Sixth & Mission

She was waiting

for the light to change

at 6th and Mission.

7:30.

People on their

way to work. 

Saw a young woman

she recognized

from high school. 

When she had sparkled.

Just six years ago.

Barefoot.

Wearing only her underwear.

With a filthy blanket

slung over her shoulder

trailing on the sidewalk.

Eyes

that for the briefest moment

locked with hers,

acknowledging,

I used to know you,

Now you don't.

so please,

forget you saw me.

late night airport hotel ministry

he really

shouldn't be here

at all.

sprawled across

the weary corporate

furniture.

in this room

with a curtained view

of the off-site

airport parking lot.

thumbing through the gideon

while the escort girl

he'd called

worked her

rental dental best

to get him off

in five minutes

or less.

she'd write it up

as room service,

so he could put the charge

on his american express.

along with the frozen snickers,

chips and gin from the minibar.

after she left at three,

he clicked on the tv

and found the half-hour pitch

he'd done the day before

preaching the gospel

of prosperity.

sow your seed, he plead,

and you'll receive

divine rewards in multifold

(and incidentally

keep your humble servant

well-supplied with head)

controlled substances

to be for an hour, a well-fed cat

dozing on a sunny window sill.

an hour dissolved.

no seconds, no minutes

an ever stretching bliss.

to be a suckling infant

at the breast

of a kind and glorious universe

with no boundary between infinity

and self........

and available in a powder

or a pill. this humble hilltop

feels like the peak of everest

and i am living inside this song

because this is the best,

-the very best song.

party. sex.

i've ever ever felt.

never ever realized

the depth, the wisdom

expressed so profoundly

I must write it down.

tomorrow, yes.

while it's still fresh.

Like the ancient mystics

must have done, this must be

the key that unlocks the mysteries,

this ecstasy, naked of regrets.

sinking slowly

through warm honey

could never be this sweet

never have this loft

never feel so close to god

this broken car seat

with the cigarette burns

is my throne.

this squat is my palace

this potion in my veins:

divine elixir.

this this this,

is what,

is is.

is is.

smart things

i confess:

I enjoy some smart devices.

like checking on the weather

in Seattle or Timbuktu

on my phone.

and not having to remember

phone numbers is great.

leaves more brain room

for passwords.

but i think i would prefer

things with soul.

less convient. fussy.

possessed.

the typewriter with sticky keys

a cockeyed capital I,

almost but not quite italic.

and a decapitated small b.

that's character. or evidence

on the ransom note.

my temperamental

english roadster.

wanted the choke just so

on frosty mornings.

sweet talk, prayers

and cursing

were all involved.

the checkers

at the grocery store

knew my name

not my purchase history

embedded on a magnetic stripe

on the back of a plastic card.

and proper paper maps!

when you figure out

how to fold them

you're ready to try origami.

and tender whispers

on a rotary phone,

lit more fire

than cruising girls

on tinder.

maybe the gizmo

and gadget makers

could give their widgets

more personality.

the television wouldn't let you

binge watch real housewives of hollywood

or naked and afraid.

instead of storage wars

you'd be locked into

city council meetings

or at least a twilight zone marathon. 

how about house keys

that teased you when

you can't remember

where you left them.

they call you on your mobile

and say, where did you last see us?

when you took out the trash?

oh wait, you haven't done that in a week.

and by the way,

when's the last time you called your mother?

Rainbow light

I sat in the last row

of the cathedral

under the soaring vault,

untouched by god but bathed,

in the rainbow light

of stained glass saints.

It felt somehow like grace.

I saw the evening glow

on the bomb-crushed

office in Kuwait City

and listened to the call

to the faithful

sung from the minarets,

stung by the sweet notes

drifting overhead,

words I did not understand

but felt as if I did.

I sat in the temple

on the hill above the city

where high school classrooms

had been converted

into torture cells.

The incense and the candles

and the whispers

of the kneeling visitors

was a comfort from

the mass graves and

tower of bones.

In the darkness,

I was not enlightened,

once more aware

of the thing that was not there,

-but was.

In Memoriam

The scythe is swinging freely this spring.

what will summer bring?

I remember, Bud,

when we climbed the 768 steps

of the Munster church in Ulm.

and gazed through the golden haze

to distant fields and villages,

the gleaming Donau's snaking course.

A view that only birds and angels shared

before the last stone was mortared into place.

And why we traded hats.

Because you decided that

you didn't like the old style field cap

you bought and preferred

the new structured ones

that now were standard issue.

And that was fine with me.

I liked the old ones better.

So I've kept it all these years.

Still has your name inscribed inside.

-and your social security number.

Man, I guess you weren't worried

about somebody stealing your identity.

And you were right, because you were

one of a kind, the kindest man I ever knew

who suited up in olive green.

francis and francie

francis

longs for the erections

he had at twenty

but not the desperation

-the two a.m. departure

in the cold.

and francie curses

what gravity

and the twins did

to her stomach and her tits.

not something they confide in

after the last forensic drama

ends at ten o'clock

before the news,

when they set the alarm

for mornings spent

with greek style yogurt

and dark roast beans from costco

and the drama waiting

on their favorite websites.

most of which

they don't share.

by eight

they are capable

of conversation.

dinner plans and chores,

appointments.

and of course

the chance of rain.

francie has a text from sally

asking about a birthday party

for the twins on saturday.

they have a theme

and can she bring

some stuff for gift bags,

gender neutral of course

because,  you know.

and francis stares

in wonder at a video

of radioactive wolves

roaming the ruins of pripiyat,

hunting rabbits.

francie says

you ready, hon?

the girls have

a sleep over friday

if you want to maybe

do something?

and francis fantasizes

the things he'd like to do

to her on friday night,

if only he was still

the way he was

at twenty.

ponders if it's time

to consider medication.

francie pictures

the five minutes

of satisfactory routine

while the audi commercial

and the push up bra commercial

and the teasers for the latest,

last minute-est titillations

playing on the tube unmuted,

accompany their coupling.