He is a savage intellectual with a quick wit 
who can make you convulse into laughter
if he so desires; the choice is his, not yours, 
you remember that--he can look down his nose 
at you, too--he is just that smart.

Small sorrows
flutter toward
the open window,
settle on the sill,
wait for a breeze
to wash them
back inside.

I am walking through this world
armed with words
having spent my entire life
putting them in the proper order;
I place the most important 
books on the shelf--
what more can a person do?

Peelaboo, 
peelaboo, 
peelaboo--
I am not crazy,
only craving
a voice
long forgotten
crying out
for a favorite food.

There is  much
to worry about . . .
haven't you felt
the trembling?

Pain, my eccentric friend,
talk to me again,
remind me
where we're going.

She hummed along with the cicadas 
just as she had done as a child,
yet now she drifted alone
through a Kansas night
rich with moonglow 
and too many stars to count.

After stealing the plum roles
for itself all these years,
my right hand clenches
at the thought of losing
the lead to the left, its lazy
understudy still struggling
to learn to play the part.

She had made it to the other side of life . . . 
she was squinting into the sun, 
trying to remember.

The surgeon slits my wrist--
my credit card now due
for all pleasures taken.

I am in the boat;
I am rocking the boat--
I am sitting in the boat
paddling slowly away.

A shower at dusk,
a shower at dawn--
between them
not a drop of sleep.

In the thick of August, 
I ask the flowers to remember
how I nurtured them in spring time;
I ask the weeds to step aside--
I pray the ivy 
does not devour the holly.  

Next to the baggage claim carousel,
a pair of lost sparrows
recovers in the water fountain
after wrecking another landing
on the polished terrazzo floor.

When I listen to your music,
I cannot turn it loud enough
I cannot stop dancing
sometimes I sing along,
and I can tell you
you're not finished, 
c'mon and rise, my old friend,
stand up: 
this is your time to shine.

Reality and imagination--
two ferries swinging their passengers
in a never-ending dosey doe.

They almost had me convinced
that I had to pay
because they could not.  

The kitchen table has shifted shape
many times over the years,
and has at times disappeared
for vague or unknown reasons,
yet it's always here for hearty meals
and heated conversations.

Looking back, 
I realize I didn't take the journey;
the journey took me--
there I was, stumbling along
into one after another
happy accidents.

It's not calamity or misery
that rule my days--
no, quite the opposite,
and sometimes, it seems,
that's the tragedy.