On a day

like this,

early spring,

when the sun

shines strong

against the back

of your neck

and a chill

still

whispers in the air,

you assume

the form

of a tiger

smashing fruit

under

your dusty paw.

In the evening

when it grows

colder still,

it’s safer

to look

as the polar bear

looks,

a good gait

hiding a

terrible weight.

In the deep summer,

when you

as hippopotamus,

play and splash

in a slow stream,

take a moment,

looking at

your reflection,

and wonder

why you

never dream

yourself

a giraffe

or a

flamingo,

plastic tooth pick

thin.

Where have all the round faced Polish girls gone?

Wild, I presume, like horses on the plain.

Who can catch them, look them in the mouth

and say,

“Stop here, for a sec”

Your shiny mane enthralls.

Is there a cabin somewhere,

on the rocky cliffs,

with a strong wind,

where we can be miserable together?

All i need, indoors,

is a chair,

a mat to make the ground less hard,

perhaps a bowl and plate and cup

made all of tin.

Make some lumpy stew for us

and i’ll go cut some wood.

and i’ll,

at night,

cram my face between

your long hair

and the whiteness of your neck.

In my blood

is fire and ice

and both mean

and nice

sometimes

in the morning

I feel fine

awake

like spring time

the budding leaf

the greening vine

It is troublesome

sometimes

(other times)

this eating

and drinking

the tearing of flesh

to make more flesh

oh only water

if you were enough

or

if

I could live off

other stuff

eating light

so quietly

like the bushes and trees do

that would suffice

and be nice

but let’s not forget

that we are animals

at heart

and ripping and tearing

is a natural art

some sad sack’s sorrow

his infinite end

is a bounty to me

and sends me onward

to another day

of clawing and scratching

or rining and beeping

the ear is assulted

and the brain is reminded

of our active state

we cannot

like trees

leave our destiny to fate

Winter cracks my hands,

chipping away my human

skin, beast underneath.

Love is this

you agree

by loving

to be

affected

like a car

driving behind

another.

His pain,

what slows him,

will slow you,

if he stops

so must you

true love

the miraculous

traffic pattern,

has each

driving

behind

the other.

Have patience

and honk less.

murder is funny

when you rhyme it correctly

wish i had a nine.

Hot tar in summer

cover up last year’s mistakes

a smelly new start

Write it down, type it

up, and make sure it gets done

fight the inertia

you vow to abstain
from this sad human weakness
for at least a day

The long Indian
road, on a summer’s day, creeps
onward, forever.

does it lead somewhere,
all this staring at the clouds,
listening to wind?

in the corner spot
under the shade of a tree
you dream of quitting.

The steam from your head
approximates the feeling
of letting it go

put two watches on
feel twice the guilt as you wait
and wait for more guilt.

the new week begins
a cat stretches out its paws
and hopefully yawns

pick up a turtle
in the parking lot, save, it
from death, you from guilt

Monday making lists
for the week ahead, start a
new life, tomorrow

summers spent reading
novels about dragons in
a quiet bed room.

A camera flash
this party is so happy
the less lonely din

cool and humid days
wander into the forest
brush the world aside