Summer’s Cruel Retreat

“I wander lonely
as a cloud”
through dark and starless
a September’s night
the cool of aging summer’s
breeze
caressing my naked arms

I should have brought my sweater.

Marching on
toward the light
Kenmore Square
in my sight
arms’ counterpointing
rhythmic swing
to unintended
goose-like steps
a playful cadence
marks the beat

I knew! before opening that fucking email that I couldn’t do anything to resolve this problem before morning. Now I’m angry, distracted, it’s fucking late, and I probably won’t be able to sleep.

Foreboding chill
of an imminent
autumnal arrival
on its heels:
February slush

A sign reads: Whom will you make peace with today? Not winter I assured myself cantankerously.

A shadowy creature
lurches past
my delightfully wafting
leather-clad left foot

A fucking rat? No, not that!

But a brave and lonely
frightened urban hare
staring me down
panicked eyes meeting mine
wildly pulsating
wiry-haired chest
visibly fibrillating
frantically
plotting his options
for impossible escape

What a strange, incongruous site, to cross paths with this timid cotton-tailed creature plodding along dark and bustling a Boston street; ecological efforts working too well.

I hop along
in light-hearted solitude
much like my skittish
leparidae friend
my hind legs propelling
my poetic evening stroll
up and away
taking flight
soaring high and far
beyond
summer’s cruel retreat

Superlative Singleminded Thick Straight Lines

Pressure to proceed
Along superlative
Singleminded thick Straight lines
Takes a detour
Onto meandering, blossoming
Summer lavender trails
Giving chase to joyous ends
Of heart & mind
Only each
Alone
Knowing
Its beguiling forlorn quest:
To think, to write, to speak
To act
Without restraint

Realization of dreams
Close to the heart
Dear to the mind
Before the world
Accomplishments stacked
Like so many books
Walls overcrowded with trophies & diplomas & moose heads
Become dictators to
Fragile false selves hooked
More by the fawning crowd
Than by forays into acts of
Liberating self-kindness

Fleeing the inconspicuous
Ubiquitous slave master’s
Imposed preposterous perfection
Into the night
With untrue & tired old friends
Rebelling by escape
We vampires
Our hungry tongues
Compulsively lapping
At life’s myriad elixirs
Promising eternal peace
Power & ecstasy

Simple
Participating presence in time’s gift:
A life lived…
Well enough
To realize all it fancies
To which most do not dare
To dream of giving flight
Lest they fall paralyzed
Into Fear’s gaping guise of
Contentedness

The most interesting
Slave to perfection
The world has ever known
The master’s perfect dream
Gone
Awry

Tired Old Friends, Coconuts and Hurricanes Have A Lot To Teach Us

Tired of Tired Old Friends
Resisting change and life
No matter how taut by Inflammation And Dried by alcohol And cigarettes And cocaine their Voices and nasal Passages become

No matter how much they resent their Partners, parents, children, the Economy,
For their unrealized Dreams,
Their boredom and sense of Feeling Untethered, unloved by life

No matter how encumbered they find Themselves by their inner discord, Disorder, Refuse, frustration, Disappointment,
Living in a barrel Alongside Diogenes
Seems to be lost on
Tired Old Friends
No matter how much notice
Life gives them about the urgency to Evolve

Like a category 5 hurricane
Charging directly into the wide flat Middle
Only disintegration results
When Tired Old Friends repudiate life’s Terms
With a rigid stance

Much better to be a coconut palm
That gives against mighty Gale Force Winds
To ensure its survival to
Live another day of possibilities

Escape and Pterodactyls in The Supermarket at Sandornam

Pushing past compulsion
To visit a favored cocoon
A place called Dbar
I circled the dingy dark
Neighborhood

Rain and snow combining
To create a third element
Of hellishly cold
Falling
Late winter Black slush

Block by block
Stocking the streets
For distraction,
Until eyeing the poorly-light
Poorly-advertised Supermarket

It looks new, I thought,
And very strange!
Not a chain, that’s obvious.
With signs written in black ink
By fastidious hand
Welcoming new customers
In English, Vietnamese, and Spanish

