Monday, September 1, 2014


To give my O so many kisses, then,
when any one of missed potential comes 
to longing mind; so many, then, when 
any morning's mirth earns mention

O --
I tell me it is time
to mock each mocking of the sun
with swell, irreverent stereo hums
and bend, and writhe, and rhyme

and, O, the syntax
of your lips is...
wearing socks in August.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Son I'm Gonna Die Someday

Son I'm Gonna Die Someday I am proud at your stride though stubby like your mother's and how slight your talent at the ebony and ivory, but mine too, don't worry. I am proud of you, by God, and don't you worry. Son of mine, Don't you worry at it. Don't you worry at it nary a none, dear son. I am the knighted-now and the renowned but once -- boy wonder of us elders' yore. But son, I want the better for you than your wiser me has had, want that you work hard that your father's lore be buried never. I have known renown. I have been spun around and about myself and my Lord the biceps on that Fortuna broad! I tell you what, by God, Fortuna does her share of heavy lifting. I hear her wheel outweighs the sun, the moon, the world's sum total with the soul as your unit.   I said, Hell yeah son by God I tell you what. There is no best, no might, no always, no never never, but you never know is what I will tell you, whisper it so, on that day I sleep for good. I hope that good night is of nary a cirrus, of harry a stratus, yet rains me thither into yon, and son I ain't afraid not a smidge to go gentle in it. Gentle when I do. (That's why your Mama wouldn't let me name you Thomas.) Son of mine who's always going somewhere, you will say a sweet take care to the breathing me, you will think that your farewell is for the will-leave. True farewells, my boy, are for the left-already. Son, I'm lookin' forward to all them pastel-colored what dreams may come. I think heaven's probably nice in summer, but I bet God's butt cheeks hell pays rent kickin' butt. Hell yeah son by God I tell you what. By God, son, there ain't nothin' to fear. Before I go gently, I reckon the about-to Is all you'll ever need to hear. I have spent my days, my life entire honing up this soul of mine so shoddy for the moment when the soul escapes the body.