Hour 12 WHAT ARE THE ODDS?

If we had flawless crystal balls
there’d be no misery making decisions.

But the best in augury cracks, leaving us,
(if observation of daily news

is any oracle,) merely wagers,
amusements, for our gods.

They can’t predict with greater
certainty than you or I

what random, free willed zig
we’ll zag, or bluff we’ll bluff.

So I amuse myself imagining
a pantheon with wads of dollar bills

in their immortal fists
shouting, “Buy that Chevy!”

Or “Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Or “Pull the trigger, damn it! I’m down a hundred!”

While here on solid ground we stand
in befuddled agony,

every card we pull
leaving us more bewildered,

praying to those who seemingly only know
that they have double or nothing riding on, “Do it!”

Hour 11 MY SPECIAL HOUSE

I’ll live inside a taco shell
Crispy please I like the cheese
I like the smell

I’ll dance each morning in the nude
Chipotle sauce around I’ll toss
I like my food

With Fresh tomatoes in my hair
It may sound slappy but I’ll be happy
When you are there

Hour 10 LAKE POWELL

I remember camping
Under a moon so bright
It cast a shadow
Of Mr. Manaugh
Across my sleeping bag
As he walked from
Boy to boy making sure
We had
All
Brushed
Our
Teeth

Hour 9 FAILING THE PORRIDGE TEST

Failing the porridge test –
That is, stealing someone else’s
Breakfasts, in their cottage,
Until one of those strange breakfasts seems
Least disagreeable
And then awaiting lethargy…

But to repeat,
Failing the porridge test,
I could not sleep,
Knowing everything was broken,
Knowing I had broken everything
And was in the wrong bed…

Failing the porridge test
And feeling like a firefly in a bottle,
A mask wearing, heat crazed,
Panicked, zooming, self made inmate
Spying a treeline beyond the open wooden door…

Failing, I say…

Hour 7 SEASON OF THE GRAPE

The taste of grapes, when I was young,
They’d not allow to stain my tongue.

But I escaped to legal status
And used my grapes to knock me flatus.

Then I acquired gourmet decorum,
And munched my meats with grapes chose for ‘em.

But just today I took a walk
Into the cellar to check my stock.

I fear it’s down to one or two.
So I’ll savor them until they’re through,

Then feebly rinse my empty cup.
So here’s to you friend, bottoms up.

A DAY MUST BEGIN WITH BIRDS

Feathery melodies before old flappy Sun alights
Then ten origami cranes folded tiny as a doll’s teacup
Then coffee poured from a nested cone filter
(There it is – those birds again)
Everything after is afterthought
A petty feather wafting to a paltry floor

Hour 5 LIMERICK

There once was a newlywed fella
Equipped with a wondrous umbrella.
Said his blushing young bride,
“Please don’t open inside.
The weather in there is quite stella!”

Hour 4 THE CAR

I’m doing well,
I hope you are.
Do you remember
In the car

That boiling day,
The herds of pronghorn
We flew past?
Your shirt was torn

And I could smell
The desert heat,
Feel the floor mat
With my feet.

I was afraid to speak,
Could only stare.
The wind revealed
Your shoulder. So there

You have it,
Nothing more.
You probably guessed
I sold that car.

HOUR 3 MY HEAD IS A JUNGLE

My head is a jungle, trees and beasts
And shadows of old shapes
Only imagined. There she feasts
On putrid meats and grapes,
Elusive tigress, waiting, biding.
We hunt each other, stalking, hiding.

Did Lao Tzu ever imagine such a thing?
Did Martin Luther dream this dream?

Who remembers how the first questions
Were conceived; remembers the farmer
Recalls the mental massing of
Innocent villagers,
Stuffing of spears and grammar,
Body counting as one by one they fell
Until we two only remain
The striped query and I?

Did Lao Tzu ever imagine such a thing?
Did Martin Luther dream this dream?

My head is a jungle, fears and cries
And mutinies. There
She hunts, never sleeps or flies
Away. My uncut hair
Is going silver. I feel my knees
Collapsing under all these trees.

Did Lao Tzu ever imagine such a thing?
Did Martin Luther dream this dream?

1 2 3 4