A foreign world inside
Of freshly caught fish and fowl
Of all shapes and sizes and colors
On tall heaps of newly chipped dull-white Ice
Of fruits and vegetables
Of all shapes and sizes and colors
In home-crafted wooden bins

A middle-aged Latino man
Stocking shelves
Who spoke no English
Like Carol Merrill with outstretched Digits
Demonstrating today’s showcase
Of cash and valuable prizes
Highlighted the location
Of what felt like too many tiny cans Of jugo
Marked in quoc ngu

But no usual infinite array
Of designer glass-bottled hybrid Combinations
Of organic blueberry, cranberry
And Pomegranate juices
Like the ones on display
At Whole Foods’ and Foody’s

A checkout lady not days shy of 80 With blue black hair
A vulnerable, warm, welcoming smile
Noticeably very few teeth
And even less English
So when did you open?
I asked,
Only slightly invested in the answer

She responded with lightning speed
Left Pointer-finger shooting into Midair
Shrugged shoulders
Opening her mouth to repeat
Performance
Of the inviting Facial maneuvering
Of flexed Muscles near each end
of Her Meager mouth
Modeling her one remaining
cracked Yellowed front tooth sharpened by time

I understood she didn’t understand
But then in as high-pitched a screech
As your ears can imagine
One that made my face pucker in on Itself
Like only biting into one of Micky’s Very Green very aged sour pickles
Can Succeed in replicating

In an Asian language
Surmised to be Vietnamese,
A high-pitched guttural male voice
Echoed from the balcony
Overlooking the accidentally-Arranged Pushcarts
Of the town square’s vendors’ Market
Somewhere between San Juan and Hanoi

Mimicking shrieking bellows
Of incoming Pterodactyls
In the deep dark jungles
Of Saturday mornings’ animation:
Johnny Quest
In heavily-austroasiatic-accented English,
Responds:
DecembeL !

Now better understood
Its method of communication
The lingua franca of this singular Dimension
Between Dot Ave and WW St.

The driving impulse broken
My attention now shifted
From the desire
To escape
Life’s angst
To this strange and present moment

To the impossible possibilities
Of Marriage
Among fish, fruit, fowl, vegetable,
The residents of Sandornam
And the momentary reprieve
From the seduction of
My impending Departure

Fear of Vulnerability

“You may grow anxious if you believe that someone is trying to control you in some way. But your fear might be based on the realization that you don’t have all the answers today. Instead of acting with false bravado or using smooth words to impress others, be honest and show your vulnerability. Oddly enough, admitting what you don’t know opens the door to real intimacy and stronger relationships.”

Horoscope for: 2/28/13, from:
The Daily Horoscope iPhone App

Fearing dearth of information
States my daily divination
O mighty cause of consternation
Vain attempts at obligation
Of my own omnisciation

To feign control,
Largesse of sagesse
Amongst other pirouettes
My greying head
passing ripe
Implodes like my bunching fingers
Into a fist
Or pops like corn
On funeral pyres
Of prideful indignation

Like Ed Sullivan:
“Ladies and gentlemen,
It is with pleasure that
I now release to you:
My fear-hewn pride !”

Do I fear being controlled at the points in my life when I feel most unsure about my next move, perhaps?????

It feels vulnerable not to know.

Snapshots of Angst

I wish I spoke German
I would write
Great Epic Poems
Of Angst and Geilheit
The likes of Tristan und Isolde

My heart throbs aching
For the closeness I miss
But not for the Him
I created in me

A telephone conversation
Stingily braising
A simmering past
Romanticized then suddenly,
Vilified

Petrified my hardened heart
Volcanic news of separation
Ocean of Time and Neglect and Fear
Unrequited anguished moments

Lonely dinners
A table for one
Inventing
Out-of-town businessmen
Peering through the gestalt
Of rain-beaded window
Pains of shattered love

Street lights suspended
Abandoned black pavements
Glistening with hues of whitish yellow
Like ghosts piercing
Lonely passersby
Draped in personal protective
Canopies of anonymity

Here I sit in a golden haze
Chilled to the bone
with
Goblets of diet coke,
Iced to the brim
Stony visions of hellishly Falling
Purple grey February slush

Chop-sticking at
Hypoallergenic pad thai
Dreaming of
Schadenfreude
Wagner
Und Love gone by