

If you miss
the pink of
the tongue
behind the
teeth behind
the throat's
entrance
so much
has been
lost.

  ~mce

a red pony
in a slate-grey
trailer behind
a blue
pick up truck
in the falling
rain

what else
can be said

  ~mce

Beauty is an
evanescing
vapor trail
against an
azure sky.

Be prepared
to notice it
or expect
to miss it.

  ~mce

If you are a
modestly successful
wage slave,

your soul will
soon enough
be crushed by
repetition,
boredom and
the rich.

Enjoy your
****** toys
while the register
still rings.

Only silence
will follow.

  ~mce

many flowers, only one blossom...*

the singularity
of it

even a king does not
ride the same mare
twice

each particular
and unique

each time a new
first time
whomever the
writhing body
beneath

whether upon

the car hood
or cemetery grass

behind a dumpster
or in a bed even

one's red ****
explodes
disturbed
only by a
ceiling fan

another clutches
screams and howls
out an aria

a third comes
silently with
giant moon eyes

tenderness
of thighs
and the
sweet wet
mystery
between

none admit
comparison or
nostalgia

each one complete
and unique

satisfaction is
not a number

whether one
or a hundred

even a king cannot
mount the same mare
twice

each woman
always singular

not one
ever twice.

quit needing,

quit wanting,

**** the rules,

be at peace...

The Way that can be named is not The Way.*

This cannot
be said, only
felt.

An old dog
sleeping alone
dreaming
of chased cats
past;

the red sun
rising like
a kept promise
in the east;

hot, brown
liquid in a
simple yellow
cup;

a woman's ***
surrounding
who you are
until you know;

the lulling coo
of mourning doves
lamenting.

Whatever
orders disorder
yet allows chaos
and makes
it good.

Whatever renders
the ordinary
extraordinary.

The inexplicably
deep awareness
of beauty in
an impersonal
universe.

A way to be
and a way to see

how to live
another day.

   ~mce

Do not despair:
the time is not
too short, the distance
not too far.
Stick to your plan,
each day add to
necklace of wishes,
the last may
bring your heart's
desire.

Mce

Find someone else
to do it.

  ~mce

It exists as
so much more
than just
a principle;
ask the Cat
in the Box.
Expect at least
three answers.
Accept them all.
  - mce