i spent the glowing sun today
in a little meadow, a thin dress on
and nothing else, hair twined
not by your fingers, but
the wildflowers replaced them
                                     sadly.
the glowing sun was warm, like
heat from your skin but
not as rough, nor as dark, nor as rich
            and your quiet laughter was replaced
by hums of bees & solitary creasing of smiles,
                                       sadly, but still sweet.
i spent an hour in bed, satiny skin all alone
my hands had to make do
in your absence but i still thought of you.

at 11pm in nyc
one sees what
you need to c
what you don’t want to b
what’s c-ing you
all the aleph bets
are ghosting words in your
brown i’s and clear fingernails

then when and why
you are under the
dining room table
cause you don’t want to be
a real person
it’s so oh much easier to be
in the under, the table dark thunder,
so when until you need to be a visibility,
until then a ghost is a fine impossibility

do we believe in ghosts?
girl, you crack me up
W ooooohoooo W you who?

11:16pm
the witching wishing h our

Send or Request Money

a Facebook choice (new?) stumbled upon,
what! no more the check is in the mail stall,
which strikes me funny, cause my preference is
to send offerings before being asked,
which is one of those
items that I list on Linkedin resume as a
serious flaw under honorable man,
listed under miscellaneous skills,
next to
often cranky quirky guy who is
collaterally damaged and has been
taken advantaged of

Send or Request Money  a two way duality

prefer send to request
for me it’s more intriguing to be owed

a tool to uncover honor-enabled humans
that I close upon closer to my heart
nearer to thee, my human god’s creation

and that’s why you and them
even me - even god (get in line)
call me
stillcrazyafteralltheseyears

”good night, good travels, pitch black”

depending on how one counts,
cause size matters,
do have I
one small blessing


though little do I get, more-less,
in each twenty four measuring cup,
when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling,
lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation,
it’s less than sixty seconds till
dispatched to where all poems
plead like unborn angels for
good parentage

the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed
with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side,
preceded by, a single solid smacking of
an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow,
then lost in pitch black galaxy travels
with other sleep-drunk little princes

instead of the wavering, singular word,
a traditional goodnight,
a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing,
undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title,

“good travels”

to places where ferment the aging words under
the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening,
names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes

Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
**, **, Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.

Fire
burns in hell.
Too.

All
dragged down
down
d
o
w
n
to the bottom
of the abyss.

Guess I'll just start....

Drinking,
dollar store
love potions.

Only to get a stomach ache.

Those **** butterflies.
They've done it again.

.