my thoughts scattered like chaff in the wind
dandelion seeds in a spring breeze
when you first spoke to me

"deep in thought, are you?" you ask, smiling
the cafe was suddenly so loud
your eyes so bright
life so vibrant

i smile back, nervously hesitate
(is this happening!?)
then "you caught me
lost in the urban sprawl of my mind
it's nice to meet you, i'm sean"

but before we could touch
you disappeared down a side street
lit by neon signs; red, pink, blue
and i realized you were just my fantasy

a desire, too good to be true

---- 2023 youtube I wonder if, and lo': The Planets
A grand background orchestra, mental direct
there, you hav it, too, listen, a few times,
just in the mood, to listen
maybe as you get, that it starts at Mars,
begin as we
think we
Read this at your pace the writer advised,
and I did, a couple of times,
like long stuck records…
To Holst, an offered libation,
to all the minds whose words
are music as big as any mind
limited by my unknowing,
only
using, the truth, music, leading after words,
through ever away,
silent for a now,
or so,
from the Sun, past the fragment,
the single lump at the core,
of the process,
Ash as
Icarus, and Hermes, speedy messenger,
such as see thee, hold the knowledge holy,

watch, see, the wandering planets Holst,
might have seen today,
looking through my eyes,
wordless, right on, so far, as we

agree, there
is power in the mind that writes and reads
music,
power alloted some in blind feel,
power exuding from an ever in times past,

lasting ever tones thinning, spreading, patterning
perfected harmonies unexpected
yet
taken as granted, felt, in passion y sympassion,
same sound,

my once known wind, my bass oboe player,
acquaintance, who called me by name,
accusing me, subtly of not knowing,
there is a forest of low stature,
and there are missions there,
where if you pray,
they feed you twinkies… I recall, between
Venus and busy laughing Earth,

I remember Mars is next,
I am ready, I went into the dark kitchen,
back of the Mission on Fourth Street,
across from an Electra Records Billboard…

ifery approaches, Holst has not gotten me to Mars,
I am pulling in an experience, from a mission,
on Fourth Street, in a mindtimespace shared,

as of yet, by a few, who will know the place,
the ******* Mission, the one
with the Joker who used rats,
to get a startle response,

and at exactly the wrong place, for men with
certain
kinds of sure thing reactions, to diabolic attacks.

2023, approaching Mars with Lou Holtz, I thum thum
thummin wearin' my Razorback hat,
Inter Planatary Hwy 71, to Joplin,
ur in my realm.

Bass every thing slow creep slow, seep as sludge,
to the edge, and look beyond,
this is it, this is the Earth,
we shall survive!

We slay the unbelievers and fake it til we make it,
right, kids?

---------- longhair music, epicyc-lical as neckties,
to male tipped stacking schema for *****,
or stones,
or crystaline tones accompanying the heating up
of life's core cargo cult's last load,

Holst, bass trombones,
here, is the dance of little devils with a mind to make
a difference
in the depths of ever after,
up to now,
I had forgotten the piccolo parts, and the French horns,
and the joy of the big parade,
marching off
to war explore the unknown
for exploitations as per the underling theme,
go forth
subdue the Earth, and conquer all who refuse, to say
this is the way,
this is the good old way,

war
glory and honor, earn the urim'nthummin'n'human
inhumainity, we, the chosen warrior beings,
messengers of differing mocking gods of ****** mud
beyond the final river,
every slogger knows, forever, there remains
one more
river to cross, a final thread to tie to you, listener,

Holtz, still in the background, a journey, what price
each player plays in this, orchestration shared,
as I read, I wrote, as I hoped, I did,

and I remain, giddily glad… my side won the war
I lost.

Peace came, unbidden, apparently,
a deep breath, and harp strings,

this is the future from any ever before, now
to know
this is common, not so rare, as even the idea,
not so long ago,
first radio mono performance,
what child lay in the crib and heard this,
through the grand horn of Gram's Gramma phone.
Y''ello,
toldja, ai ain't no Injunsaint. Pretend, then,
right, ai and mai-y grandma

can piece together some occassional lessons, given us,
she in her time telling me in mine,sssince ever about
I was forty-nine, or so, she told me she was an orphan,
and had no family knowledge, past begins
at the last common thread,
to a native american epic,

when the old deluder, Satan, act, attached
to law and order and rectangular resettlement
of wilderness liberated from savages and beasts…
pawn, both steps, dare… help the Macedonians
and take Uncle Tom wit'cha, whicha oughtn't had
never the less, young wombed men, did tend
to become aspirational, after becoming
inspired read-up young wombed men, hot
to seek adventure, teachin' young'n's, out west.

indistanct depth Holst at the kettle drumms softerafter
- the silent version has a different light show
--- circa 1880's, not historically long ago, most places.
This character,
qwerty guy's friend, has kin as close as my Uncle Cebe'n'me,
who died at Wounded Knee, where my liege republic,
honored some two dozen rapid fire cannon supported
avengers of The Seventh Cav!
And in their hearts,
if not their lips,
was the march in time to Garry Owen. Their families
must be proud.

