Poem – Flashbacks 

All it takes is Laura Riding’s riding-
crop across my butt, and I’m off:

Git-up horsie she cries astride me as
I crash sweetly onto the carpet.

Boredom what an esthetic,

cleansing the days-

I laud the vintage of my toothpick.
Small-husband to the floor,

my foot stoops in dance,

in courtship intervals.
Putting their clothes on afterwards

the lovers are surprised

at how empty

the buttonholes seem. 

Poem – Feeding The Sun

One day we notice that the sun
needs feeding. Immediately

a crash program begins: we fill rockets

with wheat, smoke-rings, razorblades, then, 

after long aiming

–they’re off. Hulls specially alloyed

so as not to melt before the stuff 

gets delivered we pour cattle rivers windmills,

aborigines etcet into the sun which

however, grows stubbornly

smaller, paler. Finally

of course we run out of things to feed the thing,

start shipping ourselves. By now

all the planets-moons-asteroids and

so on have been shoveled in though they’re

not doing much good it’s

still looking pretty weak, heck, nothing helps!

Now the last few of us left lift off.

The trip seems forever but then, touchdown.

Just before entering we wonder,

will we be enough. There’s

a last-second doubt in our minds: can we,

can this final sacrifice, our broughten crumb,

satiate

it–will a glutteral belch burst out then at last,–

and will that Big Burp be seen by far-off telescopes,

interpreted as a nova

by those other galaxies,

those further stars which have always seemed even more 

starving 

than ours? 

Poem – Compact Dusk

Here at the height of the day night change
The color of the sky is uncertain,

The sky depending in which direction

One’s eye strains, each of its swatches a strange 
Hue which dies too soon and which makes this hour

Linger in the mind transient as a life,

Whose names once known remain another

Posied-up portrait on our palette knife. 
Until even I wonder if one tint

Ever survives the harm of seeming unique

(Evening’s intrigue, time’s singularity.) 
Study for its trace, its placemap, I see

— Redundant as a stopsign in italic—

The face on which my profile leaves no print. 

Poem – Stress Therapy

Time, time, time, time, the clock
vaccinates us.

and then even that lacks

prophylaxis. 
Ticktock-pockmarked, stricken

by such strokes, we

get sick of prescriptions

which work solely 
on the body.

Systole diastole–

It is by its very 
intermittency

that the heart knows

itself to be an I. 

Poem – Monopoly

Finally the day dawned when a monopoly owned everything in theworld

So it went looking for its stockholders to celebrate

But they were all owned by it they were all dead they were

someplace

Their photographs hung in elevators which went up and down up and

down carrying nobody

Everyone else was in bed doing exercises to get in shape for noon

Hey the monopoly said let’s uncork the World Trade Center and get

blotto

Silence

The monopoly scowled

All it wanted was a little good-fellowship, like you get in the

highrise apartment-buildings

Then the sky got awful dark

Gee

And everyone was in bed frantically doing those exercises that get us in

shape for death

Exercises known as “kissing” “fucking” “caressing”

Everyone was unaware that they had been bought

Or that the earth was about to sell them to the moon

For a little light 

Poem – Heritage 

“…here thy generations endeth in accord.” 
I physically resemble my mother

And father and therefore must have been

Adopted, because on my TV screen

The role-children rarely share a feature

With either parent. The fact they’re actors

And I’m not is what makes me misbegot—

A matched world of monitors all 2-shot

The mirror daily where I pray these stars 
Come: cancel everyone of us whose names

And clans have sundered human unity

Descend always among daughters or sons

To live still, beyond the Net’s trivia games,

Till their faces cloned shape ours. Family.

From android to ape, we’ll be Thy reruns.