#717 (Chambers)

The loneliness here
is so great
so soothing
inspiring
making me giddy
to the point of maybe
inviting people over to feel it
share it.

It is a rare and wonderful
occasion,
when solitude
is left undisturbed
amidst the presence of one other person.

The right one can handle the silence
handle the background noise
of the plant,

the jacked up
jazz
coming through one lousy transistor speaker,

the constant chirp
of some unseen wonder of melody.

The wrong person
might be
five people
five cowards afraid of seeing
a glimpse
of one perfectly happy lonely
person,
one person that will talk
for five people
turning your loneliness into a party.

The Toes (D.H.L. #243)

One weekend
every couple of months
I drive
four hours
north
and
then
east
to
D.C..

This morning
I find myself
again
on this couch
(if it were two inches longer, I would sleep like the dead)
waking up
before Sam and his
tolerant wife.

I dart across the hall
and take my morning pee,
stop to make a couple faces
in the mirror,
and then walk
quiet like a ninja
through their living room.

The sun is beaming
through the sliding glass doors
of the balcony
and I would love
nothing more
(except with a cup of coffee)
to sit in the sun
and ask God
to forgive me
one more time.

And then I feel
and hear
in my head
A CAR WRECK
coming from my
toe.

I let out
an Al Pacino
Godfather III
silent scream
and instantly access the damage.

Blood and skin-
a
flap
holding
on
for
dear
life.

I walk on my
heels
to the bathroom
and wrap the toe
in toilet paper.

I pause in front of the mirror
to make a new face.
I do the silent scream.

For the rest of the day
I have a hyper-sensitive
awareness of my toes,
as if
I
just watched a film
directed by
Alfred Hitchcock
called,

"The Toes."

#238 (Fante Number)

This nuisance
this rain


the road
and the
muted
muted
sky

and this dusk has lingered past the evening news

headlights from tired autos
highlight

the tiny stars trapped in my window

Peach (Merrill #196)

This guy Peach
had a thing
about his hands.

His fat fingers
not twitching
but playing,

and he believed
everyone in the place
was watching them.

Watching him:

He took to wearing
an oxford shirt
with a wool sweater

tied in a knot
around his
neck.

He kept his hands
in his pockets
with shirt sleeves rolled just so

and a silver wrist watch
visible,
saying,

I’m Peach.
Let me keep my hands in my pockets
and I will give you
serenity.

#339 (Merrill number)

I have done some reading
of poems
and found
the most common word
to begin a poem with
is
Apostolic.

APOSTOLIC birds, bees, trees.
APOSTOLIC women in the shape of flowers.
APOSTOLIC sun and moon and stars.
APOSTOLIC longing.
APOSTOLIC lust for solitude.
APOSTOLIC Delaware
APOSTOLIC I hold my pencil in my
left hand
while I
write
with
my
right.

#644

let me make this clear
here
at the beginning

this is a threat:

come in here.

come try to take this from me.

i'm serious…

get in here and tell me what you would do
what should come out of me
a little better said
a little less involvement from the words
a little less of you (me)
a little more

(a dinasaur screams a ship coming to shore).