And that's a shame. We were taught to grant worth
to a medal signifying honor brought to the liege, in victory.

Peace passes that, music makes bubbles, we revisit,
replay the gramma phone version,
some scratchy
real realizing strings singing chimes and harps
of ages past
unveiling, hiding nothing knowing freedom is a sense,
you know
you do not own it,
you do not make it up, it is free. The idea

I had, approached as
hunter
in pursuit, steady as she blows,

leave us hap as may be at a triumph of joyous
curious
dancing twinkle noise amusing being a muse used,
enter tained, and voiced by bass
then tinkles
thin thin thin then Zildjian  K-bang!

____

Coffee, I adore thee,
somehow you never bore me.
Bold and dark or mild and smooth,
you get me up and on the move.

In warm embrace or cool frappe,
mocha, french roast, or tall latte,
crema, sospeso or con panna,
you never fail to make my day.

It’s the best thing ever manufactured,
without it, my mind is slow and scattered,
for a quiz or formulating I’d be knackered,
every morning the Keurig is where we gather.

You pick me up and keep me keen,
in complementing any cuisine,
by delivering a dose of sweet caffeine,
you are the original magic bean.

In doses quick or lingered over,
on mornings with a hangover,
I reach for you, your warm embrace,
the morning fogginess to erase.

The flavors, the scent, which is the best?
They are of compound interest.
French press or espresso - take your pick
- they all provide that delicious kick.

Jitter juice, rocket fuel, cup of joe,
cuppa, morning brew or ristretto,
your flavors please, your scent rouses,
a coffee shop is where the crowd is.

In slang they call it Mormon-crack,
but sugared up or with a snack,
with creamy art or straight-up black
once I’ve got it, you won’t get it back.

Peter and I will be apart this holiday. So instead of writing a story, I thought I’d interview him.

It’s 8:30 am, Wednesday morning 12.21.22 and we’re having coffee at the Atticus Bookstore Cafe in New Haven, CT. We’ll go our separate, holiday ways after our coffee. I’m going to New York City and Peter’s going to Malibu, California.
I have a few questions on my phone and I’m recording the interview.

Anais: “Ready?”
Peter: “Ready.”

Anais: “How are we alike?”
Peter: “Oh, we’re both planners who know what we want. You’ve got a blueprint of your future and I have my plans - you know, stacked carefully, like dinner plates - but they’ve been a little wobbly since I met you.” He smiles suavely.

Anais: “Nice. How are we different?”
Peter: “Oh, lots of ways. Biologically,” Peter begins, putting his hands over his *******, “my ***** might be bigger.”
Anais: “Ha, I don’t THINK so.” I snarled, but I couldn’t help chuckling. “Seriously!”
Peter: “Well, I think you have more emotions than I do.” I look at him quizzically,
“I’ll suddenly realize you’re crying and wonder if I did something wrong, or you’ll burst out laughing at nothing at all.”
Anais: “You make me sound like a NUT,” I said, “and I don’t cry that much,” I say defensively.
Peter: “No, not if we eliminate TV shows, movies, FaceTime calls or when you’re tired and overworked.”
Anais: “Maybe you’re just emotionally blocked,” I said, irritated.
Peter: “Maybe, but I do love it when you jump off the couch for an impromptu dance, like you can’t contain yourself anymore - and your silliness - I LOVE that.” He smiled, “When we’re studying quietly and you sneak up and jump on me, playing like you’re trying to pin me,” he chuckles.
Anais: “I AM trying to pin you,” I said.
Peter: laughs out loud

Peter shifts toward me.
Anais: “I see you moving in on me,” I said, pointing my pencil at him accusingly, “get back in your seat mister, I’m not THAT kind of interviewer.” I gasped, “What if I were poor, old, near-sighted Barabra Walters? She’d have never seen you coming. Would you have put the move on HER?”
Peter: “I like my women younger”
Me: “Barbara’s about 100 - 99% of the female population is younger - when did you get so picky?”
Peter: “I’ll have you know I’m VERY picky. Is this one of those hit-piece interviews? Do I need my lawyer?”
Me: “You got me off track.” I admit, checking my notes, “other differences?”

Peter: “Well, I’m kind of easy going, in general - lazy faire - but you, you watch everything - it must be exhausting.”
Anais: “I’m sentient,” I admit. “You let people walk all over you - like when they brought you a cold steak at the Plaza?”
Peter: “I didn’t want them taking it back and spitting on it.”
Anais: “If they did that, we’d own the Plaza - besides, that’s why we got you a new steak.”
Peter: “I’ll admit, you make me aware of things I hadn’t noticed, and when you complain, you’re usually right.”
Anais: “Thanks. Any other differences?”

Peter: “The obvious one, you’re a rich girl - we come from different worlds.” He said, touching his lips absentmindedly.” (I’ve been taking psychology classes - that might be a self-soothing gesture).
Anais: “Have you seen that new James Cameron, water-world movie? I come from there.”
Peter: “A world where parents buy their daughters six thousand-dollar prom dresses.”
Anais: “I bought that on SALE,” I said emphatically, “it regularly costs twelve (thousand).”
Peter: “Hazah! You like saving money.”
Anais: “And I didn’t get a FITTING,” I added defensively (because it was on sale).
Peter: “And - you’re a little Sinatra,” he said, wincing and wig-wagging his hand in a so-so way.
Anais: I gasp, “Well THAT’s good to KNOW,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
Peter: “I’m not calling you spoiled,” he shrugged, “you secretly paid your roommate's tuition,” he said soothingly, “THAT’s who you are - generous.”
Anais: “She was working two jobs - for peanuts,” I said softly.
After a quiet moment I began again.

Anais: “What about us?” I ask hesitantly.
Peter: “We’ve become a couple,” He said, smiling, “against all odds and I’ve become comfortable with us being a couple.” He pauses for thought. “Relationships have so many stipulations and rules, and everyone has opinions, but your smiles make me smile, and your sighs and even your yawns make life better.”

Anais: “Do you want a closing statement?”
Peter: “I’m supposed to become a physicist, now that I’ll have my doctoral degree.” He pauses again and puts his hand on my knee. “I’m not sure exactly what that’ll mean - for us - that remains to be seen, but my aunt has a saying, “The universe has so many tricks up its sleeve - love whatever happens.”

You said we'd leave this place
But it's all over now
Everybody's gone for work
I'm still stuck in this small town

You left for work that morning
The day that I made coffee
There was something in your eyes
That began to make me worry

You walked out the door
Like I was nothing anymore
I held onto you so tightly
You eventually pulled the cord

Was there nothing at all
That made you want to call?
I memorized your number
For when you'd have time in the fall

But once a year had passed
I realized she was never coming back
Her only desire was attention
But I cannot give
What I do not have.

Days used to start with a coffee
and end with whiskey.
Those were the days I thought
"if I left, would anyone miss me?"
I don't look fondly on those memories,
but those were the days that taught me about empathy. What I've learned
is that there are 2 types of days.
There's the days ahead and the days behind. You can be afraid of the past,
or you can use it to change the future.

In posh clothes she walks

in the street with a coffee --


An efficient life.

On a recent Saturday morning, I was blue-collar grinding (volunteering at a local hospital), when one of the doctors I've wo-manually labored for stopped by briefly to check on a patient. She had her young daughter, Ivy, in tow. I’d met little Ivy before. The doctor asked me, “Would you mind keeping an eye on Ivy for a minute?” “Sure!” I committed, bending down to get eye-to-eye with the girl and engage.

Ivy’s an adorable little human. She’s a sober 4 year old, about three and a half feet tall, with wavy chestnut brown hair down to her waist. She was wearing a yellow, “Beauty and the Beast” dress. Ivy’s into all things Disney (who the shiar isn’t?). Disney seems to home right in on impressionable young minds like hers and mine.

Ivy asked me, “If you could have a wish, what animal would you be?”
I believe we should talk to children as if they were adults - my parents were like that with me - which partially consists of complicating basic ideas and observing where the kids go with it.
“Where would I BE, as this animal?” I asked, after all, it was an important consideration.
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled but genuinely interested.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to suddenly become an elephant here in the hospital - would I - or a bear in the middle of the ocean?”

“NNoooo,” she said, so scandalized that she took my hand to reassure me.
“I’d probably want to be an alpha predator too,” I was thinking out loud now, “you know - no use becoming an animal only to get eaten.” She nodded, scouring me with her wide, unblinking, brown eyes and I finished with, “since humans are the #1 alpha predator, I suppose I’d like to be.. me.”

“NNooo,” she said, sternly. Her body language radiated impatience. She’d decided that I hadn’t understood the question - or I didn’t appreciate the magic possibilities of transformation.

Her mom returned, just then, and after touching base with the duty nurse, she turned to Ivy and me, “Ready to go?” she asked. Ivy immediately changed allegiance by releasing my hand and taking hers.

Doctor-mom thanked me and as they walked away, Ivy gave me a bashful, half hearted, goodbye wave.

I’ve discovered that if I do my volunteer work early on weekend mornings, from 6 to 10am, it's almost like it never happened at all. Afterwards, I’m not tired and I have the rest of my day free. I had to give up something, of course - my early, weekend, antisocial coffee consumption and writing time.

Coffee shops are my favorite places to write but few of them are open at sunrise. I’d found one that I liked close to my dorm. The most direct route is to walk through an old cemetery. At sunrise it can be dark, foggy and dew soaked - a scene right out of “Night of the living Dead” - creepy-ish, but I’d take the shortcut every time.